Page 9 of Enemy Crush
“No. But thanks,” I said, hating myself for being so abrupt.
“Oh.” Elise’s bright eyes dimmed. “Okay.”
I immediately felt bad and wished to take my words back, but Mom had said to protect the family name at all costs. With Elise about to leave, I impulsively called out, “Uh, what about soccer? Am I too late to join?”
Elise turned and smiled, checking her phone and beaming as she said, “Trials are tomorrow. After school.”
I already knew that and I wasn’t sure why I pretended I didn’t, just that I didn’t want to be a complete jerk. Mom wanted me to be invisible here at Snow Ridge High but that didn’t mean I had to make myself unpopular.
“Cool, I might sign up for that,” I said, and because I was desperate not to be disliked, “By the way, I love your nails.” Compliments never went astray either.
“Hey, thanks,” Elise said, bubbly again as if I hadn’t just been rude. “Look, you can do it online.”
I pulled out my phone and followed her directions and within minutes I had registered for soccer trials.
“I can meet you in the cafeteria for lunch,” Elise suggested. “Look for me. I’ll save you a seat.”
“Uh, I brought a lunch bag,” I said. Mom had packed me a sandwich, grapes and Oreos, even though I hadn’t taken a lunch bag since kindergarten. Brizendine Prep’s meal program had been like a gourmet restaurant, the menu full of goodies like Eggs Benedict for breakfast and sushi for lunch, not to mention the smoothie bar and coffee machine. Already there were so many things I was missing about my old school.
“That’s okay. You can bring it to the cafeteria,” Elise said, and I realized she thought I was worried about bringing my own food, not avoiding her friendship.
I smiled, neither nodding or shaking my head, but in what felt like another schizophrenic moment, I declined her offer to walk me to calculus class, instead taking a roundabout way to find the correct room.
Used to assigned seating at Brizendine, I was surprised that I could choose my own seat.
“Are you new here?” A girl with thick curly hair eyed me as I stood there surveying the room. “Just sit where you want. Mr. Struff doesn’t care.”
And that was the other odd thing. The teacher was sitting at the front desk and the room was loud and chaotic as kids chatted and found seats, yet he was doing and saying nothing, just scrolling on his phone.
“Yeah. Okay. Thanks,” I said, crossing the room to a seat in the middle row. Inconspicuous and low-profile was my aim. I plonked myself down, trying to discreetly check out the other students, many who were leaning and talking to one another or busy on their phones.
At Brizendine, phones were handed in as we entered the room and the minute the teacher arrived, silence ensued. Not so here. It was another couple of minutes before Mr. Struff looked up and asked, “Is everyone here? Are we ready to learn?”
Unenthusiastic groans rang about the room and Mr. Struff half laughed. “Yeah, I’m just as excited to be here too.”
Brizendine teachers didn’t joke or have fun with us. There was a very distinct line between students and teachers and it was never crossed. I blinked in disbelief as a student in the front seat stood up and tossed Mr. Struff a red apple.
“Hey, this is for the A I’m gonna get in this class,” the tall lanky boy said with a laugh.
Mr. Struff caught the apple in his right hand. “Thanks, Spencer,” he said, shining it against his shirt, “we’ll see what we can do.”
That was another thing. Mr. Struff was dressed very casually in a light blue polo shirt, jeans and Converse sneakers. Brizendine male teachers wore button down shirts, some even ties and suit jackets, and the women wore knee-length skirts, cardigans and sensible pumps.
Mr. Struff checked his laptop screen and glanced around the room. “I see some new faces,” he said, his gaze holding on me, “and some new-to-me faces. Let’s do a roll call.”
I sat nervously as he called out names, an unfamiliar tension building in my chest as he addressed Thomas Chadwick, then Devon Das. I could barely draw in a breath as he looked in my direction, “Quinn Dever...” He paused as if he was uncertain of pronunciation.
I swallowed thickly. “Quinn De-ver-oh” I squeaked, confirming the correct way. Yes, my voice came out as quiet as a mouse—exactly how I felt.
“Quinn Devereaux,” Mr. Struff smiled. “Welcome.”
My mouth twitched and I tried to say thank you, but the words disappeared down my throat, unspoken. Heads rotated, everyone checking out the new girl but I was momentarily overwhelmed, a fish out of water, not knowing how to cope in this new and strange environment. I lowered my head as Mr. Struff continued with the roll, focusing on calming my breathing, thankful for the yoga course Celeste had persuaded Naomi and I to do last year. Except, my heart sunk as I remembered Celeste and Naomi and the whole senior year were on a three day trip right now, bonding and creating memories and having fun. It had been planned for months, a Brizendine senior tradition, but I was stuck here at Snow Ridge High.
Celeste’s reaction to my news had been less sympathetic than I’d imagined. Somehow, she’d made herself the victim in all of this, that my withdrawal from school had wreckedherplans, making the video call extremely awkward.
“What? How could you do this?” Her mouth had puckered, clearly distraught and close to tears. “We were supposed to go to camp together and win another soccer championship and go away for spring break and do our college tours together...and now you’re deserting me?”
Yes, unexpectedly, she blamed me and wallowed in self pity, even though I was the one who was going through the major crisis.
