Page 1 of The Other Half

Chapter 1

Oakley

The excitement I was feeling yesterday has almost completely morphed into nausea inducing anxiety. I stare out the windshield at the fog suspended around the purple mountain tops in the distance, as I try to silence the racing thoughts in my head. My mom impatiently taps her nails on the steering wheel as we wait for the line of cars to dwindle. I really should be driving myself to school by now, I’m seventeen, only a week from turning eighteen. I’m on the borderline of adulthood, and quickly running out of excuses for my immaturity.

“Have a good day, darling,” Mom utters distractedly as I open the door of her silver Volvo and hop out. The crisp morning air invades my senses, along with the scent of diesel drifting over from the parking lot full of school buses.

“You too.” I shut the door and turn around to face the large, brick building in front of me. The words POPLAR VALLEY HIGH SCHOOL are written on the exterior wall with red paint, some of it is starting to peel off at the edges. The first thing I notice is the bland, boxy architecture. It looks more like a prison or a boring office building than a school. At least in comparison to the schools I’ve attended.

I watch as some other students walk through the doorway side by side, talking and giggling loudly. I look and feel undeniably out of place. The other girls are all wearing skin tight crop tops in muted tones, and curve hugging jeans. I glance down at my outfit, taking in the mistake I’ve made. I’m wearing my favorite pink skater skirt, paired with an oversized sweater that has a rainbow knitted across the chest.

This is my first time attending a public school, and I’m afraid I’m already making that fact glaringly obvious. After wearing shapeless khakis and polos for most of my life, I was excited to be able to pick out my own clothes for school. I didn’t realize that I was majorly out of touch when it comes to what’s in style right now.

The warning bell blares through the intercom, and I head for my first class, English IV. This school is twice as big as my last one, so I’m careful not to get lost or walk into the wrong room. A tall guy bumps into me as I carefully read every room number.

“Sorry,” I quip, even though he’s the one that hit me. He keeps walking as if he didn’t hear me.

When I finally find the correct classroom, I sit down at a desk in the back corner. The inside of this school is just as depressing as the outside. Bare, brick walls painted off-white, and dingy, gray tiles line the floor. The chair I’m sitting on is uneven, and rocks back and forth loudly when I make any small movement.

“Oakley Matthews?” My teacher calls out as she goes down the list of names.

“Here,” I mutter.

She looks up at me with a curious expression. “Oh. I wasn’t expecting a girl’s voice.”

I’ve never liked my name for that reason. It’s just one more thing that makes me feel like I’ll never fit in with the pretty girls. They all have pretty names, like Emma or Grace. My name is clunky and awkward, and I feel like it fits my appearance. I’m average height, average weight, but there’s not a single curve on my body. I guess my body type would be called “athletic”, but I’m too much of a klutz to be good at sports, so that isn’t really an apt description.

I hear faint laughter coming from across the small classroom. I look over to see two girls gawking at me shamelessly, and whispering back and forth. Lovely. I do my best to ignore them and pay attention to the teacher, after all it’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.

After what feels like a never ending hour, the bell finally rings. My next class is art, it was the only elective that was available on such short notice. I enrolled here over the summer, and most students picked theirs out at the end of last year. I don’t hate art, but it wouldn’t have been my first choice.

On the bright side, I can tell that this school will be a lot easier, at least academically, than my old one. I’ve already read most of the required books for English back when I was a freshman or sophomore.

I transferred here from the private Catholic school a few towns over, St. Francis Academy. My grades were slipping significantly, so my parents agreed to let me come here instead after I begged for several months. The real reason I wanted to switch? I was sick of being stuck with those same kids I’d known for years. The girls were snobby, and the boys were creeps that expected everyone to bow down to them. Even though my family has money just like theirs, I never felt like I really fit in with any of them. I’ve never felt like I fit in anywhere.

I take a seat in the back of the room just like I did in my last class. I don’t want to get in anyone’s way, and if I can keep people from noticing my bluster of an outfit choice that would probably be for the best. So far I’ve noticed a few people side-eyeing me like my very presence is offensive somehow. Maybe my assumption that people here would be less stuck up was a bit off. None of them seem especially friendly so far.

Right as the bell begins to ring one last student strolls through the door, without any hint of urgency in his step. He lazily collapses into the seat next to me, probably because it’s the only one still available.

I turn to glance at him. His hair is long, hanging past his ears, and the strands gently curl at the ends. It’s a pretty shade of brown, almost an auburn, and it covers half of his face. From the half that’s visible I can see an eyebrow piercing and that his cheek is sprinkled with freckles.

My eyes travel down his body, taking in his wardrobe. His black t-shirt has something illegible written on it, and his jeans have holes in the knees that don’t look like they were put there on purpose. His black Converse shoes are nearly falling apart at the seams, but somehow he pulls off the grungy look better than most. Even sitting down I can tell that he’s tall.

Something about him being next to me is making me feel extremely self-conscious. He has this aura of darkness and mystery about him, but it’s not exactly threatening. More like intimidating. He stands out from the other guys at this school. The rest of them don’t dress that way or wear their hair that long.

I do my best to ignore his presence, but for some reason I can’t stop myself from stealing glances at him. He looks like the type of guy who keeps to himself and doesn’t want any attention, but somehow he’s having the opposite effect on me. Something about him draws me in.

Chapter 2

Oliver

I sit down in the last open desk right before the bell stops ringing, I’m not even technically late, but the teacher’s shooting me a cynical glare like I’ve done something wrong. The teachers at this school love giving me shit just because of how I look, even though I make better grades than 95% of my class. Sure, some of my friends aren’t exactly saints, but I’ve never been caught doing the dumb stuff they do at school, so I shouldn’t be considered guilty by association.

The funny thing is there are some kids at this school who get into way worse shit than we do, but they never have to answer for it because their rich daddies are able to fix it for them. The favoritism and privilege is strong around here.

She shows us the syllabus for the class, explaining the projects we’ll need to do and how many tests we’ll take. This class is supposed to be easy and fun, but I can already tell she’s going to make it a drag. I’ve always loved art. It’s a low cost escape from reality for me, so I hoped this class would be the same. We have a new art teacher this year, though, and I can tell she’s a lot more uptight than our old one. I briefly consider going down to the counselor’s office to see if he’ll switch my elective, but I figure there probably won’t be any desirable ones left open at this point.

I knock my pencil off my desk by mistake, and the person next to me leans over to pick it up before I’ve even had time to notice it fell. “Here you go,” squeaks a quiet female voice.

---