The Golden Corset, page 8
By the time I arrived at school, I was feeling edgy again, would today be just as good? Or were people already bored of me and used to my looks? When I arrived at my locker, my mouth nearly dropped. Skillfully taped on the front of the locker was a bouquet of roses and leaning against it was a care basket that included scented candles, a loofah, a fuzzy bear, and lastly, a note. With haste, I tore the envelope from the metal door and read the card:
With Love, Your Secret Admirer
Aww, how sweet! Nobody ever got me a surprise gift like this before. I could feel my face blister on the verge of tears again. Be cool, be cool, I instructed. But who was this secret admirer? Who was I kidding? I knew exactly who it was from.
But when I turned my head, I saw a pimply-faced boy looking at me with a sneaky, Cheshire Cat grin on his face—it wasn't from him, was it? My eyes shifted; a large guy with glasses was smiling with a look of devoted veneration. Possibly him? I looked yet again and saw a lanky boy smirking and holding a thumbs up. The possibilities were endless!
No, I wouldn't allow myself to carry these treasures around the school and make a mockery of myself. With dexterity, I unlocked my locker, ripped the gifts off the door, and shoved them in. It's a good thing I didn't have much in the locker—I had never been able to afford the decorations that most girls had in theirs. Wait—how did my secret admirer know that this was Gwen's locker? Technically, it was Sarah's locker. Maybe he had seen me use it yesterday. Stalker.
The bell rang and I hurriedly clip-clopped to my first class. Oddly, I thought a surprise gift would make me feel proud and thrilled, but conversely, I now felt embarrassment and shame. A few guys snickered as I passed by. Oh whatever—I guess I felt slightly boosted. As I entered the doorway into U.S. History, I was barred by none other than the nasty, smiling face of Angelo.
"Hey, gurl—how you doin'? Dang gurl, you look mighty fine today."
I gave him an uneasy smile and attempted to scoot right past him.
"Oh hey, look, I just wanted to apologize for yesterday. I know I was comin' on a little too strong."
Was Angelo apologizing to me? Angelo? The guy who threw everybody insults?
Wow, Gwen, your looks must be out of this world to get a guy like Angelo to self-reflect and own up to his misbehavior.
"It's all right," I said in an awkward voice. Ew, why was I accepting his apology? Maybe because I wanted him to scoot out of my way.
"Is it cool we call a truce?" Angelo said, holding out his arms. Does he want a hug? Uh, no thank you, obviously! He took two steps forward, and the next thing I knew, we were awkwardly hugging. Well, he was hugging. His chest pressed against mine, pressing my boobs. Gross! Why did it feel like he had little groping hands on his chest that were testing the largeness, softness, and roundness of my breasts?
I pulled away quickly. "Okay, cool," I said, avoiding his gaze and eagerly distancing myself from him. Being the new girl, it would probably be acceptable if I chose to sit in a different spot, seeing how assigned seating didn't apply to me yet. Today, I decided to sit at the desk farthest away from Angelo. Second to the front, very far left.
Angelo wasn't necessarily a bad-looking guy; he was kind of handsome in some respects—some. But it was his translucent, pervy attitude that made him one hundred percent unattractive to me. If he were genuinely kind, sweet, and respectful . . . who knows? Maybe he would make my little heart flutter.
Effortlessly gliding into my seat, I unzipped my bag, pulled out the homework, and waited patiently. Only the first bell had rung, so students were still filing in.
"Hey, you're new, right?" said a guy beside me in a tentative voice. I glanced over—it was Noah Bartley. Noah's hair was cut short and flaming red. He didn't look like the nerdy type, though. Quite the opposite. He was kind of muscular, tall, slightly beefy with a handsome-ish face. As Sarah, someone like Noah could be an ultimate dream man: good-looking, but not too good looking. Attainable, but realistically—semi-unattainable. I didn't know much about his personality, though. All I remembered was that he always talked to the people sitting close to him and laughed a lot.
"Hey," I said, flashing him a wide smile.
"Hey," he said, looking shocked.
"Oh, duh—yes, I am," I corrected, hitting my head like the buffoon that I was. "I mean, to answer your question."
"And you said you're originally from Norway?"
"Originally," I emphasized too excitedly, "but I lived in California most of my life, not too far from here."
"That's neat. Yeah, I have ancestry from Ireland, as you can probably tell because of my red hair," he laughed. "I mean, I don't know why I said that—it's not like Ireland is exactly next to Norway or anything, but it's in Europe. I mean, I think so." He laughed again.
Was he nervous talking to me? Why did I find that so utterly adorable? It was appealing to the nervous-wreck Sarah inside of me. This was probably what I, Sarah, sounded and acted like to ninety-five percent of the male population. No—I probably sounded more like a yeti.
Stop! Be confident, Sarah. Now!
"I'm pretty sure it's in Europe," I said, playing along. "Relatively close in fact." And he laughed a little too hard which caused me to start laughing a little too hard. Oh, the chagrin! Oh, the preposterous shame!
"Okay class, let's all settle down now," said Mr. Nelson. "We've got a big quiz coming up, so I know today will be one of your favorite days: pure lecture.
The class gave a unanimous groaning sound.
For the rest of class, I basically had an anxiety attack. I was left to sit with only my jibber-jabbering worries screaming at me, protesting backstage, demanding that I listen to them—but I couldn't listen to all of them! There were too many standing in line, impatiently tapping their toes. And most of the little thoughts were about boys. And they were all repetitive! Boys, I discovered, brought a whole slew of worries. Okay, it was official; I self-diagnosed myself with OCD. My brain always obsessed. This explained everything. It explained why I preferred things moderately clean—was it too much to ask for to keep things relatively sanitary? Great, this revelation had put more little thoughts in line. They were all in an uproar now! Pleading, I begged them all to stay at bay, but then they started to corner me—criticizing me!
I'm sorry, little babies! I'm so sorry!
No, stop! I shouted internally. Pull yourself together, Sarah! From now on, all of you shut up! In fact, I knew a perfect way to make the pesky thoughts disappear. For the last five minutes of class, I imagined I was a graceful siren—or better yet, a mermaid! And I was swimming in a sea of lucid thoughts, giggling, joyously talking to happy little fish. But wait—how did my seashell bra look? Oh just perfect, I'm doing it again.
As soon as the bell rang, I lunged from my seat and flew out the door. Sorry, I can't talk to you Noah or Ashley, and no, I don't want to talk to you, Angelo! I screamed in my head. Everything is going to be okay, I comforted myself. Everything is all right because—
"Hello, Gwen," said a liquidy, accented voice. "Where are you rushing off to?"
Immediately I froze. I had just bumped into Mark's torso—Mark's muscular, hard, torso encased in a tight, black shirt. I couldn't deal with all of this right now!
"You seem upset. How can I help?" Mark leaned in close, beguiling me with his intoxicating scent. Why did I suddenly feel like I was in a white dress with sleeves hanging off my shoulders? "Everything will be all right, calm," he said in a hushed voice.
Oh no—he was pulling me under, hypnotizing me with his spell! At least the little pesky thoughts were leaving, happily sprinting away, hopping on motorcycles, jumping ship, rowing away in their canoes as fast as their little arms could pump.
"Do you need to take a break from this place?" Mark asked, his muscular arms leaning against the locker, trapping me in a small cavity. My heart was thumping, practically crying; fireflies were exiting the nest, burning me alive, flying all the way down to my new, tiny toes! His face leaned in close to me, and I could smell his minty breath. I turned my head at once, exposing my neck.
"No!" I said suddenly, surprising even myself. Mark pulled back at once. "I have to go to class," I said panting. Boy, would my mom be proud, I thought with an inward snicker. I was ditching a chance to ditch so I could go to class like the studious little girl I was. But really, I knew I had to get away—get away from it all! I needed to hop on my white stallion and charge through the hallways crying, my hair's loose waves blowing in the wind. Was my lover calling my name? No, he wasn't. Then, perhaps he was being silent out of respect.
With agility, I rounded the corner and jostled through the crowded hallways. Unusually, guys were smiling at me as I brushed past them. They probably thought they had hit the jackpot by bumping into a gorgeous girl. Unbeknownst to them, they weren't getting rammed by a beautiful blonde but a portly brunette who could never achieve smooth, silky hair waves like the ones Gwen possessed. In distress, I continued through the halls until a voice halted me in my tracks.
"Hey, hey, wait, Gwen!"
Immediately, I turned around to face the familiar voice, the voice I would have recognized from miles away. It was Brent. Oh, glorious Brent! How did he look even more handsome than I remembered? His bangs were gelled and spiked, and warm, yellowy hallway light fell on his hair—his golden-brown crown. He looked like a victor of the ancient Olympic games! Except . . . weren't they naked? Oh well—don't think about that, I chided.
"Hey, Gwen," he repeated. Have mercy, I beg thee! My fragile heart couldn't take any more pump. "I just wanted to say 'hi', see how you are doing. I texted, but I never heard back."
For some unknown reason, reacting on some impulse, I flung myself toward him and wrapped my arms around him, his strong, V-shaped torso. I could tell I had caught him by surprise; he flinched. But then—then his warm, caring arms, his naturally muscular arms wrapped around me, sweeping me toward him. Oh, it felt so impossibly good, too good. Better than I could have ever, in my wildest existence, possibly imagined! I felt a flood of happy endorphins, but more importantly, I felt safe, secure, protected. The feeling felt so right, my head resting on his soft but firm chest. I felt like I was at home, and Brent smelled like fresh laundry—natural and a little woodsy. I allowed my eyes to close for a second . . . but then snapped them back open. No, I couldn't do this either—not until I could figure out my emotions. I pushed myself away from his embrace.
"I have to go to class," I said softly, and I dashed to the door of my chemistry class. The last thing I saw was Brent's shocked, sorrowful eyes, followed by what I thought was a smile of elation. I couldn't be sure though, because now I was inside the classroom.
Twenty minutes later, I practically cursed myself for not enjoying that hug even longer. It had been the best feeling I had ever felt. Better than eating chocolate, buying new clothes, and reading a good book! If I had just given myself two more seconds—two more seconds! And if I had only permitted myself to squeeze even tighter, then maybe I wouldn't be obsessing over it so much.
"Your cheeks look pretty red. It looks really pretty," said a nondescript boy in front of me after turning around.
Yeah, yeah, keep your eyes at the front.
I gave a courteous smile, and he turned back around. Come to think of it, my cheeks did feel pretty hot. It was all the fantasizing. It seemed the boy in front of me wasn't the only guy to notice; almost every guy in class was staring at me or stealing cursory glances in my direction. Well, that's just swell. I wasn't paying attention, and they probably weren't paying attention either, which meant that our class's grade average was going to significantly drop. Why were all the guys staring so much? They hadn't stared this much yesterday. Maybe because I had dressed the part and done my hair. Or maybe they could smell my pheromone levels—my through-the-roof pheromone levels which were causing the boys' primitive brains to send messages to start salivating. Whatever the reason, the stares were starting to get kind of annoying, and it was hard to continue fantasizing about Brent's hug with a male-dominated audience!
By the time chemistry had finished, I felt more like my usual self—my normal healthy self, that is. My pulse had slowed, my cheeks felt less prickly, and my brain felt significantly calmer—until I remembered PE!
Don't fret, I told myself. Don't think about guys—just distract your mind with something else.
When I entered the girls' locker room, I saw two girls hovering near my locker. I believe their names were Emily Carsen and Lauren Wiles. They were pretty girls and sort of popular. Emily had dark-brown hair that always looked like she had used her straightener too long. Lauren had medium-length, dirty-blonde hair and a sort of babyish face. They were giggling and chatting with each other until I began to unwind my locker lock.
"Hey," Lauren said. "You're that new girl from Norway, right?"
"Guilty," I said indifferently, not taking my eyes off the lock.
"Well, that is so cool. You look like you would be really nice."
"Yeah, and your hair is so pretty," Emily chirped.
"Thank you," I said with an appreciative smile. You know what? Why was I wasting all my time obsessing over boys when I could be making girlfriends? Weren't girlfriends supposed to be a kind, nurturing support group? "You both look really pretty, too," I added honestly. The two girls smiled back at me, and boom—it seemed like the start of a real friendship.
Quickly, I changed out of my dress and heels and into my PE uniform and comfortable shoes. Yes! Thank you, deity of relaxation—those strappy heels were killing me! Courteously, Lauren and Emily waited for me to change, chatting excitedly until I appeared in front of them. They smiled genuinely back at me until their eyes dropped down to my shorts. Confused, I glanced down, too. Oh no, did I have a stain? Had I peed my shorts or put them on backwards?! Nope—they looked fine to me. I then noticed their shorts which were rolled up high, revealing their hairless, white legs.
"Oh, right," I said instantly. "Almost forgot." Hurriedly, I rolled up my knee-length gym shorts.
Walking outside the locker room felt like walking in a fashion show. A brisk wind blew our hair as we walked; we looked like a troop of Barbies, and the girls let me, Sarah, walk in the center. Everything stretched out into slow motion, and everyone stared at us. Guys, girls—I'm pretty sure even the birds turned around to gawk at us. We were pretty cool, walking like we belonged on a runway. Yep, it was pretty vain—and it felt awesome!
As an added touch, I threw back my hair, turned my head, and smiled. The jaw of every boy in the vicinity dropped immediately—except for one. Mr. Kick's assistant was just staring at me with a tight lip. His eyes locked on mine. The dark circles framing his eyes weren't comforting, but the creepy thing was the way he was staring. He wasn't staring with admiration or envy but with lust, like a predator anxiously awaiting a meal. His eyes traveled down to my legs and stayed there. Lots of guys had stared at me in the last two days, but this leering was creepier by far. I suddenly didn't feel proud of my long, tan legs but protective of them. I wanted to hide them, unroll my shorts to conceal my legs' innocence! But no—I had to keep cool. I had to stay in uniform. With my armed forces, I was impenetrable.
"Okay, class—get on your numbers so we can begin roll call," Mr. Kick said. "Oh, and don't forget, the school year is almost over, summer is here, so next week we enter into the last unit: swimming!"
Swimming?! Horror of horrors! I despised swimming. I couldn't swim well. The water always felt too cold despite the heat, my nasty hair always dried even curlier . . . and now I had to worry about what swimsuit I was going to wear!
8. FOOD AND METAMORPHOSIS
When physical education class ended and I was no longer being physically educated to abuse my body . . . In fact, why do they call it 'physical education?' We weren't taught anything about the biology of the human body, the chemistry of glycolysis, or the physics of movement, energy, kinesiology. Heck, they should call it the 'sports and running time-filler class'. That's what it should really be called. Anyway, I excitedly strode to my favorite class.
In English, Mr. Hernandez—my eccentric, politically opinionated English teacher—told us we were going to put Shakespeare on hold and start our last unit: psychology.
No more Shakespeare?!
How I must lament! For I fear that I will lose another lover—not a man, no, but a lover who is words! Sorrow I feel! Sorrow consumes me! Not as a single thief, but a battalion of robbers! Ready to rob my heart!
Okay, okay, I was being way too dramatic, but seriously?! No more Shakespeare? This was supposed to be English class, not psychology. Was this even on the syllabus, or had Mr. Hernandez just added it on at the last second because he was jealous that I understood the literature better? Hah! Well, little did he know that I practically have a Masters in psychology from the University of my D-N-A! A knowledge of psychology was practically woven into every human female's deoxyribonucleic acid since birth!
Oh, well—if he wanted to get on his soapbox and rant about political storms again in the name of psychology, I wouldn't stop him.
"Gwen, is it?" My eyes darted up at once. Holy smokes! It was the effortlessly cool, dark-haired artist, Harris Roads.
"Yes. Harris, was it?" I said, playing coy. Dang! Two days of beauty and I was practically metamorphosing into an expert at flirting—like metamorphosing into a love-teasing moth! Ew—I had always thought moths looked gross. A love-teasing butterfly sounded better.
"Yeah." He shrugged and adjusted the toothpick sticking out of his mouth. Wow—he was so cool. "Do you like music?"
