Chapter 2

FIRST DAY

I CLOSED MY EYES AND INHALED deeply. I expected a new, leathery smell to fill my nose, but instead, the bus smelled like raw meat, spoiled milk, and dirty socks. My eyes flew open and I wrinkled my nose in disgust. Kara and David always told me middle school was fun, but they have never been to this middle school.

“Hurry up, will ya?” A loud voice boomed from my right. I jumped. I hadn’t realized the bus driver was right there. He had a thick mustache and was going bald at the top of his head. “I don’t wanna be late, so find a seat!!” He shouted at me, his face inches from mine.
“Sorry,” I muttered and turned away from his hawk-like glare. I looked around at the bus. It was still quite empty. I walked down the aisle and found the nearest empty seat possible.
A girl who looked like she was in sixth grade too came to sit by me. As soon as she sat down, the bus lurched underneath us and sped off. I had to hold tightly to armrests next to me to keep from flying off. We rounded a corner and suddenly the tires stopped moving and my whole body flew toward the seat in front of me. “Ow,” I mumbled, rubbing my head. Who knew the seats could be so hard?

When the bus driver, Kurt waited for the kids to board the bus, I took this chance to introduce myself to the girl sitting next to me.
“Hi, I’m Rose Walkman,” I said.
“Hi Rose, my name’s Jill Mataki,” She replied, smilingly shyly.
“Are you also in sixth grade?” I asked her.
She nodded.
“I see… So, do you have any siblings?” I wondered.
“Yes, just one.” She said quietly. “I have an older brother named Jacob. Do you have any siblings?”

“Yeah, I have four.” Jill’s eyes widened when I told her. “There’s Michelle who is eight, Ricky is nine, Kara is fifteen, and David is nineteen. He goes to UCLA. We just moved here a month ago from Kansas because my dad got a new job.”
“I see.” She answered. She opened her mouth again to say something, but right at that moment, the bus sped off again, and she shut her mouth. We were kept quiet until the next stop.

“Hey, are those natural highlights?” She pointed to a strand of blond hair that was mixed into my hair.
“Yeah, but I don’t know where I got them from. Neither my mom or my dad has highlights.” I shrugged.

“So you live at number sixteen on Wilshire Lane, right?”

I nodded.

“I live at number ten. It’s just a few houses down from yours.” She smiled. “Maybe we can hang out together some time that would be fun.” From her tone, I could tell she didn’t have many friends. I smiled back and turned my head so I faced the window.

Our conversation ended there. I would normally have talked more, but I felt quite nervous. Jill didn't start any conversations either, which I was grateful of. I had a feeling we would be pretty good friends.

To be honest, I was feeling quite nervous. It wasn’t my first time going to a new school, so why was I nervous? This was the fourth time I’ve moved and I was already kind of adjusted to the whole moving process. I guess since I am now attending middle school, I just feel more nervous.

We stopped three more times before arriving at the school. I glanced down at my watch—it was eight ten, meaning I had five minutes to check-in and find all my classes. Jill and I walked together to the office which was located to the right of the parking lot. Inside the office, the chairs lined one side of wall; the other side was behind the long counter. There were three windows behind the chairs and they provided most of the light.
We walked up to the desk together, where the main receptionist helped us. She gave us both a map and a schedule of our classes. I looked at it and immediately groaned. Each day we had a different schedule. The only class that stayed at second period was History. How was I supposed to remember the order of my classes or the days when I had math third period? The receptionist told us not to worry, and that we will remember our schedules soon enough.
I hoped she was right.
As for the map, I tried memorizing where all my classes were, but I was quite sure I was going to end up walking around school with my nose stuck in front of it.
Jill and I only had Math, English, and Science together, but I didn’t really mind. Sometimes I liked being alone.
During homeroom period, Mr. Harrison told us about additional classes and after-school clubs we could sign up for next week. I’m planning to sign up for the Math Numbers Club and maybe Cooking or Drama class.
English class came next, and I found the classroom pretty easily. The teacher assigned the seats, so Jill couldn’t sit next to me. She sat next to a boy named Lucas who seemed okay, and I sat next to a chatterbox named Rachel. I had a difficult time concentrating because she kept talking. Eventually, Mrs. Patterson got her to quiet down, and I was able to focus.

After English, I had Math. The class room was next door to Mrs. Patterson’s but I had to walk back to my locker to put down my English book. I didn’t mind because I was quite excited for math.

I skipped into the classroom and sat next to Jill. The tables were set up in six rows, five tables in each row. Jill sat on my right, while another boy named Sam sat on my left. We chatted about school and our likes and dislikes when our teacher, Mr. Wilkes stepped into the classroom.

“Good morning, class,” He announced, walking in front of his desk.

There were a couple “Good mornings” and “Good morning Mr. Wilkes”, but most of us just fidgeted in our seats.

“Okay, let’s try that again.” He announced. I rolled my eyes. I always thought this was dumb of teachers to do. If people don’t feel like saying “Good morning”, then they shouldn’t be pushed to do it. Mr. Wilkes cleared his throat and said, “Good morning class.”

“Good morning,” we replied.

Mr. Wilkes seemed pleased with that and took the class role. “Caitlyn Ariel?”

“Here,” a timid voice answered. Mr. Wilkes nodded and checked her name off. He kept going with the role call until he stopped after Jill’s name.

He paused. “Marilyn Starr?”

“I’m here,” Marilyn answered. Then she muttered something else under breath but I thought I heard “made me”.

“The Starr?” He mumbled under his breath. He shook his head and then continued with the role call. “Rose Walkman?”

“Here,” I replied. He looked up and saw my hand in the air. He nodded and put a little check mark next to my name.

“Now, today we will go over some class rules,” he said, picking up a stack of papers. I felt disappointed right when he said that. I thought we were going to do fun stuff, like equations and charts. Instead we get to go over class rules. Wonderful, I thought sarcastically. Mr. Wilkes walked over to the whiteboard and stopped. “Hmm, now where did I put that dry-erase marker?”

A hand shot up into the air. Mr. Wilkes must have sensed it because he turned around and asked, “Uh, yes?” I could tell he forgot Marilyn’s name, but I probably couldn’t remember the names of thirty children in one day, either.

“Two things,” she replied. “One, my name is Marilyn and two; your marker is right on your desk, next to the stapler.” She smiled smugly and flipped her hair back. Right then and there, I decided I would never, ever, ever, be like her.

“Oh, thank you, Marie.” Mr. Wilkes replied, walking back to his desk and picking up the marker.

“Marilyn,” the whole class corrected, except me, that is. Mr. Wilkes ignored us and wrote on the board:

Rule #1: Be kind to others.

I could barely make out what he wrote. But I wasn’t the only one. Marilyn’s snobby little hand shot into the air again. Mr. Wilkes called on her again and she said in the squeaky voice, “What does it say?”

“Um, can’t you read it, Marie?”

“It’s MARILYN!” She shouted and pushed her chair back. She stood up and marched to the front of the room so she stood face-to-face with Mr. Wilkes. “My name is Marilyn, not Marie, and I cannot read it because of your handwriting!”

The whole class gasped and then became silent.

“In all my years of teaching, I have never come upon such a rude student.” Mr. Wilkes capped the pen and crossed his arms over his chest and glared—and that glare just about made me jump out of my seat—right at Marilyn. Marilyn didn’t seem scared by the glare and even if she was, she didn’t show it one bit.

“Now, why don’t you scoot your little bum all the way to the principal’s office? I’m sure he would love to have a word with you.” Mr. Wilkes said sarcastically.

“Why do teachers have to make it so hard?” Marilyn muttered under her breath. “Okay, then,” she said to Mr. Wilkes, taking out a crystallized wallet. She opened it and extracted some bills. The top one, as far as I could see, was a fifty. A fifty-dollar bill! “I’ll give you all this”—she paused, spreading out eight fifties! Eight.“—if you don’t give me too much homework. After all, I have to work on a new movie with my dad. You know, the movie director, Daniel Starr? Yes, I’m his daughter.”

Mr. Wilkes’ jaw dropped. “Your Daniel Starr’s daughter? I love his movies! And you were that girl that played Melinda in that dog movie right? It was amazing! Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He said, shaking Marilyn’s hand. But then, Mr. Wilkes remembered he was a teacher and said, “I want you to have a good education, though, because if you flunk sixth grade, you’d have to do it all over again. So I guess I won’t give you too much, as long as you learn.” He said. Marilyn handed him the bills. Mr. Wilkes nearly fainted right then. I could tell because his knees shook a little when his hand closed around the dollar bills.

The bell rang, and I dropped my math book off at the locker and walked to history class. I prayed Marilyn wouldn’t have history this period, either, but unfortunately, she was in my class.

My teacher, Mrs. Mann, already had the seating arrangements planned, and you know who sat next to me?

Marilyn.

Little Miss Marilyn that thought she was on top of the world. And what was worse than that squeaky voice, was her attitude. She made me do all—and I really mean all—the work. That includes sharpening her pencil, tearing out her notebook pages, (“So I wouldn’t get paper cuts,” she had explained) and even reading for her. She doesn’t even read! Was she nuts? Reading was my second favorite thing to do! (My first favorite is swimming, just to let you know.) And during class, she took out a mirror and started putting makeup on herself. I hoped she would change.

“Marilyn,” Mrs. Mann’s struck like lightning.

Marilyn looked up slowly, her lips pursed. “What?” She demanded.

“What,” Mrs. Mann replied, “are you doing?” She stood in front of Marilyn’s desk, arms crossed.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m making sure my makeup is per-fect.” She said the last two syllables slowly and clearly.

“Well you know what you’re going to do now?” Mrs. Mann didn’t even wait for her to respond before she continued, “You’re going to the principal’s office.”

Marilyn’s face went from smug to shock in less than a second. But, in another second, her face was smooth again. “No I’m not,” she said coolly.

“And why not, Miss Starr?” Mrs. Mann asked, her foot tapping impatiently.

“Because, I’m going to offer you this.” Marilyn pulled a binder out of her backpack and flipped it to the first page. It was laminated and had a dress design on it. I think I saw that same dress when my mom and I went back-to-school shopping at Nordstrom’s and let me tell you, it was quite pricy. “This is my mother’s design. She owns Stacy Starr, you know the brand name. It’s the best brand and all the celebrities wear it. It’s also number one on InStyle Magazine’s ‘Best Brand Name’ list. She beat Prada, Dolce and Gabanna, Chanel and so many other brands.” A lot of “ooh’s” came from the girls, except me. Chanel? Dolce and Gabanna? Prada? What was she talking about?

And you would think after all that she would probably stop talking about how wonderful her mother’s company is, but no, she just kept blabbering on and on and on until she got to her bribe. She said she would give Mrs. Mann an entire closet-full of Stacy Starr clothes. Mrs. Mann looked at her enviously but surprisingly, she said no. Then, Marilyn offered to give her an eighteen-karat gold necklace and a set of earrings, but Mrs. Mann still said no. Mrs. Mann just thought school was extremely important, and that if Marilyn fails her class, she would have to go back to elementary school and take fourth-grade history all over again.

After hearing this, Marilyn snatched the book out of my hands—giving me a paper cut!—and read through the passage at least five times. And since Mrs. Mann only had thirty copies of A Guide to History and there were thirty-one of us—me being the extra one—Marilyn and I had to share. But, Marilyn hogged the book most of the time, and whenever I tried to ask her to let me borrow it, she just held up a hand and reread the passage—again. And whenever I told Mrs. Mann about our problem, she just frowned and told me we should share. That’s what I’ve been trying to do for the past forty-five minutes, if she hadn’t noticed! But I didn’t complain, and went back to my seat. And every now and then, I would try to catch a glimpse of the book, but that would only make Marilyn hold it closer to her face until her nose was actually touching the page.

Before I knew it, lunch period had arrived and I found myself sitting between Jill and Sam. I opened my paper bag and found a ham and cheese sandwich. Jill had homemade California rolls and chicken teriyaki. I wondered how she could fit all the food in her tiny stomach. Sam bought lunch, and it looked like the cafeteria food you see on TV. He took a bit out of it and he said it actually tasted good. And it didn’t look like he was lying, so I guess it must’ve tasted okay.

After lunch we had PE. And let me tell you, PE is something I’m not good at. It’s not that I’m not the sporty kind of girl, because I am, it’s just I’m a huge klutz. I could fall just walking, or going up the stairs. You could call me lame, but it’s becoming a pretty big problem. I thought about hiding in the girl’s bathroom until PE ended, but then I would probably be considered a coward, so I didn’t hide.

When the recess bell rang, Jill, Sam, and I walked to the gym together. I hoped it wouldn’t go too bad.

“Attention!” Coach Hogan called. Okay, this was going to be bad. “Today, we will start with basketball.” A chorus of moans echoed around the gym. “Hey, no whining! I want you”—he pointed to me—“and you”—he pointed to Marilyn—“to be team captains. Chose your teams!” Marilyn walked sluggishly to the spot Coach Hogan pointed to. “Faster, you wimp!” He shouted. Marilyn sprinted. “Start! NOW!!”

“Uh, okay? I pick… Jill,” I said, pointing to her, who was trying to hide behind a group of taller boys. She walked over to me and sighed.

“Ugh, I’m out of here!” Marilyn shouted, strutting to the exits.

“And where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Coach Hogan shouted in her face.

“I’m going home! Where else could I be going, you dummy?”

“You could be going to the principal’s office. NOW!” Coach Hogan hollered, pointing towards the door. Marilyn flinched and ran out the door, leaving me and Jill giggling endlessly.

The final bell rang and I rushed to the bus stop, Jill at my heels. I was sure that if I didn’t arrive at two forty-five sharp, Kurt would just take off without us and I‘d have to wait for the eighth-graders bus. Luckily we made it on time, though. I wiped the sweat off my forehead as I hopped on the bus. Jill and I took the same seats from this morning and we chatted about our classes the way home. We got of together and she stopped at my house.

“See you tomorrow,” she said, waving as I walked up the steps.

“See you!” I called back. I stepped into the door, closing it silently behind me.

That was when I heard the voice.