Highschool Cliches

A bored sigh escaped my lips as I listened to the drone of Mr. Fletcher’s voice. He was lecturing on some obscure poet I’d already forgotten the name of. School started a week ago, and I can already feel my body and mind weakening at the thought of endless boring topics and homework.

“Is English supposed to be this boring?” a whisper reaches my ears.

I turn my head and stifled a laugh. My best friend, Ciana, sat beside me, her face a picture of exaggerated suffering. Honestly, the whole class looked like they’d fall asleep any minute now. Nothing new there.

I lean over and whisper back, “No, but I think that’s just the effect Mr. Fletcher has on people.” We share a silent laugh, covering our mouths with our hands.

“Is there something you’d like to share with the class, Ms. Abner?” Mr. Fletcher’s voice cut through the air, laced without a hint of amusement.

My stomach drops. I can feel the heat creeping up my neck and into my cheeks. Great. I stammer, “Well, uhm… I…”

The bell rings, a glorious sound that saves me from further embarrassment. I quickly shove my books into my bag, joining the stampede of students eager to escape the classroom. I hurry out the door, not missing the unimpressed scowl Mr. Fletcher sends my way.

“You’re lucky the bell saved you from a ticket to detention,” Ciana says, linking her arms through mine.

I raise an eyebrow at her,“And whose fault is that?” She shrugs, a mischievous glint in her eyes, before weaving through the throng of students surging toward the cafeteria.

Ciana Cage and I met during our freshman year of New Hampton High. We were both two lost and confused souls trying to find a way among the student population of this hell hole of a school. Ciana with her bright, red hair and outgoing personality with dreams to be accepted into the throng of popular folks and me, the plain and logical one whose only goal was to graduate and get as far away as humanly possible from this damn town. Ever since then we just kind of stuck together no matter how odd we might seem for each other.

“I didn’t think starting senior year would be this boring,” Ciana complains, popping a French fry into her mouth.

“What were you expecting?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.

She sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes. “Well, for starters…” Her voice trails off, her gaze fixed on something—or rather, someone—across the cafeteria. I already know who it is.

Everett Young.

Tall, charming, and a star football player, Everett is one of the few guys at New Hampton High who isn’t a complete jerk. I notice his toned arms as he reaches for something from another player. His chest definitely looks broader; the football jersey stretched across it showing off new ropes of muscles. No wonder Ciana is staring. It isn’t because Everett was another hot guy that was on the football team that made him popular; he’s genuinely a nice guy. He gets along with everyone, (nerds included) and volunteers at the St. Thompson Centre for disabled children. I’ve even had a couple of classes with him last year, and he’s always respectful and takes his studies seriously.

“Why don’t you just go talk to him? He’s not like the rest of the guys you know.” I suggest.

Ciana gives me an are-you-crazy look.“Raven, you know better than that. That’s a suicide mission. Girls like us don’t get guys like that. Not when there’s a hierarchy in place.”

I roll my eyes, but I know she’s right. Like any other Highschool, a social ladder existed at New Hampton High too. Some of us just weren’t as lucky to be at the top.

Just then, a loud clanging sound echoes through the cafeteria, silencing the chatter. Standing on a table overflowing with jocks and cheerleaders is none other than New Hampton High’s Queen Bee.

Naomi Archer.

Captain of the cheerleading squad, beautiful, wealthy, and blonde.

It doesn’t get any more cliche than that.

“Party at my house this Friday. Everyone’s invited,” Naomi announces, her voice soft yet carrying easily across the room. It’s a silken voice, the kind that makes you pay attention even if you don’t want to. With that, she hops off the table, and the cafeteria erupts in excited chatter.

“We have to go,” Ciana says, her eyes gleaming.

I’m already shaking my head dreading the thought. “I’m not too enthusiastic about seeing a bunch of horny and drunk teenagers. No thanks.”

“Come on, Raven,” Ciana pleads. “It’s not like we have anything better to do. And if we don’t go, we’ll be labeled as losers.”

I shrug. “I don’t see how that’s a problem.”

“It’s not like it’s your first party!” Ciana exclaims.

“Unfortunately,” I mutter.

A French fry hits me squarely on the nose. I laugh, relenting. “Okay, okay, we’ll go to the stupid party.” It isn’t that I hate parties; I’ve been to a few. It’s just that I’m not thrilled about going to a Naomi Archer party.

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch.

“See you after school?” I ask, grabbing my bag.

Ciana’s face falls. “Sorry, Raven. I’ve got cheer practice after school.”

“It’s okay.”I smile despite my disappointment.

“We’ve just been working on a new routine,” she says, her face alight with excitement.

Ever since Ciana tried out for the cheer squad last week and got accepted, we’ve barely got to spend time with each other.

Ciana told me she has been dancing since she was five years old. Her mother had put her in dance classes early and when she got to middle school, she tried out for the gymnastics team. Her dream was to make it to the national level but now, that dream has somehow turned into that picture-perfect high school experience, the kind where the popular cheerleader and the star football player fall in love.

She tried out for the cheerleading team our freshman year and didn’t get in, and has been claiming to “hone her skill” every year after that. Being that this is our last year, and (if she can’t become a cheerleader then her dream can’t come true) she finally decided to try again and miraculously got through.

Don’t get me wrong I’m happy for her, it’s something she always wanted; fitting in with the popular crowd to make highschool life a little more bearable. I just wasn’t prepared to be missing my best friend so much.

“Oh.” I give her a smile I hope didn’t show my disappointment and she gives me a bright one in return before heading off to her next class.

I sigh, glancing over at Naomi’s table. Most of the crowd has dispersed, but Everett is still there, talking to someone. Someone I’ve had a crush on since freshman year. Someone who was deemed off-limits by the Queen to every starry-eyed girl in school—including me.

Seth Muller.

They weren’t officially together or anything, but anyone could tell by the way Naomi always gravitated towards him with her hand on his arm or how she always had her body pressed into his side. He was (unofficially) hers and anyone who dared to even look like they wanted him was either bullied to the point that they eventually transferred schools or labeled an outcast with people avoiding you like the fucking plague. If that wasn’t a neon sign saying “Stay Away” I don’t know what is.

And that’s precisely why no one knows that I have a crush on him. Not even Ciana. I made sure that I was always careful whenever I would take little glances at him to quench my parched little heart whenever I saw him at the library or when I passed by the football field during his practice times that I memorized.

One couldn’t help but be intrigued by him. To be honest, Seth Muller is a complete mystery to me. For someone who’s the captain of the football team and popular, you’d expect a lot of cliche things, but he’s the complete opposite. He’s popular because he’s handsome, a jock and hung around the popular kids, but his attitude is different. He’s quiet, keeps to himself in and outside of school, doesn’t seem to like the spotlight that always gravitates toward him, and let’s not forget that he’s hot. Easily one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen.

And that’s seriously not an exaggeration.

The way his hair falls over his forehead in that classic ‘bad boy’ way was definitely an eye catcher, but it was the quiet intensity in his eyes that got to me. Like he could look right through you and know everything about you; good and bad. It made me drawn to him. I want him to tell me what he sees whenever he looks at me.

Just as I’m about to look away, he lifts his head, and his eyes meet mine. My breath hitches. I quickly turn and walk toward the cafeteria door, feeling the heat of his gaze on my back. And just as I reach the door, the most mortifying thing happens.

I fucking trip.

My foot catches on something—I don’t even see what— probably the fucking air— and I go down hard. My hands splay out to break my fall, but it’s no use. I land with a thud, my books scattering across the floor.

I scramble to my feet, my cheeks burning. I risk a glance back at Naomi’s table. Everett is trying to stifle a laugh, and Seth’s lips… they definitely quirk up, just the slightest bit.

I turn and flee the cafeteria, my face on fire and my ego thoroughly bruised.

So much for a first impression.