"Hope! Honey, wake up," my mom shouts, running up the stairs and barging into my room. "Oh," she then says, realizing I am almost ready to leave for my first day of school. I skip over to hug her tightly, ignoring the fact a pile of clothes lay cradled in her arms and she sighs, giggling. "Hope, you should really have something to eat before you go. I know you might be nervous, but-"
"I'll go eat now, mom, don't worry," I reply with a smile, elated and full of life. I'm a morning person. How can you not be? The sun's rays streaking through the window, giving off a warm orange glow as it rises. My mornings are generally joyful ones, although my constant state is happiness, much to the discontent of a few people I've met. Today I am starting a new school, having moved here at the start of summer, and I have made it to my senior year. Even though starting a new school can be nerve-racking, I can't seem to bring myself to be scared, I'm just so excited, shaking from my inability to stay still when I'm so excited rather than from anxiety of meeting new people. I've done that a lot this past year.
I dressed in a big off shoulder mustard sweater and ripped blue skinny jeans. My cute new backpack is white with cat ears and a cat face on the front, tassels for whiskers. I plaited my ginger red hair into two dutch braids and slapped some brown mascara on to accentuate my green eyes. I always hope that my glasses don't hide my eyes too much, as they are my best feature in my opinion, but I don't mind my glasses. They are more circled shaped with a rose gold rim. Finishing off with cherry lip gloss, I grab the cereal box from the kitchen and chug down some out of the box.
"Hope," my dad scolds, but chuckles as he sees my guilty look from his study chair. "I'm sure that's not what your mother meant when she said eat some breakfast. What manners did we teach you?" he playfully comments. "Good luck today, not that you'll need it. They're the ones who need the luck, just because you're crazy."
"I'm not crazy, I'm just happy," I reply with a wide smile. He smiles back, a genuine smile, a pitiful smile though.
"That's good. I'm glad."
"Stop worrying, dad. The car will be fine, I'm totally fine. I gotta go now," I exclaim, jumping in excitement. "Love you, dad!" I cry as I dash out of the house.
My dad had gotten me my own car, even though certain things have stopped me from driving it. He was hesitant at first, but I begged him for the freedom and took my test with no problems... somehow. The car isn't expensive or anything, but I'm extremely grateful for it. It's difficult to thank my parents for the things they do for me, and everything they give me because they end up teary eyed and hugging me. Although, I love hugs.
I drive my car into the buzzing parking lot, seeing a good available spot with a free space on either side of it. I'm not the best driver, in fact, my old friends said I was awful at driving. As I look around out the windshield of my car, I stare at the vast array of sports cars around, with hundreds of students in among those cars, guys in designer kicks and Letterman jackets whilst girls in plaid skirts or jeans with big hand bags. I know that I'll stick out like a sore thumb, but I don't care. Being different isn't what I'm going for either, but if I am, they just have to accept me.
My parents don't exactly earn lots of money, not enough to put me in private school for all my high school years but this is my senior year in a new state, in a new city, LA, and they wanted me to go to a private school for this final year. But I am far from rich, and far from designer.
Gathering my stuff from the passenger seat, I open my door with a wide smile, excited to meet new people and start a new year. I want more than anything to graduate, but know it will be difficult as I'm severely lagging behind at all the times we moved last year. I could barely get a handle of the work junior year as my several teachers started at different places, getting me all muddled. This is will be different. I'll work extra hard.
Skipping into up to the steps, I ignore any look sent my way, feeling so light on my feet that only a single balloon can lift me away. I was told to meet the welcoming committee at the principal's office so I follow the signs and scurry along, hoping to keep time and make a good first impression.
Knocking on the door with enthusiasm, I hear a muffled 'come in' and I enter to be greeted by a small man with thick black rimmed glasses and a bald patch on the top of his head. His polite smile widens when he sees my expression, and he offers me a seat at his desk.
"Miss Matthews, it's very nice to meet you. I'm Principal Daniels," he announces, shaking my hand from across the table, his hand sweaty and warm. "I'm aware of your situation and I know that you don't want anyone to know." I sigh, although keeping my smile. I just want to push past everything else and live in the moment. He tells me a few of the staff know and that's it so I nod to that. A couple of students, a guy and girl, enter his office, slouching and huffing. "Melissa, Freddie, this is Hope. Hope, these two are the welcoming committee. Anything help you need, finding classes, a good friend, they'll be more than happy to help," the principal exclaims however the two students don't share his enthusiasm. I throw them both a big smile which turns their expressions into confusion. "They'll show you to your locker and then your first class." I jump up out of my seat in excitement, slightly surprising and alarming all of them, maybe the principal for a different reason, and thank the principal.
Melissa and Freddie lead me out, both their faces a little brighter than before.
"It must be a pain welcoming new students, having to let them follow you around for the first few days like lost sheep," I begin, looking to both of them.
"Most of them are stuck up assholes who need the help but won't accept any," Freddie mutters, narrowing his eyes at me. I just smile back, unsure of what his expression is trying to convey. "Why are you smiling? You're going to school, here. You're gonna get beat up if they sense weakness."
"Who are they?" I ask innocently.
"The vultures. The populars. They pray on the weak. Veronica loves some new meat, someone she can bully or someone she can recruit. With that spirit, she might make you a cheerleader. But, with those trainers, maybe not," Melissa says with a grimace at the word cheerleader. I guess she doesn't like cheerleaders, or Veronica, probably a popular girl.
"I'm sure she's not that bad," I comment.
"She's the worst," Freddie declares as a fact. "You seem very innocent, you'll get led astray." I furrow my eyebrows and pout. Then I smile again, and roll my eyes.
"I'm not innocent, I'm nice, and happy. There's a difference," I reply. "Why do you get made to welcome the new people?" I ask, changing the subject.
"We're siblings, and the principal's children," Freddie says and my mouth forms an 'oh' shape. They do all have similarities with each other but I can't really tell based in appearance that they are related. Melissa has light brown hair as her father's and the same color eyes to match whilst Freddie's hair is blonde with grey eyes. Their noses and lips are similar though. "That's why we're exempt from Veronica's wrath. Her dad's rich so he could make our father do anything, but she doesn't like playing that card too often. If you stays out of our way, she thinks she'll be fine. She did bully Melissa before she knew who she was."
"Wow, that's horrible," I say with a sympathetic look towards Melissa.
"Don't get all pitiful now, it could happen to you," Melissa says, scolding my sympathy. I shrug to off and continue to walk. "Here we are." I notice them come to a stop. They both exchange concerned looks at where we've stopped but don't say anything.
"We're in your first class it looks like," Freddie says, analysing my schedule. "The class is down the hall, turn right and first class on the left. We have to get to our lockers." They both begin to walk off, and I thank them, which weirdly surprises, before they continue away.
I struggle with my locker, entering the combination twice already but still no luck of opening it. I patiently try a third time when I hear a cough behind me. I turn myself around to face three guys, big looking guys, all handsome and fit. The one to the right has blonde hair, much like Freddie's, but it was longer and wavier on top. He has a cheeky smirk plastered on his face and he runs his fingers through his hair. He leans back on his heals, assessing me with raised brows. The guy on the left has black hair and dark skin, wearing a Letterman jacket and hugging a football to his side with one arm. He raises an eyebrow at me as he narrows his eyes. The last guy is scowling at me, anger in his eyes which I am confused about. His dark blue eyes darken as he watches me intently. His dark brown hair is curly on the top of his head whilst the sides are shorter. He wears a leather jacket, as your so-called bad boy would, and I assume these are some of the populars, the guy versions. He's really very hot, the grey t-shirt under his jacket clinging to her perfectly-sculpted body, his defined abs even showing prominence under the material. Instantly, I give them a wide smile which confuses all three of them.
"Hi, sorry, am I in your way?" I ask politely, looking straight into the eyes of the hot guy in the middle. "I'm Hope, I'm new here." I step aside for him, but his eyes just follow me.
"Hope," the blonde guy says, still smirking. "Cute backpack." I beam at him, to which he chuckles at.
"Thanks," I reply innocently. "Um..." I say, waiting for a name.
"Tyler," he says. I can't help but look over to the bad boy, who seems to be staring at me, unwavering. "This is Malik," he declares, gesturing to the black-haired boy. "That's Hunter." The bad boy's name is Hunter. That's cute. I figured he would have a hard name, like Hunter, and it's really suits him well.
"Did you not need to get to your locker?" I ask Hunter, who hasn't moved since I moved aside. I smile at him and raise my eyebrows.
"Move," a female voice from behind me orders, shoving at my shoulder harshly.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I apologize, moving aside for her. I angle myself to face her and somehow instantly know that this girl is Veronica. The way she holds herself with such confidence, her blonde locks cascading over her shoulders perfectly. In fact, everything about her looks perfect, from her clothes, to shoes, to bag, to makeup. Flawless. I beam at her, which she snarls at. And I still feel Hunter's eyes on me.