Speaking Of Randomness

I vividly remember some aspects of my first day in high school. Only some. Not all. Some other aspects blur by like I was completely asleep, and wasn’t paying any attention. Now, some of this I’ll have to make up, so that it fits with the story. Some of it, not so much. So, here we go with the narrative.

I hit my alarm clock with more enthusiasm than what is seemingly possible at 6:30 in the morning. I leap out of my bed, bright and sunny, despite the fact that it is ludicrously early, and I didn’t sleep at all the previous night.
I grab the clothing I set out for myself the day before, my kilt and a long-sleeved shirt. I do up my hair in an intricate bun, using a tutorial I’d pulled off of YouTube. I do my make-up and rush downstairs to eat my breakfast, thinking that I won’t have enough time, even though it’s only 6:43, and I only have to leave at 7:30.
Eating, I stare out the window, and think that, this particular moment, there are hundreds (if not thousands) of other teenagers doing the exact same thing this morning. (unfortunately, this is not one of the things I made up, I actually thought about this stuff, believing that I was being profound at the time)
At twenty after seven, I’ve grown much to restless and excited to simply sit and stare at the clock anymore. My parents, who woke up early (bless them) to wish me a farewell, good luck, and safety, smile as I prance out the door, then retreat back to bed.
I stand at the bus stop, staring around, not knowing at all where the bus will be coming from. I rock back and forth on my heels, clicking my tongue, and wishing that my ears weren’t so cold. I clutch my bus ticket, prepared to whip it out and board my bus. I am a runner, crouching at the starting line. I am a tiger, preparing to pounce. I am so ready it’s killing me.
I wait until 7:43, and then the bus finally arrives. I slip my ticket into the machine, and plant myself in an empty seat near the front. I look out the window, and cross my legs, feeling more sophisticated than anyone else on that bus. I do not realize that there is bright orange gum sticking to the bottom of my shoe.
As we drive, I roll my eyes at the boy in the back, frantic because it’s 8:02 and we’re not at school. It starts at 8:28. He’s so concerned about us being late. It’s rather irritating, and at the same time, sympathy-enducing. He will be frantic all throughout this day.
We arrive, and I enter, the sound of teenagers squealing after three months of not seeing one another hitting me full-force. I stand in front of my locker, trying to puzzle out how to open it. I fiddle with my lock, unsure, then all of a sudden, an ungodly sound hits my ears. I jump and stare around, then realize that it’s the bell. I flush and scurry down the stairs and outside to where my portable awaits.
I tentatively ask a passing teacher where portable nine is, and he directs me with a vague wave of his hands, and a simple “over that way”.
I slide into my desk, staring around, shrinking back as I realize that a lot of these kids already know one another. I swallow and drum my fingers on my desk, blinking at the chalkboard. We go through a half-hour opening announcement on the (gasp- so cool!!!) television.
I blur my way through the next few periods, not knowing anyone, not getting lost, but not exactly knowing where I am either. By the time lunch rolls around, I have hit the time of the day I am fearing the most. Where am I sitting??? Oh, dear god, where am I sitting?  I DON’T KNOW ANYONE.
I sit down, and people who are loners alike myself, and who know no one, and who half-recognize me from class sit down with me. We don’t speak, we don’t look at one another, we simply eat in uncomfortable silence, together.
I stumble through my final period, more introductions on the courses, and then the bell rings it’s ghastly ring, and I’m free to go home. I follow the herd of students down the stairs and into the halls, and stop once more at my locker, still trying to figure out how to get it open. I give up, exasperated, and go outside, waiting with the herd of other kids for the buses to arrive. I am no longer a crouching runner. Now, I am a dying bee, ready to just lie down and be dead.
The bus pulls up, and I seat myself down near the window again, alert and awake for my stop. The kids sitting behind me are rowdy and rude. My stomach turns. I lean my head against the window. Someone pokes me in the back. I whip around and glare daggers in every direction. I may be a dying bee, but I can still sting.
I trudge out of the bus, and break through the door. There is silence in my home. I tumble over to the phone, dial my mother, and hear her perky voice asking how my day was. I blink, run it back through my head, then shrug and say, ‘it was fine’. That will suffice. Not every day will be like this.

Now, I don’t think anyone’s first day will ever be an absolute picnic. It’s stressing. It’s scary. It’s new. I was ready for it to be over. It was over. The days following provided much for me to learn. I learned that sitting outside your classroom, waiting for the period change, is extremely nerdy and lame. I learned that if you want someone to sit with in the lunchroom, you have to interact in your classes, learn who has what lunch period, then leap at the opportunity to sit with them. Don’t ask, just sit. I learned that when going through crowded hallways, it is EXTREMELY crucial to keep your head up. I learned that it is important to speak in class, because then people, and the teachers, will learn your name, and know who you are, faster, making it easier to have friends.

I now hang out with my friends in the cafeteria before class. I am a master of weaving through the hall, and never get hit with anyone’s backpacks anymore. I am known by all of my peers, and all of my teachers, as being the girl who’s kind of smart, but not SMART. I’m okay. It only took me an entire school year to learn everything. And there’s a lot I haven’t learned yet. But it’s okay. Because there’s three years left.