Young Blood;

"Put on your war paint..."

           If there's one thing I hate, and know that I despise a great many things, it's transferring schools mid-semester. I already hate transferring schools, which I've had to make a habit of due to my dad's work, but doing it in September is worse. I don't even see the point of it, as I take extra classes online, mostly because of what I miss moving from school to school, but my dad insists. I'm pretty sure it's part of his curriculum of screwing up my life. And no matter how much I argue, I'm always right back here, sitting in an office chair waiting to be handed my schedule. I sigh and hug my backpack to my chest, resting my chin on it's button-clad fabric.
    "Miss Kiselev?"
I look up at the secretary standing in one of the doorways and slowly raise my hand. She smiles mechanically and hands me a sheet of paper. "Here's your schedule, locker number and password. Don't lose it, now."
 "Thanks," I mutter, not really meeting her eyes.
"Do you need a guide to help you to class?"
  I glance at the sheet. "I think I'll be alright."
With that, I leave the office, letting the door shut soundlessly behind me. I wander the halls, looking for the room my third period class is in. Luckily, my flat-soled converse make almost no noise at all against the floor, making no echo to float down the eerily comatose halls. When I make it to the room, I peer through the thin rectangular window set into the wooden door. I see the teacher, a man probably in his early thirties, talking at the board. Not good. I hate disrupting the class. Not because of the fact I'm disrupting, but because when I do all eyes are on me. Taking a deep breath that suffocates me anyway, I turn the knob and open the door.
  Bam. As if a bomb goes off when I open the door, every head turns to me. The teacher, Mr. Penman, looks surprised for a moment before softening and asking, "Are you our new transfer student?"
Trying not to look at the rest of the class, I nod and hand him the pass the office secretary had given me before I left. He looks at it, then smiles and says, "Welcome to Brierfield, Miss Kiselev. You can have a seat over there by Mr. Kendrick."
 I face the class and panic for a moment before a boy near the back of the class raises his hand in a sort of half-wave. I don't look at his face, only clutch the corner of my schedule and make my way down the aisle to the desk I'm assigned. I sit, and finally the weight of the eyes on me lifts, and I take a deep breath and try to let the fluttering in my stomach settle down. Mr. Penman has started teaching the class, informing at me without turning from the board that the class is studying the fourth chapter of a book called The Great Gatsby. I feel a wave of relief when I realize I had read that book already, having read many of the books typically read by high school classes. I don't have the book with me, but after hearing a bit of the teacher's lesson, I realize where they are in the book and know what's going to happen next, so I relax in my seat and study my schedule. I glance from it to the clock and back, and I notice that there's only five minutes left of third period. I sigh softly at the fact that I'll have to do all of that again fourth period, then fifth, and so on.
 Someone taps on my desk, and I look to see the boy Mr. Penman had identified as "Kendrick". He smiles at me, and I think I try to mirror it but I'm not sure how it looks because the nervous butterflies are back. He points to my schedule, and I realize he wants to see it. I slide it to him, and he lays it on his desk and reads it. I focus on my desk for the last few minutes of class. When the bell rings, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and get up from my desk. The Kendrick boy does at the same time, handing me my schedule.
  "Alright, you win the prize of 'most difficult names'," he says, still smiling. My face feels hot, but I manage to ask, "Why's that?"
 He points to my schedule, where the name "Athanasia" is printed. My name. "Oh, that."
  "I don't even know how to pronounce that."
  "It's not that hard. Ah-thahn-ay-see-uh."
  He raises an eyebrow at me, and I shrug. "My dad calls me Sia."
  His smile widens. "Much easier."
  He holds out his hand. "Colin Kendrick."
  I manage a wholehearted smile and take it. "Sia Kiselev."
  He shakes his head, still smiling. "That's one crazy name. Anyway," he starts toward the door, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. I find myself following close behind him, "We actually have a few classes together, including fourth period. I can walk you there, if you want, and show you around the rest of the school."
  We're in the hallway now, and he's turned to face me, that never-faltering smile still on his lips. He has nice, thin lips, and dark blue eyes widened under black shaggy hair. He's a good foot taller than I, but that's not surprising since I'm generally short for my age. I give him a small smile and say, "Sure."
  He gives a small breath of happy laughter and tosses his head, motioning me to follow him. I trot the short distance to his side and match his pace as he starts a conversation about me.
 Where am I transferring from? A public school in Michigan.
 Why the sudden transfer? My dad's work causes us to move a lot.
 What's my dad do? He's a sort of scientist. Computer science or something like that.
 I don't know what kind for sure? He doesn't like to talk about his work, and he's busy a lot, so when we do talk, that's not the desired subject to talk about.
Colin thinks about that for a moment, then says, "I know how that is."
 I cock my head at him, but he just continues with questions.
 "Do you do any sports?"
 I shrug. "I'm good at sports, I guess, but I don't participate in any teams. I like watching."
 "Sweet!" He says, grinning, "Maybe you can come see my baseball game Thursday? It's one of the last ones of the season."
 "Sure, I'll try to make it."
     He stops in front of a classroom and bids me enter. I smile and walk past him, and I take a look around for two empty seats. There, two rows back, near the window. I motion for Colin to follow me and weave my way through the desks before taking a seat. Colin sits to my left, but there's still an empty seat to my right. Colin continues talking to me, but I'm too busy smiling to reply. I feel awesome! I've finally managed to make something of a friend on the first day of school. I laugh at something Colin says before I hear someone move into the desk beside me. I turn and see a boy there, setting his backpack against his seat, and he catches my eye. He nods to me, smiling slightly. Colin leans around me to see the other boy. "Oh, hey Elliot. This is new girl, Sia."
  The boy, Elliot, straightens and holds out his hand to me. "Elliot Hynes."
  Just like with Colin, I took his hand and shook it. "Sia Kiselev."
  He has a nice smile, not constant like Colin, but nice. He let's go and turns to the front of the room, and Colin goes on to tell me that Elliot is on the baseball team like him, then quiets as the teacher walks in. I'm silent through all this because I'm wondering why, when I shook Elliot's hand, he was intent on staring at my arm.



((Author's note: Hey y'all! Just a little something I whipped up when I was bored. Funny that inspiration finally comes at the beginning of the busiest school year ever. >.< but I'm actually having a really good time. It's nice to finally be an upper classman, and going off campus for lunch is thrilling -even if it is only a few minutes down the road to where we eat. Anyway, just a little snippet of a story I intend on continuing :) thanks for reading. Comments are welcome. ))