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A Twilight KnockoffChapter 3 free porn video
The town was showing signs of life as I drove down Main Street. The school was across the two-lane highway and down a bit from the hardware store. As I parked next to a beat-up old truck, I watched as a few other cars straggle in and buses belched out hordes of barely conscious children.
I walked into the door marked OFFICE and saw an older woman sitting behind a desk covered in files, her ear glued to the phone as she wrote something down. She glanced up at me and waved to a chair, still speaking into the phone.
"Sorry about that," I glance at a plague on her desk provided me a name, which she confirmed. "I'm Mrs. Dooley, and you must be Patricia St. Marks." Her hands flew through the piles of folders on her desk and came up with one baring my name. Opening it, she removed a few pieces of paper and tossed it back into the mess.
"Let's see," she skimmed down the first page, " you're Aunt, Claire Halbert, has had us all excited this past week. We hardly ever get new students, you see." I nodded but didn't smile; I certainly didn't feel honored. "I'd say you are the latest addition to Harpers Roe since John Old and his wife arrived fifteen years ago! Here's your schedule and a map." She handed me a hand-written list and hand-drawn map. "Come along, let's get you a locker."
By now, it was 8:20 am and the halls were filling up. She led me to what looked like the main hallway and chose a locker right smack in the middle, on purpose I was sure, gave me the combination and left.
I took a hasty glance at the map after stowing my coat inside my locker, feeling like a had a bright neon sign above my head as I tried to find my first class. It was a bit unnerving.
"Hi, you must be Patricia," a voice said all in a rush, making me jump a little as this girl appeared at my side.
"Tricia," I told her and nodded.
"I'm Tracy White; my mom works with your aunt and they said I should show you around." She smiled big, her blue eyes bright and eager as a poodle and buzzing with excitement. She talked so fast it took me a moment to catch up and by then she'd snatched my schedule from my hand as we entered a classroom.
"Hey! We share a lot of classes! I can just play guide and show you everything!" She was frighteningly enthusiastic and I cringed internally. "And I'm sure one of the others will help you to whatever classes we don't have together." The bell rang and everyone grabbed a desk just as the teacher entered.
"Good morning everyone," the teacher, my schedule said Mrs. Bates, said. "We have a new student today. Her name is Patricia St. Marks. Play nice and don't crowd her; she's not a shiny new toy."
Actually, I kind of felt like one as everyone turned to stare.
Everyone in that room fell into the "prep" category, even if they weren't all blondes. Everyone was wearing nice clothes like polo shirts and cute, overpriced shoes, the air was heavy with perfume and all the girls wore makeup. I felt totally out of place in my comfy black pants and layered shirts, my bag was even worse, be-patched and autographed by my friends back home as it was. I took a deep breath to calm myself before I had a panic attack, pasting a false smile on my face.
"Please, its just Tricia," I told them and a couple of girls giggled.
Mrs. Bates told me to take a seat and proceeded to explain the basics of what I needed to know. She told me that this room was the junior's homeroom and that I was to come here first thing every morning for roll call and lunch count as well as announcements. She proceeded to do as she'd described, not asking me to share my life story and keeping the class quiet until the bell rang.
I spent that time pouring over my schedule so that I could avoid anymore helpful students. It didn't work, as I was immediately surrounded, but I felt more confident that I could shrug them off if I needed.
The blonde girl, Tracy, two more girls and two boys formed a circle around me as we exited the classroom, filling my ears with too much information to process as I was herded through the halls.
My first class and, in fact, all junior's first class, was English III. Mr. Ferris was really nice, gesturing to one of only two empty desks in the far back corner and giving me worksheets to do since the rest of the class was in the middle of a lesson.
The classes were set up in a rotating A-B schedule; four classes one day and four different classes the next, all an hour and a half long. I was used to that and preferred it to shoving all eight classes in one day.
What I wasn't used to was Mr. Ferris calling a break half-way through class. Everyone got up and went to the restroom or got a drink or just stretching their legs for a few minutes, getting rid of pent-up energy. It made me wonder why my old high school hadn't done this; it would have made for a more peaceful classroom.
I had Biology II second period, my faithful Five stalking me the whole way. Mrs. Hawthorn was just starting a new chapter so I actually got to participate. Lucky for me, they'd already covered dissection or I might have had to switch classes.
The bell rang for lunch and Tracy and company led the way to the cafeteria, which we had to walk outside to get to. One of the girls, Allison, a tall wisp of a girl, sat between me and the rest at the table. She didn't seem to talk much, which I was quickly coming to appreciate as everyone else began their interrogation.
"So, where are you from?" one of the boys, Eric I think, or maybe Aaron, asked.
"Oklahoma," I replied and waited for the hick comments.
"Wow, that's a long way away," the other boy, Cody, said. "How many planes did you hop?"
"None." I took a drink of soda, thrilled that there was a vending machine. "My dad and I took turns driving." I took a quick bite of my food, thinking that I might not get to eat otherwise.
They talked back and forth and I tuned them out as I gazed around the lunchroom. It looked like a room cram-packed with teenagers, everyone sitting with their own grade except for a few that seemed to wander from table to table.
"What was that?" I asked, hearing the tail end of a conversation.
"We were talking about Morgan and Connor being sorry they missed this," Marie said, another tall blonde that I suspected had an attitude problem. "The last new kids we got were them and the other Hawkins' siblings three years ago."
"But I though that John and Mary Olds were the most recent arrivals fifteen years ago." I felt really confused.
"They are. But the Hawkins family home schooled their kids until the three oldest enrolled in high school," Marie told me.
"I'm confused," I confessed.
"Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins moved here about sixteen years ago from Oregon, bringing their five adopted kids with them," Cody said. "There were rumors that they collected the kids from different parts of the world and that they had to be home schooled to learn English and stuff." Cody shrugged. "The point is, none of them are here today."
The bell rang and we dumped our trays. My fan club went to Spanish and I went to the gym. I was very glad I'd already finished my two years of foreign language and didn't have to try to catch up. I'd also fulfilled my two years of physical education, but I'd rather lift weights that take Agriculture; me and babysitting plants equals a really dead plant.
I walked into the gym, following a group of boys inside to the coach's office. I knocked on the doorframe before walking in; he was reading a newspaper, the sports page to be exact.
"Come on in," he told me as he folded the paper up. "You must be Claire's niece Tricia." I nodded, thinking that news traveled fast. "I'm Coach Blaine. Here's the basic rundown on my class." He leaned forward and clasped his hands together. "We spend half an hour in the weight room, run or walk a mile when the weather permits, I've even been known to hold arm-wrestling competitions," he smiled and I laughed a little. "All you really have to do is show up dressed for my class, work out a little and the rest of the time is yours. Now," he stood and grabbed a binder, handing it to me, "pick a locker that doesn't have a name beside it, write down the combination," he handed me a sticky note, "and bring in clothes and shoes for next time. For now, though," he led me out of his office and pointed to a door at the end of the hall. "There's the girl's locker room. Don't worry, the boy's is on the other side of the gym. Go put your stiff in your locker and follow the other girls."
There were five other girls, which made me feel better, though only one other girl was a junior, the tall girl, Allison. They wore shorts or pants with t-shirts and running shoes; pretty much the universal unofficial gym uniform. I was glad I got to pick my clothes and wasn't subjected to a uniform.
I followed them out to a one-room building between the gym and the cafeteria, shivering as I watched the ever-present clouds devour the weak sunlight. There were eleven boys, all ranging from freshmen to senior, two of them in my class.
The room was packed with all sorts of weights and machines and everybody got busy, Coach Blaine walking around the room to make sure that no one hurt themselves. One of the boys turned on the radio as we worked, the heater blowing warm air at us. I tried not to do too much so I wouldn't stink for my last class; there were showers in the locker room, but it was very cold in there and I didn't have any supplies.
My final class of the day was Creative Writing, taught by Mr. Ferris. This class was a mixture of classmen as well, though, with me, the class only had seven people. They were getting topics to write about and I told him I'd like to try. I copied down the information I needed, guidelines and whatnot, and felt confident that I could handle it.
When the final bell rang, I dumped my books in my locker, grabbed my coat and was escorted by the Five to the parking lot. They ooh-ed and ahh-ed over my Jeep, especially the GPS on the dash, before waving goodbye.
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