April 1st
My mother's voice, a persistent buzz, finally dragged me from the warm embrace of sleep. Five whole minutes she'd been at it, her calls a gentle but insistent tug on the edges of my consciousness. But the last few words, spoken with a subtle shift in tone, finally broke through.
My eyelids felt glued together, but I managed to pry them open just enough to glimpse the red numbers glowing on my bedside clock: 5:08 AM. Too early, a rebellious thought flickered in my sleepy brain. But then Mom's voice came again, clearer this time.
"Today's the 1st," she announced, and just like that, sleep vanished. It was like someone had flipped a switch inside me, sending a jolt of pure energy through my veins. My eyes snapped wide open, and a bright, unrestrained smile bloomed on my face. The first day. It was finally here.
I practically launched myself out of bed, the sudden movement sending my blankets cascading to the floor in a soft heap. My feet barely touched the ground as I hurried to the bathroom. My usual slow morning routine transformed into a whirlwind of rushed efficiency. A splash of water for bath, a quick brush of my teeth, a fleeting glance at my reflection – everything was done at lightning speed. My mind raced, a joyful mantra echoing within: New semester!
I pulled on my comfortable home clothes and emerged from the bathroom just as the soft sounds of my little sister, Lily, stirring in her bed reached my ears. It was her turn for the bathroom now. I bounced with barely contained energy into the main room, joining Mom, who was already settled in our usual corner of morning prayers. As we began, the familiar enchanted words were a peaceful backdrop to my budding excitement.
As Mom flipped pancakes, the familiar scent filling the air, my thoughts kept leaping ahead to the day that awaited. The sizzle of the batter and the clinking of dishes were a cheerful soundtrack to my rising excitement.
By the time Lily was out of the bathroom, the clock on the wall read 6:15 AM. I sprang to my feet, eager to get ready for school. My uniform, neatly laid out on my chair, felt crisp and new, a symbol of the fresh start. I slipped it on quickly, the familiar fabric a comforting weight. But it still was incomplete, I grabbed my black mask, now it's perfect.
Standing in front of the small mirror in our room, my smile stretched so wide my cheeks ached. 7th Grade, I whispered to my reflection, the words a silent promise of new adventures, new lessons, and the happy chaos of seeing my friends again.
I found Mom in the kitchen, now slicing fruit for our lunches. With a comb in hand, I waited patiently as she finished her task. Then, with gentle hands, she began to braid my long, thick black hair. The slight tugging at my scalp was a familiar sensation, a small price to pay for the neat, elegant braid that would keep my hair tidy all day.
"Almost done." she murmured, her fingers deft as they wove my hair.
At 7:07 AM, the kitchen clock declared, my braid was complete, a smooth, dark rope down my back. Lily, her small face shining with excitement, was also ready, her uniform slightly rumpled but her eyes bright. The kitchen filled with the happy chatter of our voices, overlapping as we talked about who we hoped would be in our classes and what new things we wanted to learn.
By 7:16 AM, with only thirteen precious minutes left before I absolutely had to leave, I grabbed my schoolbag. Its familiar weight on my shoulder was a comforting reminder of the notebooks and textbooks that held the promise of new knowledge. I bowed respectfully to my Mom as a sign for goodbye, a silent blessing for the day ahead.
Stepping out into the cool morning air, a silent, triumphant shout echoed in my mind. Finally! I thought, a wide grin stretching across my face. Back to school! The thought of seeing Chloe, Ashley, and Shawna again, of the laughter and whispered secrets we would share after the long holiday, filled me with a giddy anticipation. The new semester stretched before me, a clean slate waiting to be filled with stories and learning.
The hallways of Northwood School were a familiar chaos, a swirling vortex of eager faces and the rustle of new backpacks. But today, that familiar chaos felt amplified, charged with the electric thrill of the first day. My own feet pounded a frantic rhythm against the linoleum, my eyes scanning the sea of unfamiliar faces, desperately searching for the right number. Not on the first floor. My breath hitched slightly with a nervous energy as I bounded up the stairs, the scent of floor wax and youthful anticipation thick in the air.
7th A, where are you? The silent plea echoed in my mind as I scanned the green labels above each doorway. And then, there it was, halfway down the corridor, a beacon amidst the unfamiliar: '7th A'. Relief washed over me in a small wave as I quietly slipped inside the classroom.
And then, my luck held. Across the room, near the window, sat a familiar mop of wavy blonde hair. Chloe. My bestie. Our eyes met, a spark of recognition igniting across the distance. For a split second, we simply stared, a silent acknowledgment of the long time apart. Then, I couldn't contain myself. I practically launched myself across the room, a joyful missile aimed directly at her. She rose to meet me, her arms wrapping around me in a hug that squeezed all the breath from my lungs, a perfect mirror of my own excitement.
"Finally, I can see you!" I nearly shrieked, my voice a little too loud in the still-filling classroom.
Chloe laughed, her blue eyes sparkling. "Chill down, drama queen. I know that."
"But you don't know," I insisted, pulling back slightly but still clutching her arm. "Ever since I moved, like, a whole street away, it's been utter isolation! A desolate wasteland of no shared gossip!" I punctuated my complaint with an overly dramatic sigh.
"Jeez, Vienne," she chuckled, rolling her eyes with mock exasperation. "It's been more than a year since you shift, not over yet? But okay, fine, I was lonely too, not gonna lie." Her own dramatic face mirrored mine for a brief, hilarious moment.
"But at least now," I declared, a triumphant grin spreading across my face, "I am no longer alone!"
Chloe laughed, a bright, infectious sound. "Nope, you are stuck with me."
"Good," I stated firmly. "We are sitting together. No arguments."
"Already planned, Sherlock," she replied, a playful glint in her eyes. She gestured towards the seat beside her, where her bright pink backpack already claimed its territory. I grinned, relieved, and dropped my own bag beside hers, practically skipping the last few steps to her side.
"Oi, how have you been?" I asked, leaning closer, eager for all the summer updates.
"Nice," she replied, her smile mirroring mine. "How about you? Anything exciting happen in your world of suburban solitude?"
"As usual," I replied with a theatrical sigh and an eye-roll that made Chloe snicker. We settled into a comfortable rhythm of catching up, the initial rush of seeing each other giving way to the easy familiarity of our friendship.
Soon, more friendly faces began to appear. Ashley, with her perpetually buzzing energy, and Shawna, always observant, spotted us and rushed over with excited greetings. The air around our little corner of the classroom crackled with renewed connections and the eager anticipation of the year ahead.
Then, the shrill, insistent ring of the school bell sliced through the lively chatter. Assembly time. A collective groan rippled through the classroom as everyone began to file out. Oh, the joys of standing in line. At least, being the tallest girl in our grade had one distinct advantage: I always got to stand at the very back of our class line.
The assembly felt like a blur of announcements and well-meaning speeches that seemed to vanish as quickly as they began. Before I knew it, we were shuffling back to our classroom. The initial excitement of seeing everyone had settled into a comfortable hum of anticipation. I chatted with a few more classmates, exchanging quick greetings and highlights, until a figure finally appeared in the doorway.
"Good morning, class," he announced, his voice surprisingly high-pitched for a man who looked like he hadn't slept in a week. "I, Noah Sage, am your homeroom teacher for this semester, as well as your mathematics teacher."
A collective groan, this time audible, rippled through the room. Mr. Sage looked like a tired man in his late thirties, his shoulders slightly slumped, his eyes carrying the weary weight of countless equations. An immediate dislike, unfair as it was, bloomed within me. Not my fault, really. Math and I had a long and unpleasant history, and Mr. Sage somehow exuded an aura of making it even more tedious, a feeling confirmed by the vague, unpleasant memories of last year's brief encounter with him. He was a straightforward guy, plain, and decidedly introverted.
The class began, and I did my best to focus on the numbers swimming across the whiteboard. I think I understood it. Maybe.
Next up: English. A wave of relief washed over me. Mrs. Serene was undoubtedly one of my favorite teachers. Her infectious enthusiasm was the reason I actually enjoyed deciphering metaphors and dissecting sentences. She bounced into the classroom, her smile as bright as the morning sun, genuinely happy to see us all.
Then came Language Arts, and a subtle shift in the atmosphere. Mrs. Sarah. The name itself carried a certain weight, a healthy dose of respect bordering on… well, maybe a little fear. There were reasons. She entered the room, and an almost immediate silence fell. A rare, soft laugh escaped her lips as she surveyed the quiet classroom. "I see," she remarked, a slight smirk playing on her lips as her gaze lingered on a few of the more academically challenged students. "So, you all managed to crawl your way into the new semester."
The bell rang again, and a collective sigh of relief swept through the room. Next: PE. Not my favorite. Not Chloe's either. While a significant portion of the class erupted into cheers, already strategizing games of basketball and soccer, Chloe and I gravitated towards a quiet corner of the gymnasium. The air buzzed with the energy of basketball players dribbling, footballs thudding, baseballs cracking against bats, volleyballs soaring, and the chaotic energy of a budding dodgeball game. And then there was our small contingent, the unenthusiastic observers. For me, it wasn't just a lack of interest; it was a distinct lack of skill. A fact I didn't particularly like, but couldn't deny. I'd tried basketball a few times before, my height offering a fleeting glimmer of hope, but I was nowhere near as coordinated or talented as the others. They never needed me on their teams. Apparently, height wasn't everything.
Finally, the blessed bell signaled the end of PE, and the collective energy shifted towards the universal joy of recess. We joined Ashley and Shawna at our usual picnic table, a small island of familiarity in the bustling schoolyard. Ashley, as always, was the main storyteller, her animated chatter keeping us entertained as we devoured our lunches. Our little circle of four felt like the best kind of small – close-knit and comfortable.
The afternoon classes followed in a steady rhythm. Social Studies with Mrs. Ariana, the school's unofficial sweetheart, her late twenties charm and genuine warmth making history surprisingly engaging. Science with Mrs. Indie, a wise and respected woman in her forties, whose calm demeanor made even the most complex theories seem understandable.
Then came Music. Not my forte. My appreciation for singing was minimal, and listening wasn't much higher. But Mr. Patrick had a certain quirky enthusiasm that somehow held my attention.
And then, the class I'd been most curious about: Skill Class. A new addition to the school curriculum, a long list of options finally narrowing down to Fashion Designing for me. The idea of creating, of bringing designs to life, had instantly captured my imagination. Everyone in the class seemed equally intrigued, the air buzzing with a creative energy I hadn't felt in any other subject. This new class, to say the least, was fascinating.
Finally, the last bell of the day rang, a sweet, liberating sound. We all streamed out of the school building, heading in our separate directions. A general air of happiness and relief permeated the crowd. And while I was happy the first day was over, a small, honest part of me already missed the vibrant energy of the school. My house, while comfortable, often felt quiet in comparison. School was never boring. And somehow, I had a feeling it never truly would be.
.
.
.
My fingers ran along the soft fabric of the velvet Diary, feeling it's beautiful texture, as I gently closed it. A smile plastered as I fixed my gaze on it. With swift movements I placed it inside my bookshelf, at the bottom and in the most depth, making sure to cover it with many other books before closing the bookshelf. A sigh of relief escaped my lips as I eyed around, neither sis nor mom, good. This isn't supposed to be seen...