The day was damper and mistier than any other day Virginia had seen so far in the mountains. The clouds were gray, and the air was chilly with a light breeze. Alone, without her uncle, she drove the old Bronco down the final street before coming to Mason High.
"Turn right, and the destination is on your right," said the GPS on her phone.
Holding the steering wheel tightly in her left hand and the stick and phone in the other, she fidgeted with the clutch and the gas, trying to familiarize herself with the proper transitioning of each pedal after shifting gears.
Directly ahead of her on the right was Mason High.
Fear sank into her. "Okay, you've got this. Don't let anyone stop you. Don't look at anyone. Just shift gears and transition like how you've been doing…"
Not a moment after she finished speaking to herself came the time of trial. She slowed down and slowly made a right turn into the student parking lot.
"Turn right," said the GPS. "And the destination is on your right."
She saw the clock tower to her left in the distance and the old high school to her right. Then, shaking her head, she tightened her lips and breathed deeply through her nose, giving all her attention to what was in front of her.
In jerky stops and goes, she slowly drove the old Ford Bronco around the lot. Despite her brief encouragement, she had not yet fully mastered the transition of the clutch and gas as she had tried to convince herself. By giving it little gas and pulling off the clutch too soon, she drew the unwanted attention of her new peers, especially the preppy kids, by continuously stalling and restarting the old truck. The engine would die, and they would stare at her, laughing each time she restarted her vehicle.
Virginia saw them leaning against their sports cars, laughing at her. They're looking at me. They're laughing at me.
Virginia pulled her hood over her head, veiling her face from the humored crowd; however, they did not desire to be unrecognized.
Several teenage boys from the crowd, who appeared to be on the wrestling or football team by their letterman jackets, ran out in front of her. Virginia jumped at their stunt and pulled her foot off the clutch, stalling the engine again. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to recover from the shock. Once she regained focus, she saw the guys surrounding her car waving their hands as if to direct an aircraft on its runway. Being forced to take their escort, she followed them through the parking lot. After a brief time being led through lane after lane, she finally found where they were leading her: the back of the parking lot. Her crew left her to find her own way, and with faces flushed red with laughter, they ran back to their crowd.
Virginia felt like crying. She tightened her lips firmly, pulled her hood further over her face, and forced herself to continue driving. Many spots were open in the back; only three other cars were parked back in the entire lane; Virginia's clunker made it four. She pulled into a free spot and stopped, but not before letting off the clutch too soon, stalling the engine one final time as she pulled into the parking space. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw even tighter, trying to hold in her frustration.
"Arrived," said her GPS.
She pulled the keys out of the ignition, put the emergency brake on, grabbed her backpack from the passenger seat, placed her phone inside of it, and got out of the truck. Can it get worse?!
The damp air met Virginia as she stepped out of her vehicle. A light, chilly breeze swept across her face. She zipped up her hoodie, closed the door of her truck, and walked towards the main entrance of her new school. The closer she got to the building, the more she could hear the laughter of the group of guys and girls from before, standing a few parking spaces away. She lowered her head and looked away, hoping that her hood would shield her face from their attentive gaze; however, it would not do anything to silence their voices.
"Hey!" called one of the guys. "Nice truck! What junkyard did you find it at?"
Virginia threw her arms through the straps of her backpack and held onto them with her thumbs. Lowering her head and looking away, she kept walking.
She approached the front entrance of the school building. After walking up its steps, she pushed open the double doors and entered her new environment. The halls were swarming with a sea of unfamiliar faces; not one of them did she know as a friend, and no one knew her as a friend. She looked to the left and the right, trying to remember where her new locker was located. Following her hazy memories, she turned to the right and started walking. No one gave her a second glance as she walked through the crowd. Like a ghost, she floated by undetected. They laughed and talked with one another, but no one took notice of her presence. She kept her head lowered and moved on, her hood casting a shadow over her face.
Before her was a hallway that branched off to the right. She recognized this hallway as the one where her locker was. She turned and walked down it. In front of her were two classroom doors on the right and a single one on the left. Further down at the end of the hallway were two glass double doors with a blurry light shining through due to the morning dew and mist.
She remembered her locker was on the left side of the hallway, just past the classroom door. With all her effort, she pushed through the crowd, attempting to reach the other side of the hallway. Finally, after being run into, bumped, pushed, and momentarily turned around at one point, she pushed through to the other side of the hall. Looking up at the locker numbers, she saw hers: twenty-three. She also noticed a tall guy leaning his left shoulder against it with his back facing her while talking to his friend.
"Excuse me?" inquired Virginia.
The tall, talkative guy continued his conversation, completely ignoring Virginia.
"Excuse me," she tried again. "I need to—"
She was interrupted by the sound of the warning bell. The tall guy leaned down, picked up his backpack, and took off to his first class, as did his friend. Within seconds, the busy, crowded hallway was vacant and quiet. Virginia was unsure if she felt more alone with or without the large crowd surrounding her.
However, she was not left alone. Several lockers down stood a guy still browsing through his locker. Virginia stared at him for a minute but could not see him entirely as his opened locker door blocked his face. She turned back to her locker and attempted to crack into it. With a twist and a turn this way and that, she attempted to open the door, but nothing gave for her. She tried again, but after another careful try, the mechanics refused to submit. Frustrated, she slammed her fist into the locker.
"Everything okay?" came a voice from down the hall.
Virginia turned her head and saw the guy leaning back, extending his face from behind his locker door.
"Yes," she replied. "Yes, everything is okay."
She continued to try her combination again, but after a few seconds of twisting and turning, she faced yet another failed attempt. She slammed her fist into the locker door again.
The guy down the hallway had finished grabbing his books, closed his locker door, and reached down to pick up his backpack, leaning against his leg. "Are you sure?"
Virginia had all she could take.
"You want the truth?" she said, facing her locker.
"Sure," he replied.
"I'm not okay!" she exclaimed. "I hate this school, and I hate these mountains. Not one of these people here is my friend. I miss my home. I miss my friends. I miss my…" she caught herself, "I miss my old life. And to top it all off, my locker doesn't 'feel like' working with me."
She slammed her fist into the locker for a final blow. It was out, and she could not care less who heard her. She leaned her forehead against her locker door, taking deep breaths through her nose, trying to hold back her tears.
Her listener stood there, attentive to all she had to say. Then, after a few moments of silence, he walked toward her. Virginia turned her head to see who it was that took such an interest in hearing her vent all her problems. Due to the blurred light coming from the glass doors down the hall, she saw only a silhouette at first, but the closer he came, the more distinguished his features became. Standing in front of her was a guy about six feet tall. His skin was dark tan. His hair was straight, jet black, and fell to his shoulders. His eyes were dark brown and accented by high cheekbones. He wore a black V-neck shirt under a brown leather jacket, blue jeans, and a pair of green and brown colored hiking boots.
"Maybe I could help?" he said. "Try the combination again."
She shook her head and faced her locker once more. Combination? Right… What was the combination again?
"Do you remember your combination?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah," she stuttered. "Yeah, I do." Crud! What was it, again?!
She placed her hand on the combination dial. C'mon! What was it? …Oh, yeah!
She turned the knob to its proper sequence of numbers. As soon as she put in the last number, her instructor slammed his fist into the locker above the combination dial three times, and the locker door slowly swung open.
"Mine's the same way," he said. "It's an old school with old lockers. Sometimes they need a little assistance."
"Thank you," said Virginia, almost too nervous to utter the words.
"No problem," he replied. "You must be the new girl, correct?"
Virginia opened her backpack and placed some of her books into her new locker. "Wow! Word gets around fast."
"This is just a small town. Everybody knows everybody, word gets around fast, and new faces are easily spotted—especially in Mason County."
He chuckled a bit. "You'll find that your neighbor will know more about you than you do about yourself."
Virginia seemed horrified at the sound of that but quickly shook it off. "Um, hey. Could you help me find my next class?"
She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. "My first class is room 101: Chemistry. My teacher is Professor Domsworth."
"Oh, nice!" he said with a worried, ironic expression. "You get to kick off your day with Professor Domsworth."
He pointed to the single door behind Virginia. "And that would be his classroom."
Virginia turned around and back again. "Oh! Okay. Thank you."
"No worries. And if you run into any problems with being late, just tell him that you are new and that I helped you with your locker."
With that, he passed by her and walked down the hall.
"Okay, I will," she said. "Oh, wait! I didn't get your name!"
He turned around and smiled at her. "My name is Charles Wingo, a friend. And you?"
"Virginia," she said, smiling back. "Virginia Singerman."
"Nice to meet you, Virginia. I'll be seeing you around."
He turned and continued walking, but not before saying some final words of encouragement, "Don't forget to have fun, now!"
Virginia faced the door of her first-period class.
"Oh, I'll try," she said softly.
Then, she opened the door to her first class. Inside the classroom were thirty desks, each with a student behind them. Standing at the blackboard was a bald man with a thick, bushy black beard. He had a piece of chalk in his right hand and was writing something on the board when Virginia opened the door. Slowly, the professor and the students all fixed their eyes on her.
"Excuse me!" said the professor sharply. "But just who might you be?"
His countenance demanded respect, but his voice sounded like he was talking through his nose. Virginia didn't know whether to answer his question or laugh.
"My name is Virginia, and I'm a new student," she said.
Professor Domsworth turned his entire body to face Virginia. "Oh?"
"Yes, sir. Charles told me to tell you that he had to help me with my locker—the combination was not working."
"Ah, yes! Wingo. I see."
Prof. Domsworth's face suddenly had a focused look upon Virginia. "Wait! 'Virginia,' as in 'Andrew Rosenblum's niece Virginia'?"
Virginia had a puzzled look on her face. "Yes, that's right."
Prof. Domsworth's expression soon carried a look of great reverence and respect. "Your uncle has been one of the most faithful friends I've had."
He added with a continued reverent composure, "and he explained everything to me."
Virginia's face became grey. She nodded as if to say she understood what he meant. Then, not wanting to focus on this topic any longer, she made her way to the only desk available at the back of the room.
"Miss Virginia," said the professor.
Virginia stopped in her tracks and slowly looked at Prof. Domsworth. Even through the shadow of her hood cast across her face, her professor's eyes locked onto hers.
"I'm very sorry about what happened," he said.
Virginia nodded her head again, receiving his condolences. Proceeding to the back of the room, she sat down at her desk. Domsworth turned his attention back to the chalkboard and continued with what he was writing. The class followed his lead and copied everything he wrote onto their notebook pages.
Virginia rested her back up against her seat. A lot had transpired this morning with the episode of driving her truck through the school parking lot, being mocked by her peers, and fighting through the crowded hallway, not to mention the unanticipated respect that her chemistry teacher gave her. But even with this morning's drama, only one person came to her mind more than any other. The more she thought of him, the more she began to smile, which neither the isolation of the back of the room nor the shadowing of her hood could hide. She took out her pencil and pretended to write like the rest of the class, but only one word was found inscribed on her paper: Charles.