I hear the door click shut behind me, and 30 sets of eyes turn to stare at me. Instantly, I cringe, my heart dropping to the floor. I shift my feet nervously on the floor, and the stiff school carpet feels like sandpaper beneath my feet.
I hate being the new kid, and in the past three years, I've been one three times. As the teacher points to the only empty desk in the room, I shuffle quietly to my desk and tuck my backpack underneath my desk, the zipper seeming 20 times louder than it did as I pull out my notebook. I try to focus on what the teacher is explaining about the classroom rules, and try to ignore the snickering as the blond kid across the room pokes his brown haired friend and points at me. I feel my face flush red and hate myself, knowing that my bright cheeks are betraying the weakness I feel inside.
I suffer through 35 minutes of sheer torture, trying to avoid the prying eyes of the rest of the class. Mercifully, when the bell rings, I am forgotten in the rush to the door and I pause in the empty classroom trying to catch a few breaths. Well, almost empty. I look up and see a blonde girl with long, wavy hair and the kind of perfect features that you only find on porcelain dolls.She's gorgeous, and I feel myself wilting, expecting some cold words coming my way. Instead, she approaches me, extending her hand.
"Come with me." she says, gripping my hand and pulling me out the door. "We have some people I want you to meet."
"O...okay?" I stammer. I haven't even gotten her name, but tagging around behind her is like being caught in a hurricane. Within 8 minutes, we've made one lap around the school, and I've met every friend she has, and she's pointed out everyone she things is important. By the time I walk into my next class and sit down, I begin to feel what I haven't for a long time. Hope.