The Confessions Of A High School Freshman (Stranded Book 1)

Book summary

Clare is a high school freshman struggling to fit in, finding solace in art and writing. Her new friend Sherry’s elaborate lies about the school’s assistant principal offer a distraction, but soon their friendship unravels. Clare’s search for connection leads her to unexpected places, where trust becomes a fragile thing.

Excerpt from The Confessions Of A High School Freshman (Stranded Book 1)

Scene 1: High School ‘88’

Middleton Charles High School – September 1, 1988 —

Middleton High School’s halls were an ocean of fresh new faces, unfamiliar scenery, and a haze of social clubs. It was 1988, the beginning of my freshman year in high school.

Homeroom was an uncomfortable experience, new faces, eyes finding me quickly, and darting away uninterested. I was a no one, their expressions revealed. The teacher seemed less interested and far more consumed with what she was reading on her lesson plan. This was the hold period; the class where we were getting our discharge papers, our assignments, then be sent out. I felt like a soldier on the front line, or better yet, a rebel soldier watching the tanks coming up closer, afraid to move when the sergeant pointed towards me. At that second, she did. I blinked up as the teacher’s eyes regarded me and repeated my name.

“Here,” I said in a whisper. I had to repeat myself. She moved on with the rest as I felt the sides of my face glowing. I was blushing and knew most could see it by the way their eyes regarded me and whispered or giggled.

Row after row was called, and we were given our school schedules. After a few minutes, another bell rang, and we were released on our own to find the classes listed on the white and blue card we had been handed. I glanced down as if it were written in a strange language. As I stepped out into the hallway, other students pushed passed me, hurrying away. It made me uneasy that they moved so fast when I was just standing around glancing about like a lost child in a department store looking for her mother.

The fear and uncertainty gathered within me as I walked unfamiliar hallways. Pushing through the many masses of awkward, dislocated teenage faces. Others had already found acceptance among similar social groups- football players, social cliques, cheerleaders, New Wavers, and awkward nerds, even the occasional goth and dislocated and unaccepted punk. I always felt out of place.

Fear gathered in me because I was scared of change, and not belonging among any social group or people. Hadn’t that always been my problem at one time or another? What social label was I? It was a trend already going out of style.

I got lost getting to PE. The halls all looked the same; the numbers on the schedule card seemed to bleed into one another. My head was spinning, my eyes unable to focus, and my stomach felt like a knot twisting into itself. However, I managed to make it in time, walking in as the gym teacher instructed the class to take a seat on the cold dirty floor of the gym. Her large thighs squeezed out of the blue short shorts she wore. She wore them like proud flag colors, an outfit that had been described by all other students as tacky and humiliating. I slid to the floor with the rest of the girls in the class. I would soon be wearing the same pair of blue shorts, exposing my pale legs for the world to see with a shirt that would be either too tight or too baggy.

Furthermore, the shorts were unflattering; nobody looked good in those things, but my stubbly legs would show. Everyone would see my bruises and scars, the cut on my knee. I shivered at the thought, or maybe it was just the cold floor.

Others would laugh and see me for the freak of nature I was; an obvious fraud standing in a sea of real people, real girls. However, I’d wear the dumb thing anyway and pretend to be a real person. If I looked like a real girl, maybe no one would notice what a fraud I was. I had to try at least. I still felt disconnected from the world. Only pretty enough to identify as an ordinary girl, but far too strange to be taken seriously or seen immediately for what I really was.

My awkwardness is what separated me from everyone. I was quite aware it disconnected me from others. It was like knowing, being magnified, then displaced among a mass that didn’t understand you, and you didn’t understand.

The teacher continued giving instructions about shorts and tops, shoes, and all that sort of boring stuff.

As she rattled on, I thought about the stories of high school from friends, of the cruelty of teachers and bathroom breaks with escorts. I wondered whether there was any truth to it. The teachers released us for the remainder of the class period. We had a choice to play basketball or jump rope. I did neither. Most of the girls followed in the same example, sitting upon the bleachers to watch the more athletic ones. I sat on the bleachers overshadowing what was to become future class periods. Taking out the schedule to memorize my next class, I took advantage of the time to write. It was beginning to be something I enjoyed more frequently. I did it often whenever free time was introduced, and even when it wasn’t. It was my way of escaping when I couldn’t physically do so.

Then, they came; those that could smell fear and ignorance a mile away. I was oozing with its nectar. They took a seat beside me—a tall blonde girl and a short, husky girl.

“You were in my last class,” the shaggy blonde snorted. Homeroom? I wondered. It had been my first class. I hadn’t noticed. Dressed in a pink dress with a pair of coverts and a blazer. Her dirty blond hair fell over her eyes in disarray. Lipstick was faded and smeared on the side of her lip. Thick, messy eyeliner and mascara caked her eyes. There was an emptiness in her gaze, like she wasn’t entirely there, even fidgeting like she was under the influence of a controlled substance. Maybe she was just crazy. Her eyes widened when they settled upon me, giving me a queer examination.

“Do we have any classes together?” the shorter, rounder girl questioned. She was wearing bold, red lipstick and a dark green, designer vest. She had short, dark black, wavy hair and wore black combat boots. Her face was a little puffy and riddled with red pimples and scars. She tried to hide it by covering her face in pale peach makeup that seemed to make the entire disguise far worse. Neither of them was particularly attractive.

The short girl leaned over to sneak a look at the schedule in my hand. I tucked it back into my pocket as quickly as I could when I caught her. Then, she leaned over to see what I was writing.

I felt surrounded, pressing my notebook against my chest. Moving back, I blankly gazed over at them both.

“Hey, who’s your homeroom teacher?” The short girl asked.

There wasn’t much of an introduction, just a pair of curious and wondering eyes staring over at me from a pair of demented faces.

“What’s your name? I’m Sherry.” The short girl said with a giggle. She glanced over at the shaggy blonde girl. They broke into laughter like a couple of weirdos. Was I missing an inside joke at my expense?

They spoke like chirping birds with questions and statements only longtime friends would understand. Maybe this was why your parents told you not to ever talk to strangers.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how to. It was obvious an insult at my expense. A roaring, endless bell rang. It seemed that my prayers had been answered for once.

The crowd scattered, and while they were distracted, I made my escape, darting away like a criminal hoping they wouldn’t follow me. I was pleased when I lost them in the crowd of other escapees ready to leave this class behind.

Scene 2: The New Waver Named Sherry

I wish I could say that was the end of it, but it wasn’t long after that I began to see a lot more of that shorter girl. There was something about me that had made a connection with her. Seeing as every time I caught sight of her in the hallway no matter where in the building, she would smile and wave ridiculously at me. Not knowing what to do, I’d smile and wave back. I found her to be a little unusual, odd, and in some cases, just plain annoying. However, from what I could tell, she was determined.

I didn’t think much of it. This was high school, and you’re bound to see each other more than once in the halls throughout the day. Yet, even when I was too distracted there was Sherry, passing by in the hallway, never forgetting to wave, or calling out to make sure I had seen her before she walked away.

I began to think she was following me. However, when I didn’t see her in the hallway coming out of homeroom class, I smiled. How silly and paranoid I had become. Then, there she was in the distance, smiling and waving like a creepy clown.

“Hey,” she said coming right up to me almost instantly. “Want to walk to class? Who do you have for fifth period?” she asked.

And just like that, she lurked and lingered without an invitation. That was the day I became acquainted with Sherry. Whether I wanted it or not.

I glanced down at my schedule card out of habit when she asked. I hadn’t yet memorized all the classes.

“Mr. Thompson. I’m not sure where his class is. Do you know? I don’t want to be late,” I said.

My intentions had always been to never be late to class, at least not on the first week. I always told myself, You don’t know where the classes are, get an idea now and fool around later.

Sherry snatched the schedule from my hand too quickly for me to object. She made me feel like an idiot almost immediately.

“It’s okay; they know it’s your first day. They won’t care if you’re late,” she said.

Maybe there was some truth to that. Yet, I didn’t like the idea of it either way, at least not coming from her. She flashed me a wide smile. It immediately gave me the creeps and filled me with regret.

“Besides, this teacher won’t do anything. He’s a big dummy,” Sherry said with a clever chuckle. She had a deep voice like she was chewing on something and it had gotten lodged in her throat.

“What does he know!” She grinned. Her head was just as big as the smile on her large face. Red lipstick smeared the front of her teeth when she smiled.

Caught off guard by her optimistic attitude, I didn’t respond and didn’t want to move.

Finally, Sherry said, “Come on, it’s over here. Just walk with me it won’t kill you.”

I gave up and mumbled an okay under my breath. The next thing I knew, I was walking with her.

She calmly walked ahead of me, dodging students. Never once did she look at her schedule. She must really know where she’s going, I thought. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as I feared.

Students hurried around us. Teachers, standing outside their doorways avoided students like the plague; others weren’t even visible, sitting at their desks preoccupied.