Categories > Original > Drama0 Reviews
Mack's Sophmore year at high school starts off great but becomes progressively worse. She soon hates how she looks and is forced to seek medical help for her forced "anerexia."
Some girl screamed and half tackled her friend as I entered the school. They started chatting about their “crazy” summer. Since they were just simple ninth grade neophytes I assumed their crazy summer was just staying up till two eating candy and trying to take scurrilous pictures to post on myspace. I made a volte-face towards the main hallway when my nose crinkled at the Axe and Tag overload. I just smiled at myself thinking, “Here’s to another first day of school.”
I got to the courtyard to find my friends in an intense discussion over dance team. Izzie was ranting about the freshman class, while Kara was desperately trying to defend them because her younger sister was included in this group.
Izzie disclosed, “The entire female population of that class are prostitots! They can’t dance and when they do it looks like they should be walking a street corner!”
At this I jumped in, “Now, now Griselda, no need for harsh words. Remember ‘In time we hate that which we often fear.’”
She hates it when you call her by her real name, and even worse Izzie hates it when you quote Shakespeare. Something to do with our eighth grade English teacher and a lead part in Romeo and Juliet. But she only glared knowing I was just trying to prevent another unfortunate one thousand word essay on why not to swear.
And then I saw him. Up in a window on the second floor probably in an art room.
“Take your shirt off,” he yelled at me.
“Keep it in your pants, Aiden!” his best friend, Nolan yelled from beside me.
Aiden didn’t like being challenged, “Are you the one dating her? Didn’t think sooo! Stay there Maxine.”
Like Izzie I didn’t enjoy being called by my full name. I let him know when he came outside, “People call me Mack.”
He greeted me with a quick kiss and a hug. “Maybe I’m not people.”
”Maybe I’m going to have to beat you up.”
“I’d like to see you try. How ‘bout after school?”
“Sure, you can help me put up posters for dance team tryouts, then we can go to you’re place. My parents are visiting my brother at Ithaca and they have the neighbors making sure I don’t bring any boys home.”
“Awesome. Got to get back to the art room. Ms. Carper wants to talk to me about scholarships.”
As I watched him go Izzie grabbed me and dragged me to homeroom.
He had a great walk.
“Reinhardt?” When the teacher called out Izzie’s last name for attendance all the boys laughed. Mr. Hansen looked up saw the boys and even let out a snicker himself.
Izzie just glared at him and whispered “Present,” through her teeth.
“Here,” I said right before the principal came on the TV to lie to us about how the dress code will be enforced this year and how those short shorts and leggings with only shirts will not be allowed.
Five minutes into the speech I started drooling on my desk.
“Mack? Mack! Eww what did you do? Open the Hoover Dam on your desk?” was the first thing I heard when I woke up.
I wiped off my mouth and looked at Izzie. She was feverously rubbing her hand on my sleeve, then drenching it in Germ-X. All I could think was “ok we can check dental assistant of her list of career choices.”
Mr. H gave us our schedules and as soon as the bell rang everyone bolted out rushing to meet with friends and switch classes to be with them. Iz and I split and I went to my locker before first period started. I walked through the hallway towards music wing.
Even in middle school my locker had been in the music wing because of my multitude of music classes. It’s the wing closest to the main entrance and exit so the lockers start at one. When I was a freshman it was number 1, this year it’s number 7.
The music classes that I am in include the show choir, the Falcon Encores, Combo select group and music theory. I’m also Capitan of the dance team but that is an after school group. You could say I like music, but I think that would be a bit of an understatement.
After dropping off my dance bag I headed to first period. The perfect class to start the day with, Theatre Arts. On my way I notice that the school decided to do something with the bare hallway walls, because you can see senior art nerds painting the walls with different sayings, phrases and depending which wing you’re in depictions of books, music notes, flags, or even a decapitated Medusa.
Front row center. This was the seat that had my name written in big fancy curly writing. It was hand written on heavy duty old Shakespearian looking paper with a golden star sticker place in the corner. The paper was folded in half long ways to prop it up so you could see the name from the front of the room. This was done on every desk. Several students wondered around looking for their names while others sat texting or talking.
I sat down and examined my name tag. It reminded me of when you started your first day of kindergarten. You were placed alphabetical order at circle tables with name tags that had cutesy print and was covered in care bear stickers, sometimes you also received a sparkly pencil too. They usually had two styles. One blue for the boys and one pink for the girls. I remembered that one of the boys in my class had gotten a pink one because his name was Alex or one of those unisex names like Taylor and Casey. Alex freaked out and started bawling to the teacher how he wanted a blue name tag and pencil. The teacher stood there confused for a second but then realized after taking a closer look at the distraught child that who she thought was a she was actually a he. The teacher quickly apologized and gave Alex the boy a new pencil and name tag. Quite frankly I could understand why the teacher was confused. Alex really did look like a girl.
This pattern continued, thankfully not with Alex anymore I’m not sure if he could take another mistake like that again, all the way too sixth grade where your name tag doubled as a book mark in the shape of a pencil. In middle school you were suddenly too old for the name tags and had to find your seat on the first day by reading the teachers’ illegible writing on ripped pieces of scrap paper. Our placement and our individuality became an after thought. Each child wasn’t special anymore like how they were in elementary school. We had lost our innocents; therefore we were ruined and treated like such. Teachers began pointing and confusing our names with older siblings of the past.
These new name tags represented our individuality and how the performing arts allowed us to express it. Admittedly we may all have the same kind of name tag but the fact remains that the teacher cared enough to make us each one and treat us like individuals. Equals, almost.