She liked this girl.
“I’m Charlie,” the girl said quickly, as if she wasn’t particularly interested in her own name.
“Charlie,” Lucy repeated. “I’ve never heard that for a girl. That’s really, really . . . cool.”
Ugh! She’d said it again. She made a mental note: No more “really.” No more “cool.”
Charlie sighed. “Not if your last name’s Brown.”
Lucy had to ask. “Well, what’s your last name?”
Charlie raised an eyebrow. It became obvious to Lucy that Charlie’s last name was Brown.
“I’m sorry. . . .” Lucy cringed, not knowing what to say. Clearly, she’d hit on a sore subject. God, Charlie Brown? What parent would do that?
Charlie shrugged and grabbed her board. “Whatever. I gotta go.”
Lucy thought fast. She couldn’t just let this girl go without at least trying to make a new friend.
She tentatively called after her. “Um . . . maybe I’ll see you around . . . or something. Meeting you was really, really . . .” She trailed off.
“Cool?” Charlie asked, finishing her thought as she strapped her surfboard to her bike.
Lucy shrugged, embarrassed. “Yeah, I mean . . . you know.”
Charlie gave her a funny look. “Not really.”
She jumped on her bike without a word and took off. And as quickly as Charlie appeared, she was gone, leaving Lucy discouraged . . . and feeling anything but cool.
The following Monday, Lucy stood frozen at the doors of her new high school. Not literally, of course, because even at seven-thirty in the morning, it was “seventy and sunny, with the marine layer expected to clear by noon.” At least, that was what the perky weathergirl, who looked as though she belonged on Days of Our Lives rather than on the morning news, had chirped for the fifth consecutive day in a row—which was now exactly how many days Lucy had lived in Malibu.
She looked down at her outfit—short, pin-striped shorts, with a flowy empire-waist tank top. It had seemed cute when she picked it out at the Urban Outfitters on the Third Street Promenade, but now it seemed as though too much of her arms and legs were exposed. Having grown four inches in the last two years, from 5’2‘ to 5’6‘, she often felt like a puppy whose feet were too big for its body.
“Knees and knuckles,” her dad jokingly called her.
Now she shook her hair in front of her face, wanting to disappear. It was all supposed to be so different. She should have been back in Toledo, starting her sophomore year at Hillcrest with all her friends—instead, she stood outside a foreign, sprawling campus that sat on a hillside overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Who cared if it was beautiful? She didn’t want beautiful. She wanted home. She wanted her friends ... or if not her friends, any friends.
The bell rang. Kids hurried past her, some bumping into her as if she were invisible. Everything blurred together. She could hear a girl’s voice, talking to a friend as she texted. . . .
“And then he was all whatever,” she said breathlessly. “And then I was all what-EVER! Can you believe that? I mean, whatever .”
Lucy had no idea what she was even saying. Maybe she shouldn’t have signed up for Spanish. “Valley Girl” could have been its own second language.
But no matter; she was sure she’d have plenty of time to contemplate her foreign-language choice when she was sitting alone at lunch in her exclusive school, picking at her fish sticks or fiesta salad or whatever disgusting food they served.
She sighed, glancing down at her schedule, knowing she had no choice but to walk in the double doors and get this over with. It was now or never. She took a deep breath.
“Okay, Beachwood Academy,” she said to herself.“Here I come.” She headed inside.
Starting with gym class
“I’m Charlie,” the girl said quickly, as if she wasn’t particularly interested in her own name.
“Charlie,” Lucy repeated. “I’ve never heard that for a girl. That’s really, really . . . cool.”
Ugh! She’d said it again. She made a mental note: No more “really.” No more “cool.”
Charlie sighed. “Not if your last name’s Brown.”
Lucy had to ask. “Well, what’s your last name?”
Charlie raised an eyebrow. It became obvious to Lucy that Charlie’s last name was Brown.
“I’m sorry. . . .” Lucy cringed, not knowing what to say. Clearly, she’d hit on a sore subject. God, Charlie Brown? What parent would do that?
Charlie shrugged and grabbed her board. “Whatever. I gotta go.”
Lucy thought fast. She couldn’t just let this girl go without at least trying to make a new friend.
She tentatively called after her. “Um . . . maybe I’ll see you around . . . or something. Meeting you was really, really . . .” She trailed off.
“Cool?” Charlie asked, finishing her thought as she strapped her surfboard to her bike.
Lucy shrugged, embarrassed. “Yeah, I mean . . . you know.”
Charlie gave her a funny look. “Not really.”
She jumped on her bike without a word and took off. And as quickly as Charlie appeared, she was gone, leaving Lucy discouraged . . . and feeling anything but cool.
The following Monday, Lucy stood frozen at the doors of her new high school. Not literally, of course, because even at seven-thirty in the morning, it was “seventy and sunny, with the marine layer expected to clear by noon.” At least, that was what the perky weathergirl, who looked as though she belonged on Days of Our Lives rather than on the morning news, had chirped for the fifth consecutive day in a row—which was now exactly how many days Lucy had lived in Malibu.
She looked down at her outfit—short, pin-striped shorts, with a flowy empire-waist tank top. It had seemed cute when she picked it out at the Urban Outfitters on the Third Street Promenade, but now it seemed as though too much of her arms and legs were exposed. Having grown four inches in the last two years, from 5’2‘ to 5’6‘, she often felt like a puppy whose feet were too big for its body.
“Knees and knuckles,” her dad jokingly called her.
Now she shook her hair in front of her face, wanting to disappear. It was all supposed to be so different. She should have been back in Toledo, starting her sophomore year at Hillcrest with all her friends—instead, she stood outside a foreign, sprawling campus that sat on a hillside overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Who cared if it was beautiful? She didn’t want beautiful. She wanted home. She wanted her friends ... or if not her friends, any friends.
The bell rang. Kids hurried past her, some bumping into her as if she were invisible. Everything blurred together. She could hear a girl’s voice, talking to a friend as she texted. . . .
“And then he was all whatever,” she said breathlessly. “And then I was all what-EVER! Can you believe that? I mean, whatever .”
Lucy had no idea what she was even saying. Maybe she shouldn’t have signed up for Spanish. “Valley Girl” could have been its own second language.
But no matter; she was sure she’d have plenty of time to contemplate her foreign-language choice when she was sitting alone at lunch in her exclusive school, picking at her fish sticks or fiesta salad or whatever disgusting food they served.
She sighed, glancing down at her schedule, knowing she had no choice but to walk in the double doors and get this over with. It was now or never. She took a deep breath.
“Okay, Beachwood Academy,” she said to herself.“Here I come.” She headed inside.
Starting with gym class
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