I want to fit in, more than anything. Making sure to stop at the mall in Raleigh on my way home from my college visits, I picked up clothes that made more sense, that I thought might help me blend. You can’t tell I’m from California by looking at me. Maybe it’s because I’m not. I wasn’t born there, anyway.

When most people think of girls from California, they think long blonde hair, blue eyes, smooth tan skin, short shorts, and a very small bikini top that leaves little to the imagination. At least, that’s what I though the first time we moved to California. I was wrong. Of course, there are some stereotypical California girls. There are also a ton of other types of girls that live there, with all different body types, hair colors, and sense of style when it comes to clothing.

I look nothing like a California girl. My long, thick black hair that’s always pulled high on my head in a messy bun is in complete contrast to my naturally fair toned skin. I can’t catch a tan to save my life, and if by chance I do, it’s gone in days. My eyes are almost the color of night, a deep shade of brown that they often appear black in the right lighting. Most of the time they’re hidden behind my glasses.

Not today, though. Today I forced myself to take the time to put in my contacts, straighten my hair, and apply a small amount of makeup, something I barely ever wear. I want to make a good first impression. If I’m going to be here the entire year, then I plan on making friends. It’ll be nice to have at least one person that I can talk to and rely on for a change.

The parking lot is packed. Students are gathered in small groups, sitting on open truck tailgates, laughing and having fun. You would never know it’s the first day of school. Me? I’m planning on sitting in my car until the very last moment. I know where my classroom is. I figure I can head straight there and stop at my locker between first and second period.

A knock on my window scares the crap out of me and I jump, screaming bloody murder. I hear a loud, booming laugh coming from my left and look over to find the girl from the thrift store doubled over outside my door. I shake my head, knowing that she’s taking pleasure watching me struggle. Again.

I open my door and step out as she stands up and thrusts her hand toward me, still giggling to herself. She’s wearing a shirt similar to one that I picked up in Raleigh last week. It looks like I’m on the right track as far as fashion goes.

“Libby,” she announces rather loudly.

“Madison,” I reply, taking her hand in mine and shaking it softly.

“Why don’t we get you over your fears, Madison?” She nods her head toward the entrance to the school. How she knew I was scared of what lies ahead is beyond me.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” I say as I hear a bell ring in the distance.

“They’re playing our tune. Let’s head in.” Libby starts toward the school, not waiting for me to object. I hit the lock button on my car after grabbing my bag out of the passenger seat and jog to catch up with her. She’s quick. “So, where are you from?”

This is what I wanted. Someone to talk to. A friend. It’s going to be a long story, but one that I’m willing to share at this point. “A little bit of everywhere, but most recently California.”

Libby stops dead in her tracks and I almost run into the back of her. She looks me up and down, studying my appearance in detail. I know what she’s going to say before she even opens her mouth.

“You don’t look like a California girl.”

“I get that a lot. My mother was from southern Georgia and my father is from here.” I start walking again and Libby falls in step with me. “We move around a lot because my father is a Marine.”

“Did he get transferred here?”

I hear a warning bell ring as we walk through the open doors to the school. “Something like that,” I mutter, knowing that the conversation is far from over, but our time together is up for now. The stairs are in clear sight and I need to get to class. The last thing I need is to walk in late my first day. “It was nice seeing you again, Libby.”

“I’ll find you later and we’ll finish our conversation,” Libby hollers after me, loud enough that a few people stop and stare at me as I start to climb the stairs. I turn to wave and find Libby already immersed in conversation with a few other girls already.

* * *

Three classes down. I just need to get through lunch and three more and then I’m free for the day. I’m excited for my Creative Writing class at the college tomorrow morning. That’s not true. I’m excited to see Grant again. I’m hoping that I’m able to actually save him a seat, somewhere in the back of the class so we can talk. I want to get to know him better. The fact that I know nothing about him intrigues me.

Where’s he from? What’s his major? Does he have a weakness for French fries like I do?

“Madison,” I hear Libby yell. I turn away from my locker and scan the hall, but don’t see her. I hear her call my name again and that’s when I spot her. She’s standing on her tip toes, waving at me over the crowd that’s gathered in the hall. The same crowd that’s looking from her to me and back again.

I wave and hold up a finger to let her know that I’ll be right there when she starts waving me over to where she is. I stash my books in my locker and grab my cell. I unlock my screen to see that I have no missed calls. I wasn’t expecting anyone, but I’ve always had a call or text on the first day of school, a reminder Grandma’s not here to make the call anymore.

Lunch with Libby is interesting. She rarely ever stops talking. The girl that I met weeks ago at the thrift store is not the same person sitting next to me, talking my ear off. She’s nodding her head toward people, telling me their life stories. I listen intently, wondering if she’s going to expect me to remember any of what she’s telling me. I hope not because I’m horrible with names.

“So, what’s your story?”

The shift in conversation happens so suddenly I’m unprepared. The girls impatiently wait for me to finish chewing, staring at me the entire time. Two of Libby’s friends joined us a few minutes ago. Neither of them have even said hello to me yet. They were having a conversation of their own until Libby changed the subject.

“I don’t really have a story, I don’t think. My father is a Marine so we’ve always moved around a lot. I’ve lived all over the United States and in Germany for a little while. We spent the last six months in California, and now we’re here to stay, hopefully, at least until graduation.”

“Why here?” one of the girls asks. I look over to see that she’s completely engaged in our conversation now. I expected as much. I’ve been through this before. I’m the new girl. They know everything there is to know about each other, and now they want to know everything there is to know about me. I’m interesting. Until they find out that I’m really not that interesting and that’s when then I fade into the background usually. I’ve always been okay with that.

“Well, my father is from here and there’s a base not that far from where we live.”

“Why would he want a transfer here? It’s such a boring town, and if he grew up here, he knows that.” Libby’s confusion is cute. She really doesn’t get it.

“Well, my grandma was sick so we came to visit a little over a month ago, and when she passed, I asked if we could stay. I like the small town vibe here. It’s nicer than California or any other place I’ve ever lived. He was able to get a transfer, so we’re here for a while.”

Let the inquisition begin. The one thing I’ve learned about small towns … everyone knows everyone.

Libby sits up a little straighter in her chair. She tilts her head to the right and squints her eyes at me as if she’s concentrating really hard. “Thompson.” I nod. She nailed it on the first try. I guess not many people die in this sleepy little town.

“You’re a Thompson,” one of the girls yells. Heads start to turn. People are interested in who she’s talking about, and since I’m the only unfamiliar face, it’s not hard to put the pieces together.

Being known for my last name doesn’t bother me, but the attention it’s warranting right now does. “I’m going to step outside and make a call before class starts. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Wait. I’ll come with you,” Libby hollers and jumps out of her chair. I don’t have a choice in the matter, apparently.

I can feel eyes on me as I make my way across the cafeteria. I understand they’re curious about who I am. I would be curious too if I were in their shoes. No one here has ever heard of me. It’s as if I’ve appeared out of thin air. The granddaughter of Celia Thompson, town hero in many ways. Even if they had never met my grandma, they’ve all heard of her. I guarantee it.

“Sorry about that. Megan tends to be a loud mouth at the most inappropriate times,” Libby apologizes.

“It’s no big deal. People would have figured it out eventually.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure it’s not the one thing you wanted to be known for. Your grandma was a big deal in this town. People respected her. They’ll look at you differently, partially because they know you have money.”

I never thought of that. I’ve always been tagged as a military brat. Once people found out that my father was a Marine, they had a preconceived notion of who I might be. Either they were accepting of that or they wrote me off instantly. Even the other kids with parents in the Marine Corps would have an opinion of me. They were judging me, and they were in the same boat I was in.

Moving as often as we did, it’s hard to fit in. It’s not something I was able to do easily. Libby, on the other hand, is a blessing in disguise. She’s making me feel at home, even though I don’t really think she’s even trying. I like her. She’s nice and doesn’t seem to care that I’m a military brat or from a well-known family who happens to have money.

“What about you. What’s your story? All we’ve done is talk about me today,” I say as we reach my locker and I attempt to open it.

“Born and raised here in New Bern. You already know that I work at the thrift store. My parents own the place. We live down the road from you if you’re living at your grandma’s.” I wait for her to continue but she doesn’t.

“That’s it. That’s your whole story?”

“Not really much to tell. Megan and Angie are my two best friends. We’ve been friends since elementary school. No boyfriend right now. The boys in this school are pretty pathetic. Money is all that’s important to them. My family has money but not as much as some.”

“Why is money so important to them?”

“They come from money. Everyone in this school does for the most part. They redrew the lines for the districts a few years ago. Where they put the line separates the nicer parts of town from downtown and the more rural areas. Most of the ‘prominent’ families are in our school district.” Libby’s use of finger quotations and the roll of her eyes tells me that money doesn’t matter to her at all.

“Well, I don’t have money, my family does. I can’t access anything until I’m eighteen, and I’m not sure I even want to then. There would have to be a really good reason for me to touch that money.”

“Aside from buying the car I wanted, I’m saving all my money for college. I want to do something fun with whatever is left, like travel for a year or something after I graduate.”

I close my locker as the bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. “I’m gonna head to class. I’ll catch you later.”

“Sounds good. I have a class over at the community college this afternoon, so I’ll meet you in the parking lot and drag your ass in again tomorrow morning.” She smirks at me, attempting not to laugh at her own joke.

“That’s not how I remember it happening,” I say as I let out a little giggle. It feels good to laugh. “I won’t be here in the morning. Classe at the college. I’ll meet you for lunch, though.”

Libby nods in acceptance and walks away. I make my way to class with a smile on my face. I’m going to like it here I think. People are going to stare at me for a while, but I’ll get used to it. Libby is like a shining star on the darkest of nights. I’m not sure I would have survived today if it hadn’t been for her this morning.

The college parking lot is packed when I arrive. By the time I find a spot, I have to run to make it to class on time. Grant’s smiling face is the first thing I see as I cross the threshold of the classroom. Then I notice the desk next to him. It’s occupied by a backpack that’s quickly removed so that I can take a seat.

“Good morning,” he says as I plop down in the chair. “I thought you were going to save a seat for me, not the other way around.”

“That was the plan, but the parking lot was a little crazy.” I grab my book and set it on the desk before looking over at him. He’s still smiling at me. “Thanks for saving a seat for me. It looks like this class is going to be packed.” I gesture to the people filing in the door, followed closely by a man who heads to the front of the room, places a stack of papers on the podium, and drops his bag in the corner.

The professor starts by handing out a syllabus and two assignments. I’m definitely not in high school anymore if I’m getting homework on the first day of class. He keeps everyone’s attention the entire hour and then dismisses us, walking out of the classroom before anyone else.

“Well, that was intense,” I say to Grant as I pack up my untouched book.

“He wasn’t that bad. I’ve heard he’s a pretty good professor, just not very personal.”

“I’d have to agree with that statement. He’s not personal at all. I was hoping for a little clarification on the essay he wants us to write for next time we meet.”

“It sounds pretty simple to me. Five hundred words all about you. I get to listen to you tell me everything I don’t already know.” Grant is attempting to be funny but there’s something else in his voice that I catch as well. I can’t put my finger on what it is, though.

“I’m not as interesting as you make me sound. Plus, you know more about me than I know about you at this point.” I pause, not knowing what else to say. Class is over and I need to head to school so that I’m not late for lunch with Libby and the other girls. I have to try and remember their names before I get there. “Well, I guess I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Are you hungry?” Grant ask as I pull my bag onto my shoulder.

I weigh my options before answering him. I told Libby I would meet up with her. Looking down at my watch I figure I can make it back to campus before lunch ends if I eat quickly and don’t lose track of time. “Sure.”

Grant holds the door open for me as we enter the cafe on campus. I order coffee and a muffin, something small since my stomach just dropped at the thought of being alone with Grant.

“So-o,” I stutter. “What’s your story?”

“What do you want to know exactly? I don’t want to just blurt out random facts.”

“What’s your favorite color?” Lame. Is that the best I can come up with?

“Dark brown. You?”

“Gray.” I want to say hazel, but I think it would be obvious why. “Favorite food?”

“Pizza. You?”

“French fries. From …”

“Raleigh. You?”

“Everywhere.” This peaks his curiosity. His left eyebrow shoots up in question so I elaborate. “My father is a Marine, so we’ve lived a lot of places and now we live here. Favorite sport?”

“Football. You?”

“Football. Favorite team?”

“Cowboys.”

“Me too,” I yell before he can ask.

We continue to fire questions at each other as we eat. Like I feared, I lose track of time and arrive back to school only minutes before class is starting. Libby is at my locker waiting for me when I stop to grab my books.

“I was worried about you. Is everything okay?”

To hear her say that she was worried surprises me. No one ever worries about me. I take care of myself; I have for a long time now. “Sorry. I got hung up at school.”

I want to tell her about Grant, but I’m not sure I feel comfortable talking about him just yet. Plus, how would I even explain him to her? A guy I met the night of Grandma’s funeral and I keep running into around town. I think he’s interesting and funny and sexy as hell, but he’s probably too old for me and will go running for the hills when he finds out that I’m only seventeen. I don’t like any of those explanations.

“What’s his name?” Libby’s voice pulls me out of my internal monolog.

“Huh?”

“Yeah. So, what’s his name?” Libby asks again only this time, her hand is on her hip and her lips are pursed in amusement.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re smiling at me, but not paying attention to a single thing I’m saying. You met someone. Who is he and what’s his name? I want details.” The volume of Libby’s voice rises slightly and people are starting to stare as they walk by. I’m going to have to start calling her Loud Libby because I don’t think she knows how to turn the volume down.

The bell rings, saving me from Libby’s inquisition. For now. She programs her number in my phone, calls herself, and then promises to call me when she gets home from work tonight to get all the details.

I have a few hours to decide what I want to tell her and what I don’t. Until then, I have to figure out a way to concentrate on class and not Grant’s gorgeous face, which is all I can think about right now. I’m still reeling from our conversation at lunch. I learned more about him in an hour than I have anyone else in the last five years at least, and I want to know more. I want to know everything there is to know about him.