Asha

There are three thousand students at Briggs High School, and I am just one of the many who will be trying to get into a good college on scholarship. I’m not in the top ten percent—not yet anyway—and I’m no star athlete that’s guaranteed a free ride. And despite what my mom likes to tell me, I am not all that special. Honestly, even my mom doesn’t seem like she believes it all that much anymore. I am just Asha Bronte, basic boring sophomore. One of the three thousand. I don’t stand out. I blend in.

For some people, that’s fine. That’s all they care about, is blending in and never being an outlier who gets noticed. But that’s not good enough for me. Blending in doesn’t get scholarships. Sure, I’ll probably be accepted to the universities I apply to, because I’m not aiming for the ivy league or anything, but once I get accepted, there’s no affording it without a scholarship. I need a scholarship.

My parents are the best. They’re supportive and fun, and still married despite how most of my friend’s parents have divorced or split up.  But my parents never did well in the finances part of their life, and we all pay for it. Daddy is a mechanic at a shop owned by some jerk who never gives him a raise despite the fact that he does all the work. My dad desperately wants to own his own shop one day, but there’s just not money for that. Mom works at a waitress at local diner, and sometimes her tips are good, but mostly they’re not, and her feet hurt all the time and she keeps saying that working this job over the age of forty is the worst thing ever. When I get into a good college, I’ll get a good education, and then a good job, and I’ll pay for Daddy’s new mechanic shop and I’ll make sure Mom gets to retire early. Until then, I’ll keep working my ass off.

It’s the first day of school, and I’m over the moon excited with my new position as Officer in dance class. I’m grinning like a crazy person as I lean forward in my vanity mirror and apply some mascara. It was the last week of school last year, when Mrs. Johnson pulled me aside and told me the good news. I’d been chosen as officer. Only seven girls get that honor—one for each dance class—and I am one of them. Being Officer means I lead the class in warm ups and cool downs and I help Mrs. Johnson teach new dance moves. I also coordinate our pep rally dances, fundraisers, and charity work that we do throughout the year. Being Officer means I’ll have one more stellar thing to add to my college applications.

Scholarship, here I come.

Because my parents are always broke, I get the fun joy of riding my bike to school each day. I mean, I could ride the bus, and sometimes I do when it’s raining outside, but I prefer the workout of my bike. (And the fact that I get to avoid Beau, my lame ex-boyfriend, who also rides my bus.) I take my time, pedaling leisurely so that I’m not drenched in un-ladylike sweat by the time I get to school. The ride home is different, and I’ll gladly take the sweat over getting home earlier. But at school, I need to be professional and put together always. I am an Officer now, and I have to lead by example.

The first day of school is always fun because it’s a shortened schedule, that has the first two hours open for people to change their elective classes or rearrange their schedule. Then we go to all seven class periods but only for like thirty minutes each, so it’s not really school work. The teachers introduce themselves, pass out the syllabus, and then we move on to the next class. Tomorrow the homework will be handed out and notes will be taken and the drudgery of school life will become official. But for now, it’s fun.

And it’s even better than fun for me, because I get to sit at the dance table in the main hallway, which is lined with tables for every class there is. Mrs. Johnson offers me some coffee from the Keurig she keeps in her office and I feel important now. I’m one of her trusted students, and I get more responsibilities and free coffee. Awesome.

There are papers all over my table, and I try to keep them organized. Once the first bell rang, the main hallway became a frenzy of students rushing around trying to get the class they want. The rule at Briggs High School is that all classes are first come, first serve. If you miss out on the popular ones, they’ll be gone and you’ll be stuck with something stupid like health technology. Gag.

Dance is popular, but not nearly as much as the other classes because it’s only girls that sign up for it. My classes fill up quickly, but there’s still some openings because some girls want to drop dance for something else. For the first hour, another officer named Melissa joins me to help out, but she’s a senior and it’s like she’s already checked out for the year because she spends the whole time on her phone, only putting it down to chat with her friends when they stop by.

It’s a lot of work, keeping track of names and classes, but soon the two hours are almost over and the hallway is practically empty. Some teachers have packed up their tables and headed to their classes already. I check the time and see that the bell will ring in two minutes. Time to pack up, too. I gather my papers with the names of all the students that will now be in Mrs. Johnson’s dance classes and stack them neatly on top of each other. I’m vaguely aware that someone is walking toward me, but I figure they’ll keep going. And then I hear a sigh.

“Dance?” a guy says. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I look up, prepared to smack whoever just dissed my favorite class, but when I see him, I forget all about what I wanted to say. He’s definitely a new guy because even though there are three thousand students in my school, I’d have recognized him if he’d been here before. He is unbelievably attractive, like Instagram model hot here, and he should not be hanging out in my small town boring school.

“Dance is awesome,” I say, finding my voice again.

The guy snorts. His dark hair is buzzed along the sides and he shakes the top part out of his eyes in a way that makes me wonder if he knows how hot he is when he does that. Who am I kidding? Of course he knows. Guys this hot aren’t oblivious to it.