To most people, the first day of school is all about fitting in but Sara was not most people. She hated everything under 18 and for a good reason. Sara saw the rest of her peers as animals led around by their carnal urges and raging hormones. She considered herself to be a higher life form and she was. She was smarter than them, led by her brain rather than her groin, and she was better than them, ruled by a higher moral code, and she didn’t care about any of the petty things they obsessed over.

She had a natural aversion to anything with a penis. She wore the blandest things she could find, a pair of plain blue jeans, the cheap kind you get at Wal-Mart and a plain black shirt with a ringed collar. She topped the outfit off with clunky black boots and met her shocked grandmother downstairs.

“No. You’re not a lesbian. Get back up there.”

“I’m not dressing nicely. I don’t want any of these people talking to me.”

“But it completely defeats the purpose of you going.”

“I thought that was to learn.”

She beamed down at the girl. “You’re smarter than most of the faculty, and we both know it. You don’t even have to study. Now,” she pointed up the stairs. “I want to see something that barely covers your crotch. Get the black and purple skirt. At least that’ll go with your shirt.”

“No. I’ll go to school, but I’m choosing my outfit.”

“Alright.” She turned around and led Sara out the door.

Cape March was a small town off the coast of northern Maine, where God decided the sun would never shine. The sky was always entirely white unless a storm was rolling in. Then a theatrical array of blacks and grays would line up to create a tempest so powerful that residents often joked that the wind would blow them away.

The Bishop house sat amid a cluster of hills, which gave way to sharp rocks leading into the ocean. She watched as her grandmother’s compact sedan raced down the road and westward through the thick forest that lined most of the beach.

“How big is Cape March?”

“About fifty thousand people, so large enough that you won’t find much inbreeding but you might find crystal meth.”

“Grandma!”

“What?” She looked away from the road at what seemed to be the worst time. They were about to hit a sharp curve when her grandmother hit the gas just enough to ease around it. Sara had to hold onto the handle above the door just to ease her tension.

“The schools here are a year behind your old one.”

“Really?”

“Which means you’re to focus on socializing. I want you good and drunk the first week.”

“Grandma, you’re not supposed to say those things.”

“I keep the key to the liquor cabinet on a hook near the stove.”

“Grandma!”

“Oh, come on. You just lost your mother. Have a little fun, will ya?”

“No.” The forest thinned and opened up to a small cluster of hills where houses and businesses had been built as well as small side roads that passed by them. Sara couldn’t believe just how little Cape March really was and she certainly couldn’t believe it when they pulled up to a one-story building the size of an elementary school.

“This?” She turned to her grandmother.

“I know it doesn’t look like much, but there are boys and booze in there. What more could you want?”

“Do you want me to get knocked up? Is that it?”

“Yes, and you have to keep the baby if you do. They have a got good deals in the trailer park just up the street, and the gas station next door to it takes food stamps.” They both burst out laughing. It was refreshing, sharing that moment together until Margaret glanced over at her granddaughter and Sara realized what was going on. They had fun and Sara wasn’t allowed to have a good time while her mother was gone. “It’s that guilt. It’ll eat you alive, and you’ll let it.”

“We’re not talking about emotions--ever.”

Margaret left Sara sitting in a gum-splattered church pew outside the office while the savages rushed past, glaring blatantly while they tried to reach her classes. She was surprised to find just how much she fit in. Cape March was a rural town with two major stores: A Wal-Mart and a grocery store. There weren’t very many clothing choices. Many of the people that passed her by were wearing the exact same simple t-shirts and jeans. Some of the girls had managed to get cheap online knock offs, but for the most part, everything they wore came from Wal-Mart.

Margaret emerged from the office with a large blond dressed in a bright pink skirt suit. “Hello,” she rushed up, smiling exaggeratedly like she was talking to a child. “You must be Sara.”

Sara stifled an overwhelming urge to punch the woman.

“Well, we’ve got it from here, don’t we?” She turned towards Margaret who was wearing a sadistic smile.

“I’m sure you do. Don’t forget our talk in the car, Sara, OK?” Her tone was serious.

“I'm not going to do any of that.” She groaned. Her grandmother left Sara and the woman alone.

“I’m Barbie.” Sara stifled a giggle. “I’m the school guidance counselor here. I try to help new students along and get them acquainted.”

“Alright.” Sara got to her feet. “What’s next?”

“Textbooks.” Her shoes clopped against the tile while she led Sara towards a closet where she pulled out at least fifty pounds’ worth of useless books. Then they marched down the halls while Barbie gave her the tour. The school was a joke. The people were a joke. Everything was downsized.

By the time they stopped in front of her first-period geometry class, Sara had decided that the place was a sham and that none of the students graduating there would have anything close to a future. She wasn’t going to talk to a single person there.

“I’ll just go ahead and introduce you.” The second Barbie touched the door handle, Sara jumped.

“No. I don’t really feel comfortable with that.”

“Oh, nonsense. You got to get out of your shell a little bit.” She poked Sara’s shoulder playfully, testing the girl to her limit.

“Don’t do it,” she urged her.

Barbie sighed. “We introduce all of our new students. It fosters a healthy social life which will allow you to develop the social skills necessary to succeed in the future.” She was reciting something she read in a book, Sara was sure of it.

Sara stopped dead in her tracks. She wasn’t moving an inch. Barbie opened the door and walked inside, letting out a high pitched squeak that sounded like something between a sneeze and her trying to make her throat. It forced the teacher to stop class and pay attention. “Hello, all.” She took center stage. “We have a new student coming to class with us today.” There was stifled laughter. “Her name is Sara Bishop, and she’s come all the way from Washington State.” She looked to Sara. “Come on, Sara. They won’t bite.”

She was going to rip the woman’s head off. Maybe she could act out, punch the woman or faint to get out of class. Sara thought about it. She wasn’t sure which would be better: a day in the principal’s office or a day with the savages? It was difficult. The last thing she wanted to do was be the target of adolescent mockery, but the principal’s sole purpose was to make life difficult for students.

Sara decided that the best thing would be to swallow her pride and walk inside with her head held low in hopes that nobody recognized her face.