My freshman year in high school had been a hard one. I was new to my town and to make things harder, I had become a faceless student in a school of three thousand other people. By my senior year, however, I had made plenty of friends and I was vice president of the student body. I started my last year of high school confidently; my head held high. That is why it came as such a shock the night after my eighteenth birthday. Both of my parents came into the living room as I was watching television, curled up under a fleece blanket. Their expressions made me nervous. I felt tiny hairs bristling on the nape of my neck. I glanced from one to the other, trying to size up their thoughts. To my dismay, it didn’t work. I sat up straight on the sofa and let the blanket drop to my lap.
“What?” I asked anxiously. “What’s wrong?”
“Now honey,” my father began, “your mother and I have something we need to tell you. We didn’t want to worry you before your birthday had come, but we have to talk.”
“You may be upset,” said my mother, “but we will try to make this work. We promise.”
“Make what work?” I asked confusedly. “Stop talking in circles. What are you trying to say.”
“We’re moving, Brandee,” my father blurted. “To Minnesota.”
My mouth flapped open and closed like a fish out of water. All of the words that I tried to form seemed to evaporate into thin air before they even had a chance to touch my lips. I stared at the coffee table in front of me and said nothing for what seemed like hours. Without so much as another word, my parents silently slipped from the room. I curled up in bed that night and cried. I had no idea what things would be like in my new school. All I could imagine was my freshman year all over again. Before I knew it, my pain slid away slowly as I fell into a deep sleep.
A week later found me driving my Jetta to my new high school for my first day. We were out in the middle of nowhere. This place could not have been any more opposite of my hometown in Boston. Instead of three thousand people in my school, there were only three hundred. To me, moving to Minnesota was a culture shock. I drove for miles without seeing another car and to either side of me were rows upon rows of naked shivering trees.
I felt a sort of betrayal by my parents for making me move here in the middle of December. The Christmas countdown was down to nine days. I would only have one full week of classes before school let out for the holiday break. There was no way I would be able to make friends in that amount of time. All I could think was that the holidays were going to be lonely this year. I was accustomed to spending them with family and friends. This year it would just be family.
The near future abated quickly from my mind as I pulled into a parking space. The butterflies that had been fluttering about my stomach for the last fifteen minutes suddenly seemed to grow wings the size of hawks and threatened to come up and make an appearance. I settled my stomach as best I could and walked briskly into the school, unsuccessfully trying to escape the biting cold. The lobby was buzzing with activity and it seemed like all three hundred students were milling around the office.
“
For a tiny hick-ville school, it’s pretty hard to get anywhere,
” I thought, getting caught between people every step I took.
I gently pushed my way past the other students until I was at the receptionist’s desk. No one was behind the desk, so I stood waiting patiently for an administrator to come. I waited for about five minutes when I heard a voice from behind me.
“Brandee Santos?” the smooth male voice asked.
I turned to face whomever it was that had spoken to me. A good three or four inches taller than my five foot ten, I faced a young man who seemed to be around my age. I smiled nervously, immediately entranced by his emerald green eyes and friendly, warm smile. Long lashes lapped gently at his high cheekbones whenever he blinked. He had a beautiful copper toned face and a well-trimmed goatee that rested upon a strong mandible. Carelessly spiked, dark brown hair accentuated his look. He was well dressed with a loose black sweater and a pair of khaki cargo pants. I drank in the sight of him and thought I would faint just from being in his presence.
“Y-y-yes, that’s me,” I managed to stammer. I then gave him a quizzical look. “How did you know my name?”
“Seems I’ve forgotten my manners," he chuckled softly. He immediately outstretched a strong large hand to me. “I’m Alex Harrington. President of the student body. I’m here to show you around and help you get acquainted a little better.”
I reached out and shook his hand gently, resting only my fingers in his palm. His hand was so big, I thought it could easily crush my own. His palm was warm, dry, and unexpectedly soft. The heat emanating from his hand traveled down my fingertips and up to my cheeks. I managed to smile back at this modern day Adonis who was standing right in front of me.
“Do you have everything?” he inquired.
“Yes, um, I think so,” I said. I made one last look around me to make sure I had gathered everything I would need. He put his hand on my lower back and escorted me from the office.
“All right then, let’s get the tour started, shall we?”
I followed the guide of his hand and I smiled. Something about the feeling of his hand on my back just spread warmth through my entire body. As we continued to walk, I could feel my face becoming increasingly flushed. It was getting too warm for me so I brought my hands to the front of my pea coat and began unbuttoning it. Disappointedly, I felt Alex remove his hand from my back. I tried not to let on that I had been enjoying it so much. Afterall, I had known the boy not even five minutes. As I slipped the pea coat from my shoulders, Alex gently took it from me.
“Oh, no, I’ll take that,” I said, reaching for it and smiling.
“Nonsense,” he replied. “I’ve got it.” He placed his right hand on my shoulder and smiled warmly. I eased in next to him a little closer and I felt his hand move first to the middle of my shoulders, then slowly down to its previous position. I let out a barely audible but contented sigh as he walked me to our first stop. The auditorium.
Alex opened the door for me and led me down the carpeted isle. A man named Mr. Kline sat in the first row, milling over a stack of papers, the tip of a pen placed curiously in between his lips. The stage lights reflected sharply off his balding scalp.
“Excuse me, Mr. Kline,” Alex interrupted. The man placed his paperwork to the side and, over his glasses, cast a quick look at Alex and me. I smiled as nicely as I could. “This is Brandee Santos, our new student. She just moved here from Boston.” I shot a sidelong glance to Alex. How did he know all of these things about me already?
A grin slowly spread over Mr. Kline’s face. “Well, Brandee,” he began, “welcome to Canton High School. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” I reciprocated. I looked in awe upon the auditorium. This tiny school had a very modern electronics system for their stage productions. I whistled softly.
“Like what you see?” asked Mr. Kline. “It’s state-of-the-art.”
“You’re not kidding,” I said, still in awe. “Our school had nothing like this back home. And we are in a huge city with a fairly good reputation for the performing arts. This is probably the most advanced technical equipment I’ve ever seen used in amateur settings. I’m impressed!”
