White is for Virgins

Chapter 4

After Holly's mom, whose name was Millicent I learned, picked her up it was a little after nine. Holly would scream every time I tried to leave, so I was basically stuck at the daycare against my will. I felt bad for her, though... the slightest movement towards the door would make her cling to me and her emerald eyes would get wet, threatening to spill tears.

By the time I got home it was practically ten at night; I'd run through the dark and desolate streets, slightly paranoid. Remind me again why I don't have a car? Besides the whole dad's-laid-off and mom-makes-money-to-feed-the-family-not-spoil-you scenario, I didn't really have an excuse. I never thought about getting a job, even though I'd probably have an advantage, having volunteered at the American Red Cross center since I was fourteen. Three good years of my life... I could've spent at a grocery store organizing the shelves with processed cans and cleaning up spills on aisle three. I never once thought about saving up for a car.

I shuffled through the back door and sat on a stool by the kitchen counter, pulling out my SAT list. I didn't really care about supper, or the fact that I still needed to take a shower, change out of my uniform and get the skinny jeans bleached because Holly had decided to use them as a canvas for her doodling, and then sleep. I hadn't even noticed that the television wasn't on until my dad walked through the back door, stopping as soon as he saw me.

No wonder it was so quiet earlier. "Hello, stranger," I smiled, "Where've you been?"

"Oh, just the pub with Larry," he shrugged, searching his pockets for something. He gave up and passed by me, giving me a kiss on my head before going into the living room.

I shook my head and rubbed my eyes before getting back to the list. This wasn't impossible, but it certainly proved that I was not one for doing things last minute. I decided it was best to just memorize the words and definitions, rather than practicing actually using them like I normally do. I didn't have the time much less the patience. I rubbed my sore neck and headed up to take a quick shower, throwing my jeans into the washing machine on the way.

***

Walking up to the front of the school building, I took a seat on the front steps. The purpose of arriving 30 minutes early? To study.

Zephyr... gentle wind.

Wizened... wrinkled.

Vicissitude... variability.

Unctuous... sycophantic.

Ubiquitous... omnipresent.

"You're kidding me," someone scoffed in front of me. I looked up and fought the urge to roll my eyes.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him, eyeing the acoustic guitar he had strapped to his back. He smirked, as if saying 'I'm at school on a Friday morning, what do you think I'm doing here?' but instead, he countered with, "I could ask you the very same question."

I let the list dangle from my right hand until he realized what it was. He raised his eyebrows and leaned against the railing. "What's with the face?" I questioned, annoyed and slightly uncomfortable being in his presence unsupervised.

"Nothing. I'm just... surprised that you're studying so hard for one little test."

"It may be one little test to you, Fox, but to me it's the first grade that goes down on my first quarter report card, and I want it to be high. It's important to me," I said, feeling the need to defend myself. Being here on scholarship meant I needed to maintain a high GPA.

"Yeah, important enough to ruin any chances you have of having a life," he remarked.

"You going to continue insulting me? Because if my not-having-a-life bothers you so much, you can forget about the tutoring," I warned him, giving him my best intimidating look and then go back to studying. "It's contagious, you know. You'll start studying every chance you get, and that would be horrible for your reputation, Fox. Horrible."