Chapter Two

There are mornings when you wake up and you know; you just know it’s going to be a crappy day. Today is one of those mornings, and it doesn’t start well, either. The water runs cold in the shower and there’s no cereal left in the box and the bread is stale. Mum’s still in bed so I leave a shopping list for her on the kitchen bench where I hope she’ll find it when she gets up. In the meantime I drag my feet into the bathroom, where my makeup is scattered in an untidy mess on the double-vanity. If I wasn’t an only child I’m sure it would be the cause of many unkind words, but fate has dictated that I must be important enough to have a bathroom all to myself.

The reflection that scowls back at me in the mirror has tired eyes and messy hair. I wouldn’t restrict myself by saying I am not a morning person, because in many cases that is far from the truth. But as far as Monday mornings go, Miss Alexis Wood has many other places she would rather be.

I start on my hair, one part of my anatomy I am grateful for. It falls just past my breasts in large waves. The colour could be described as somewhere between gold and honey, a rich orange that I like to think sets me apart from the majority. Today I decide on a tousled braid, and my spirits lift the tiniest bit when it works out the first time round. Oh, the angsts of being a teenage girl. My makeup is next, and I work away at covering up my freckles, something that came part and parcel with my orange hair.
I gaze idly at my reflection; the full, piercing green eyes, the nose which isn’t too small but is somewhat pointed, my large, round lips and my high cheekbones that dominate the structure of my face. I wouldn’t go as far as to say I was pretty, but I can acknowledge that my face is striking. It’s not a face you’d forget easily, I guess.

Joel is waiting at the end of our driveway when I come out. He too, wears the face of someone who would rather be in bed. I don’t blame him.
The morning is cold and crisp, but the chilly air is not unpleasant. The cool air feels good in my lungs and it creeps through my body, awakening the parts I couldn’t. I can smell dew and wet grass, an aroma that I wish I could bottle and keep forever.
“Morning,” I say, offering Joel a small smile. His nose is pink from the cold, a sight I’m sure would embarrass him endlessly.

Joel’s school is not in the district, but it’s become a habit that he walks with me to mine and then catches the bus from the stop outside the gates. It’s not a long walk, but it always seems an eternity shorter with his company. Cliché? You bet.
We stop at the shop on the way; a little deli run by a friendly, albeit corrupted Asian man. I leave with a pack of gum and a chocolate bar. Joel leaves with a 50 pack of Holiday Reds and an energy drink.
“Holiday Reds?” I ask after we’ve left.
“More bang for the buck,” he grins, as he places one between his teeth and lights it with a red lighter he pulls from his blazer pocket.  I roll my eyes.
“I don’t think you could get any less classy if you tried.”
“And I couldn’t care less.” Joel retorts, as he takes a drag. He offers the cigarette to me but I push his hand away. He started smoking last year sometime after befriending Paul, a hot-headed high school dropout who used to hang around school and sell dope to students until the police caught on. Although Joel’s derelict days were over, smoking seemed to be a habit he couldn’t kick.
“I wish I could remember what it was like to be five.” I say after a moment, watching as Joel takes another drag and exhales a plume of smoke. I know and he knows that he should quit, but I don’t think anyone should be denied something that provides them with relief.
“Sure you can,” He says. “I can remember being five. I was in Ms. Paisleys class and I’d just learned how to spell cat.” I laugh, little clouds of mist forming from my breath, and shake my head.
“No, not like that. Like, how did we think when we were five? What kind of things did we take notice of? What went through our heads when we were making decisions or meeting people for the first time?” I study Joel for the briefest of moments. He flicks his cigarette into the gutter, where it simmers for a moment and dies.
“What kind of difficult decisions does a five year old have?”
“Well, I don’t know. But don’t you think it would be interesting? To know what was running through your mind when you were five?” I look to him imploringly, waiting for him to agree. It’s a routine, but today Joel doesn’t seem so interested.
“I s’pose it would be a bit cringe-worthy. Like looking back at pictures from yourself in year 7.”
I roll my eyes. I obviously overestimated his capacity for conversation on cold Monday mornings.
I laugh bitterly, but there is no real resentment behind it. “Never mind,” I say, turning into the school’s gates.
“See you later.” He lifts a hand in an affectionate goodbye before stuffing them back in his pockets, where it must be warmer.
I turn away from his retreating back and descend the steps into Parkvale Community College.

Just like Lorraine’s personality, there is no other word to describe Parkvale besides dull. The classrooms are squat, square buildings that were once white but have long since been weathered down to a dirty grey. They’re organised into subject blocks, each block containing six classrooms and a collegiate area filled with textbooks and computers. Although the campus is mind-numbingly dreary, I can’t say honestly that I dislike school. I have no reason to, anyway; I stay out of trouble and I’m doing well academically. I’m Alexis Wood, the girl who’s going places.
I can’t say the same about Annabelle Catalani, who, despite her good nature and religious upbringing, has an unhealthy inclination towards boys and alcohol and an unjustified aptitude for trouble. Someone once told me that strict parents breed stubborn children, and as I walk forward to greet Anna this morning, I can’t help but believe that’s true.
“Where were you all weekend?” She asks, eyebrows raised. She titters and shakes her head at me out of mock annoyance before turning back to her juice box. “I called you twice.”
I just smile back at her apologetically, taking the seat opposite her at our usual table. “Sorry,” is all I manage, before she’s launched back into speech. The blonde bun she has piled on top of her head wobbles as she speaks.
“Nickolas messaged me,” she gushes, “You know Nickolas, right? The one who goes to Alta One? He’s a total spunk,” Anna assures me, before continuing. If she notices the roll of my eyes, she doesn’t say so. “He’s eighteen this Friday, right, and he’s having this huge party on Saturday. You’re my plus one, of course.” She grins and nudges me from across the table. “I even managed to get Sophia in, too.” Sophia was the third side of our little friendship triangle; thin and bird-like, she was timid and quiet. An unlikely addition to our trio, I guess, but a part of it nonetheless. In the midst of my unkindness I might compare her existence to background noise, something I would never say aloud but still holds some truth. Sophia is pale and slim, with mousy brown hair and anxious eyes. Her face is one you could easily forget, and despite being taller than me, she is small; both in her demeanour and her build. She is kind though, and despite her childlike naivety, she is intuitive and observant.
“Please tell me you’ll go? I can’t go on my own; I don’t really know anyone else there. It will be great, though! Alta One boys know how to throw good parties.” Alta One is a flash Catholic School a few districts over, and to the best of my knowledge it’s full of well-off Wog boys with mullets and flash sport cars. Not a stereotype that conjures fond thoughts in my mind, but I don’t say so. Very rarely do I decline an invite from Anna. Without her I’m sure my social life would be even more dismal than it already is, and to be honest, I’m more than eager to go.
“Yeah, of course I will,” I smile widely back at her. She’s my best friend; ditsy Anna, with her big b***s and loud laugh, is possibly one of the happiest people I know. “When have I ever said no to a party, huh?”
“Did someone say ‘party’?” Sophia arrives and slides onto the bench next to me. Today her limp brown hair is tied into a severe ponytail, but her grey eyes glisten with something other than anxiety �" excitement?
“This Saturday night,” Anna says. “You better both be there.”

***

 “That girl’s going to get you into trouble one day, you know.” Joel tells me, as he stretches and spreads out along the ledge. It’s just long enough to accommodate his height, which is pushing six foot.
“She’s fun,” I say. “I don’t know why you don’t like her.”
“She’s dumb, that’s what she is.”  I don’t reply. The fact that my two closest friends resent each other immensely is both irritating and disheartening.
Joel pulls a cigarette from his blazer pocket and lights it, blowing puffs of smoke towards the sky. I suppress the rising urge inside me to snatch it from him and remind him how I hate the smell of cigarettes and the way his breath sometimes stinks of them. Instead I watch him smoke it right down to the filter and then flick the butt into the garden below, where it disappears from view.