is going back to high school.

I'm kind of tired and maybe I shouldn't be posting a draft in such a raw form, but I thought I'd share it with you, my readers. It's a new story I've been working on about a girl named November. She is a lot like I was in high school, so in a way this is a rough autobiography. I feel so exposed. I guess I never minded that.

So here it is, the beginning of November and Oliver's story:

A new year of school held absolutely no excitement whatsoever for me. I was naïve enough my freshman year to believe that people actually wanted to get to know each other in high school, but I know differently now. The key to survival in this environment is about deferring any kind of attention—positive or negative. I zipped up my sweatshirt higher, enveloping myself in the hood and put my headphones in, not bothering to take them out when the hall monitor reminded me that they weren’t allowed. I always walk through the halls like this, listening to my music and watching the mouths of people around me move, not caring to know what they are saying. I walked around the corner toward my locker, not entirely sure what I would put inside as my books were currently strewn on my bedroom floor instead of inside my bag. Trying to work out the three number combination still proved difficult after all these years. 7-22-11. 7-22-11. Still nothing. Maybe it wasn’t 11 at the end. Maybe it was nine. I turned to go back to the bathroom once more, and I saw him standing at the end of the row of lockers, smirking at my misfortune. Oliver was back.

The first time I met Oliver we were waiting at the bus stop on Valentine’s day. It was his first day of school and he was excited to meet his new classmates. He was handing out little boxes of conversation hearts and getting dirty stares from most of the unsocialized twits that lived on our street. I took my box and started picking out the white ones, my favorite flavor. We bonded while sharing a seat near the front of the bus, avoiding the roughhousing that went on in the back. The whole year in second grade we were best friends. We played a game together on recess called “nature club” which basically entailed us gathering up pinecones and throwing them at the unsuspecting people who walked by our tree. That tree became our house and we swept and swept the ground around it until it was free of pine needles and we could sit underneath.

A few years later, while we were in fifth grade, he moved away and I never expected to see him again. His wide, confident smile, his blue eyes, his California-blonde hair, his penchant for drama—I missed it all, but I was too young to know how much he meant to me. Even before he left, our tree had long been deserted and we stopped throwing pine cones when kissing came into fashion. We never chased each other or kissed; we just didn’t see the point of any of it. We walked around the perimeter of the playground, which had grown too small, talking about the things that we thought were the most important, but now I don’t remember what any of them were.

“Hey November.” He said. He had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his designer jeans, his hair was perfectly tousled, his shoulder bag hung confidently on one shoulder. I tried to look less shocked and more annoyed that he was back, but my face betrayed me. Instead of pulling off my look of death, I looked more pained than anything else. He took my expression to be a cry for help, in his overly conscientious way.

“Do you need help?”

“No. I’m fine.”

Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Sure, it’s only been like, five years.”

“So, you’re mad I was gone?”

“No, of course not.”

“Why aren’t you looking at me? You seem mad.”

It wasn’t that I was mad. I was just confused about why he would assume we would be friends again. Five years was a long time. I was not the same girl that he knew. I didn’t like the things he liked anymore. There was no way I was singing at the top of my lungs to Celine Dion with him again. I was a much deeper individual than that person he once knew. He had no idea what had happened to me in the time he was gone.

“You know, it’s not like we are going to go to the mall and share an Orange Julius again.” The words sounded too mean when I said them.

“I don’t even like Orange Julius. What are you talking about?”

“It’s just not the same.”

“True.” He picked at a piece of my shoulder-length black hair and gingerly tugged it. “Are you Goth now?”

“No! I just like to be different.” I flicked my hair away and at that moment my two best friends walked up to me, both arrayed in dark clothing with similar black hairdos.

“You are such an individual.” He laughed in his cheerful way. “I’ll save you a seat at lunch.” He winked and shuffled away, smiling even wider.

I avoided the lunchroom on purpose that day, opting to eat alone in the darkroom instead of facing Oliver again. I had revealed too much. I couldn’t figure out why he wanted to be friends with me again. It was unnerving. It was obnoxious. Weren’t there some perky blonde girls he could be friends with? I put a newly developed photograph into the stop bath and then transferred it to the rinse before I noticed someone had walked into the darkroom.

“Hey November. Why aren’t you eating lunch with everyone else?” It was my teacher, Mr. Eggers. He had a monotone voice and a bad habit of excusing me for every lame reason I could think of to miss class. I didn’t mind him too much.

“Well, I’m a little behind on our ten-photo essay assignment.” I fished the soggy photograph out of the water and pinned it to the thin wire that hung above the rinse bath.

“Sounds good. Do you think you could keep an eye on things in here while I go to lunch myself?” He asked.

“No prob. See you next period.” I said. He walked out whistling.

I sat and ate my jam and cheese sandwich with hands soaked in photography chemicals that smelled of rotten eggs. I didn’t mind that either. The smell didn’t bother me much anymore. When I was done eating I picked my nearly dry photograph off the line. It wasn’t for any assignment. It was just a picture of me and my friends at the mall. I scrutinized it in the pale, red light of the darkroom. I saw three girls with spiky, black hair, too much eye makeup, and sullen looks on their faces. For a moment I couldn’t tell who was who. I tucked the photograph into the pages of my math book and slammed it shut. So what if Oliver didn’t like my hair. We weren’t going to be best friends again. His opinion didn’t matter to me.

My photography class was immediately after lunch and I simply walked out of the darkroom, squinting in the bright classroom lights, and sat hunched over at my desk. I didn’t notice him walk in. Mr. Eggers started reading off our names from the attendance list, despite the fact that he knew who we all were. It was a personal joke for him, something like the teacher from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. He hesitated on a new name. “Oliver…you aren’t new here, are you? Haven’t I taught one of your brothers?”

“I only have a sister. And I just moved here from California.” He answered pleasantly.

“Oh, well, you look like one of my former students, Ryan.” He explained and then continued to prod with more questions. “So, why are you here in Oregon?”

“Um, my dad moved us back here because of his job.” He grinned and looked over at me. I ignored him.

“So, you aren’t from here?”

“Well, technically I grew up here.” He winked at me. I ground my teeth.

“Oh, is that right?” Mr. Eggers looked from me to Oliver and saw that I was acting a little strange. This is exactly the kind of thing Mr. Eggers loves, so he kept going.

“Do you know my student, November, over here?” He pointed to me and I didn’t look up.

“Yeah, I do. We have known each other for a long time.”

“Before the black hair, right?” Mr. Eggers chuckled at his joke.

“It used to be long and red.” He smiled distantly and then looked directly at me. “I miss it.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I whispered angrily, “What is it with you and my hair? Can’t you leave it alone?!” I stood up with my books clutched to my chest and walked right back into the darkroom. I could hear Mr. Eggers and Oliver laughing together as I exited the room.

I locked myself into the film rolling room and groped around in the pitch black, searching for the last undeveloped roll of film that was in my backpack. I pulled it out and wrenched the top off with a bottle opener, put it on the spool, and started winding it into a larger black case so that I could develop it. I heard a quiet knock at the door. I ignored it and kept rolling my film, humming to myself.

“November? Are you in there?” Oliver asked.

“What?” I snapped back at him.

“You really are mad at me, aren’t you?”

“No, you’re just bugging me. I’m trying to roll film.”

“Sorry, I’ll wait until you’re done.”

“Thanks.” The reel clicked and I knew the film was securely wound. I snapped the black case shut and debated about opening the door. I knew I’d have to face him sooner or later. I gripped the doorknob and opened the door abruptly, hoping to smack him in the feet if he didn’t move quickly enough, but the door missed him.

“So, why do you want to be my friend again Oliver?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

He paused before he spoke. The boyish grin melted off his face and he stared at the ground with his hands in his pockets. “Seriously? November, we were best friends. I didn’t think things would be so different.” He finally said in an apologetic voice.

I felt guilty. It was not like I had offers for friendship coming at me left and right. My current crowd wasn’t exactly pleasant, but I learned to deflect their teasing with snide remarks and the occasional swear word. “Damn…darn it Oliver.” I immediately regretted toning down my response. I already looked as weak as I felt. “I just don’t know how things can be the same. I’m different now.”

The smile was already returning to his face. “How are you different?”

“Just look at me! I listen to different music than you; I like different things…” I trailed off, not sure what to say next.

“Okay, music? That’s what’s so different? What do you like?”

I pointed to a patch on my bag. “Ever heard of them?”

He pretended to sound out the word. “Fu-gah-zee?” What’s that? It sounds like a disease.”

“Stop making fun of me. Now I really don’t want to be your friend.” I pulled my bag away and crossed my arms in front of it.

“Whatever you say…” He said as he left the room.

I stood in the darkroom, sulking in the red light and feeling like I was in my personal hell. Why was he trying so hard? I made up my mind right then that I would ignore him to his face and make fun of him with my friends. Whatever his motivation was, I was sure it was vindictive and I was going to stop him in his tracks.

I stayed in the darkroom for the rest of class and reluctantly exited to go to my last class of the day, health. That day we began the reproductive system unit. Thrilling. The teacher, Mr. Jones, who is also the wrestling coach, hastily put up an overhead of the male reproductive organs and gave us a handout with all the parts unlabeled. He practically hit his stopwatch as he gave us exactly two minutes to fill in the labels on our papers.

As soon as the bell rang at 3:30, I was up and out of my seat before the crowd started pushing into the hall. I shuffled along as quickly as my platform creepers would allow me to walk and went out to the parking lot to wait for my friends. They were nowhere to be seen. I waited inside my car, listening to an old mix tape that I’d heard too many times until all the busses had pulled out. Still nothing. Maybe they’d decided to walk home instead. Jerks. I felt my annoyance flare up again and I jammed my car into reverse and pulled out hastily, not noticing the new, silver Honda civic behind me. The solid bumper of my 1978 Datsun 510 munched its back tail light. What the?! This would be my second accident this month. I was positive my car would be taken away. I felt my stomach drop, tears started to form in the corners of my eyes, I slammed the steering wheel hard with my black fingernailed hands, and contemplated banging my head on it too. Then I heard a knock on my window. I manually rolled it down and quickly sniffed away my tears.

“Uh, November?” It was frigging Oliver. Perfect.

I had no words. I looked at him with tears welling in my eyes again. I couldn’t hold them back. Then I lowered my face into my hands and started to cry. I sobbed and ugly sounds came out. I tried to hold them back, but then they sounded worse, kind of like a piglet stuck in a fence. So I wiped my snot, tears, and black eyeliner away with a McDonald’s napkin from my glove box as soon as I could compose myself.

“Are you okay, November?” He tried again, resting his hand on my shoulder. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. Jeez. I just backed into your tail light. And now my life is ruined. I’ll get you my insurance information and then go drive off a cliff.” I reached over, back to my glove box and rooted around until I located the pinkish piece of paper inside that said SAFECO on it. I handed it to him, still sniffing and wiping my nose with the balled up napkin.

He took it carefully between two fingers. “I really am sorry. I should have waited for you to pull out.” He eyed me sincerely, as if he believed it was all his fault.

“Stop it. You didn’t do this. I did. I’m an idiot. I think we both know that by now. So just write down my info and prosecute me to the fullest extent of the law, okay?”

He handed me back the insurance slip. “I’ll follow you back to your house and we’ll figure this out there. Do you still live in the same place?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go then.” He patted the side of my dented, orange car and I drove off first, as if he didn’t know the way himself. He passed his old street, the one just before mine, and turned left when I did, following me up to my driveway.