It Happened Last Year

It happened last year. No one saw it coming. It hit our town like a meteor, something foreign, something both frightening and enticing. This scandal made everyone shake their heads, but they loved it. They loved drama simply because they hardly got a taste of it. Sadly, their entertainment came with a cost, and I got shoved the bill. Really, the entire scandal was put into motion by me, but it wasn't my fault. They said I lied. That I made it up. They pegged me as someone with a dire need for attention. Attention was the last thing I wanted, especially from someone like him.

"Don't cause problems," my mother had said to me, "In this town, nothing stays a secret for long."

"It's not a secret," I told her, "I want people to know what he did to me. And I'm not causing problems; it's the truth!"

I told my mother everything after the incident happened. She listened, and I thought she supported me—her nods were terribly convincing—but when I finished, she told me to stop spinning such stories.

"Attention, attention, attention, that's all she wants," they said after it had spread around the school. I told my best friend at the time, Daphne, and Daphne decided to take on the role of head gossiper. She started the spread, like an STD during spring break, like in the movies. Everyone at school knew. Everyone at school thought I had made it up, for you guessed it, attention.

"She made it up because her daddy ran away with that slut," some girls had said in the locker room just a week after school started.

The incident had happened at a beginning-of-the-school-year party, thrown by the bastard himself. I attended with Daphne and our mutual friend Jana. Daphne was on the dance team and needed to soar this school year, as junior year meant rising and senior year meant thriving. She needed to set herself up for greatness. Daphne, Jana, and I were nowhere near popular, but we weren't considered losers either. We were just there. I was okay with it, just being there. She needed more.

When she made the dance team over the summer, Daphne knew she had a shot at actual popularity.

Jana, on the other hand, was like me. She was satisfied with her position in the social hierarchy. She was focused more on school than friends. Then again, who knows what she's like now.

Because, after the party and the first semester of my junior year, I left.

After my fake incident spread, everyone turned against me. Obviously they couldn't turn against their leader, Harrison Keller.

Harrison Keller was the host of the party a year ago, and the leading man in the production that is my scandal. Like I said before, I did not want attention from him, unlike everyone else. Everyone else happened to love him. He was the star of our small-town football team, a golden boy, wealthy and charismatic as all hell. Girls swooned, boys were jealous, blah, blah, blah.

I know what you're all wondering: what was this incident?

A sudden bell causes me to jump, my heart skipping an extra beat. I nearly hit my car horn. I scan the cluttered parking lot around me, filled with student cars, and the last few freshman rush past the main doors.

I wish I were still a child. I wish I could fall to the floor and cry, "I don't want to!"

Groaning, I grab my backpack and climb out of my car, shutting the door dramatically behind me. I swing the bag onto my back and grasp my phone tightly in my hand, ready with 911 already dialed, if I need it, then I start my death march up to the doors.

As I said, I left after the first semester of my junior year here at Colegrove High School. I spent winter break packing up my things, leaving my mother, and moving to Florida with my dad. How could I stay at a school where everyone hated me? Hell, the entire town hated me. So, I left. I started my second semester at a high school in Florida and lived with my father and his girlfriend—yes, the one he ran away with. My parents are divorced now, but they were together at the time.

My mother was devastated.

I didn't want to move in with him, but if I wanted to leave Colegrove, he was my only option.

The main hallway of the building is empty. All the students have already shuffled into their classes, eager to discover who they'll be sitting beside. It's nice to have the hallway to myself. No one has noticed me, meaning I'm not being pummeled with paper snowballs...yet.

Part of me wants to believe that they won't recognize me. I dyed my hair, and hopefully, I actually look different. How much can a person change in half a year?

I printed my schedule out last night at home. I scramble for it in my backpack, unfold it, and look at the first slot, reminding myself. It reads, 'Economics, 1242, Freeman.' Room 1242. I can barely remember where that is.

A year ago last week, at the party where it all happened, I had my first drink. It was a vodka sprite, and I didn't like the taste. It reminded me of the dentist.

"Don't tell me you're a lightweight," Daphne had laughed at me.

I shot back, "I'm not."

We had just arrived, and we were already drinking. As soon as we had walked through the door, Jana went off with some guy from her Spanish class, leaving me with Daphne. Daphne wanted to impress her new teammates, so drinking was a must. All of the dance team was there, including the captain at the time, Clara. Daphne was obsessed with impressing Clara.

Daphne rolled her eyes at my baby sips and left me all alone in the kitchen, abandoning me for Clara.

I stood in Harrison Keller's kitchen, alone, at a party full of upperclassmen, and I was scared shitless. My two best friends had left me, and at that moment, I hated them for it. It was then that he came in with a few football players, glanced at me, and asked me my name.

I wander the halls and count each room I pass until I reach 1242. There is a small, black plaque beside the door: the number 1242—in numerals and in brail—with 'Freeman' underneath it. Mr. Freeman. I've heard about him. Eight months ago, the first semester of my junior year, the senior students talked on and on about him, how hot he was for a teacher. It's funny how I remember only that. I would remember that.

I take a deep breath and hesitantly reach for the handle. I hear them talking inside, probably going around the room, sharing, playing ice-breaker games. I want to turn around, run, head straight for the hills, but I know I can't.

I don't want to!

I roll my eyes and hype myself up as if I am about to lift three hundred pounds.

Then I do it. I grip the handle a little too hard, push the door open, and step in. Everyone stops talking. The room falls silent.

I know what they're all thinking: Holy crap, Hailey Fonte is back.

I feel suffocated, as if all their harsh eyes are focusing on my throat, mentally choking me. I swallow, step further in, and let the door shut behind me.

"Hello, I'm Hailey. I'm new," I say and turn to the teacher. They were right, he is good looking, but a little too short for my taste.

Mr. Freeman's face is blank, maybe a little surprised, then he comes back to life. "Oh, o-of course. Take a seat. It's an open seating chart."

I smile, painfully, and turn back to the crowd. They are staring or whispering to each other; it's one or the other. There is a seat right in front, and I make my way over until a girl suddenly places her bag on the chair. I look at her and she glares.

With a sigh, I find another seat in the middle of the classroom. I step over bags and move to sit down. Once I am seated, I place my bag by my feet and look up. The girl that was sitting in the desk beside this one has now moved across the room. Everyone is watching me. I want to cry.

"Alright, everyone," Mr. Freeman slices through the silence, not knowing what to do, "let's continue. We were taking turns saying our names, something we like, our favorite class, and what we did over the summer."

I am thankful for the update, though I already knew what they were up to.

A guy a few seats behind me starts up again. "My name's Bradley. I like to play football, my favorite class is lunch, and over the summer I played football, hung out, you know." I remember him. He's a friend of Harrison’s; he was with him when he walked into the kitchen.

"My name's Jacob. I like to hang out with friends, my favorite class is Spanish, and over the summer I went on a cruise."

"My name's Daphne." Oh no. "I like to dance, my favorite class is anything without liars in it, and over the summer I didn't run away like a little b—"

"Daphne," Mr. Freeman cuts her off, giving her a warning.

When it is my turn to share, I say whatever, doubting that anyone actually cares. I like to write, my favorite class is English, and over the summer I went to the beach. Nothing noteworthy. The last thing I need is more attention.

As soon as the class is over, I rush into the hallway with my head down. This is what I was scared of, large crowds. My next class is across campus, Earth Science with Mr. Long, and I pray to God that Daphne doesn't join me again.

I caught a glimpse of her as I left Mr. Freeman's class. Her hair is longer, lighter in color. She has a beautiful face, a perfect body, and a dance team shirt on, everything she's strived for. There was a look in her eye, like she was telling me to get out. It's hard to believe that we were once friends.

Something stops me in my mission to get to safety, something hard. I stumble back with a red face and look up at my victim, the person I stupidly ran into. Are they going to yell at me? Laugh at me?

I meet his dark, unfamiliar eyes, and before I realize what a catch he is, "sorry" is spilling from my lips. "I'm such a klutz."

My heart seems to pause a moment as I study his face. The stranger's jawline is enough to make any girl at this school blush. How come I don't know him?

"It's fine," the tall, muscular, mysterious, swoon-worthy—shall I go on?—boy says to me, then he moves on.

My eyes follow him until he disappears into the crowd. A few people around are watching, but they don't seem interested in me, just the fact that I bumped into him.

Who was that?

Like I have anyone to ask.

As if on cue, it happens. Like an angel sent from God, I hear her beautiful voice. "Holy shit, Hailey!"

At first, I think it is another student, ready to cuss me out or fight with me about Harrison, telling me that what I did was wrong. But no, it's something much better.

When I turn to the side, Jana, my once best friend, grabs my arm and yanks me into the flow of walking students, the one I was in before running into Mr. Mystery.

I don't know what to say to her.

Jana was my one good thing before I left. She was the only person who didn't shun me. I couldn't tell if she believed me or not, but Jana never fought with me about it. She listened and we moved on, even as everyone around us turned against me. She was my one reason to stay. But the cons outweighed the pros.

"What on earth are you doing back here?" she asks rapidly. "I thought I would never see you again."

Her blue eyes are alive, full of excitement and happiness. Her cheeks are pink, her hair chestnut and full. Jana is the spokesperson for life, if there is such a thing. "I-I lost your number when I got a new phone. I wanted to tell you that I was coming back, but I didn't know how to reach you. To be honest, I didn't know if you wanted to talk to me."

She glares at me jokingly. "Not want to talk to you? Why? You're my best friend, stupid. Even though I should hate you because you left me, I'm going to move on and try not to have a heart attack because you're actually here. This is insane. What made you come back?"

A smile lights up my face, and I thank God for this gift. "My dad and his wife moved to Canada. She's Canadian. I couldn't go with them, so I moved back in with my mom."

"They got married?"

I nod. "Just a few months ago. What have you been up to? We have so much to catch up on."

Jana groans. "Oh God, I know. Let's meet after school at Knocks; we can talk over milkshakes, okay?"

I hesitate.

Knocks, the number one hangout for the students of Colegrove High School. Daphne used to drag us there over the summer before junior year so she could talk to Clara about trying out for the dance team. She knew Clara always hung out there on Fridays.

It's a small, fifties-style diner that's been here for years. It's a town favorite.

Not wanting to risk my chance to rekindle my friendship with Jana, I agree, and we go our separate ways.