One Hundred Absent Days

As I stood, staring at myself in the mirror, I knew that this day that make or break the rest of my high school life. With this thought in mind, I straightened my blue plaid skirt, fluffed my loosely curled hair, and stepped out my bedroom door.

The first day of school is stressful for everyone, but I had the extreme misfortune of starting three weeks into the quarter. The cliques would already be established, everyone would already have seats at their lunch tables, and I would be lost in the crowd.

Sighing, I parked my blue Jeep Cherokee in the student parking lot and leaned back into the seat. Here we go, I thought grimly.

Stepping out, the heels of my ankle boots clicking on the pavement, I noticed the smell of marijuana. “Lizzie,” the memory of my father’s stern warning echoed in my mind, “I need you to get it together. No more drugs, no more-”

The bell rang, signifying that I had to make my way to my first period class.

Retrieving my bag from the back seat of my car, I saw the cloud of blue smoke, and the group of boys puffing it out. One of them in particular, tall, lanky, with long brown hair, was particularly attractive.

I pushed the thoughts of associating with these boys from my mind. I needed to keep out of trouble.


As I entered my first period class, precalculus, I realized that I was likely the only sophomore in the room; it was an eleventh grade math class. Trying to avoid drawing too much attention to myself, I made my way to the back corner. As my Lita’s clanked on the floor, I regretted my decision to wear heels.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen…” As the class began, I let my anxieties fall away and just focused on what I’m good at.

When the bell rang, I collected my things and strolled towards the door, in no hurry to get to my next class.

“Miss Brandt, may I see you a moment?” my gruff, a short, balding man whom I towered over in my heels.

“Yes?” I asked politely, approaching his desk.

“You seem quite competent in mathematics. If you’re looking to make a little extra money, I know a student looking for a private tutor.”

I told him that I would think about it, but I was really not interested in being labeled a brainiac or something.

“Aww, you don’t wanna be my sexy teacher?” I heard, immediately spinning around to see one of the boys from the parking lot behind me, smirking. His voice was like velvet, and I wanted to trail my fingers along it.

“That’s quite enough, Michael,” Mr. Georges muttered from his desk. “You’ll not want to be late to your next class, Elizabeth.”

I then made my way to the door, my hips swaying and my heart racing.

Notes