I’m not gonna say I didn’t fit in at my school, Eastridge High

I’m not gonna say I didn’t fit in at my school, Eastridge High. My school just didn’t fit in with me. And I always liked to keep it that way. If I actually did “fit in” at school (or vice versa) I would be too busy pretending to care about dances, football games and extra curricular activities to have any spare time to myself (and I really value that time, mind you). Everyone at Eastridge was just so obsessed fitting in and having the full on “high-school-experience” that they were almost like zombies. And zombies scare me. A lot. I honestly have recurring nightmares that the Eastridge Zombies eat my brain, thereby forcing me to become one of them and chose the next theme for the Homecoming dance and fit in 52 community service hours a week all while maintaining a 4.0 gpa. I swear; zombies. So I decided that if they were zombies, I could be a vampire.

Obviously, I didn’t really think I was a vampire. I just wore the teeth to scare people and/or make them wonder. My dad is a dentist, and for Halloween during my freshman year he made me custom vampire fangs. Since he’s a professional, they look freakishly real (yet still subtle, they’re lovely). And since then, I wore them to school every day. It definitely scared the EZ’s (Eastridge Zombies, that is) enough to keep them at a safe distance. Nobody bothered me. I always finished at least half of my homework at lunch, which left me more free time after school, which really meant I got a lot of sleep, leading to a generally stress free life. That is, of course, until that fateful day. I swear, fateful days really get in the way of things.

I was working on my English report during lunch one day (well, more bullshit than actual work), minding my own business under my favorite tree at school when up walks Stewart McLeod, all awkward and twitchy.

“Hello, Virginia” he managed to spit out nervously. “May I steal a moment of your time?” I stared at him blankly. Sure he was part of the less threatening Zombie-Nerd breed, but he was a zombie nonetheless. Why was he talking to me?

“You can talk to me, if that’s what you mean. But I don’t think you can actually steal time,” I smirked, he stared. “It’s…you know…not tangible. Anyway, what do you want?” I hate it when I waste jokes, no matter how lame they are. Stewart shook his head, erasing my “time stealing” statement like an etch-a-sketch.

“Right, well it’s a matter of business actually.” He said, tugging at his shirt while sitting directly in front of me as I wondered what kind of business a sophomore could be a part of.

“Ok, talk then. Let’s not waste our stolen time now, Stewie.” I said sarcastically. I loved harassing underclassmen.

“Well I’ll get to the point then,” he made any and all efforts to avoid eye contact. “There’s a…group I’m a part of. We’ve been discussing admitting a few new members. We think you have potential.” He said very matter-of-factly. I paused. I blinked.

“Wow. I’m so flattered.” My voice lacked any hint of emotion.

“You would be if you knew about the group,” he stated very proudly. “It’s an elite gathering that very few people are even aware exists.”

“Stewart, Mathletes are hardly elite and not even remotely secret. And besides, anything past basic algebra is beyond my capabilities. So thanks a lot, but…” And then he interrupted me, and that’s plain rude in my book.

“No, not math,” He blurted before looking around as if he’d just shouted an obscenity. Then, in a hushed voice, “Be at this address after school at 3:33,” he passed me a piece of slightly wrinkled paper out of his pocket. “Come alone.” I looked at said paper, which had the home address of some guy named Chad Adams and we were apparently to meet in the basement.

“You’re inviting me to some kid’s basement?” I rolled my eyes. “Is it an elite basement?”

“Virginia, if you show up I’ll give you five bucks. Our assignment this week was to bring someone new to the next meeting and you’re the only person I could think of.”

“Fifteen.” I wasn’t going into some stranger’s basement for any less.

“You drive a hard bargain, Miss Buxton,” Stewart started. I could feel a somewhat pretentious speech (with a hint of complete dork) coming on.

“Yes or no, Stewart? I’ve got things to do, so…” I trailed off, waiting for him to say,

“Yes.” He then walked away with his arms straight down, much like his gaze. It made his backpack seem so much higher up than usual. Anyhow, since it was Friday, I had little homework, and I was getting fifteen bucks for it, I decided, just this once, I would go for it.