this is going 2 be 1 of the stories in my New Kid Series. another one is my story Great Minds. a description of this series will be put in my profile...sometime in the near future...
Ever remember your first week in a new school? Where everyone's staring at you, wondering where you came from, deciding whether or not if you're 'cool' enough to be in their clique? Where you have no idea what you're learning in math class because at your old school you were learning about something entirely different? Where you're too nervous and shy around these new people that you hardly participate in class or talk to anyone in the lunchroom? Where everyone calls you the 'New Kid'?
I remember my first week all too well. All those things applied to me when I came to this new town. And while most of those things have come and gone, only one thing remains.
I've been here a month.
But I'm still called the 'New Kid'.
Maybe it's because this town is so small that no one moves here to take that title away from me. Maybe it's because people don't want me to recognize me by my name Eva Starls. Or maybe it's because I seem to not care about being called the New Kid that people still keep at it.
But it's not like everyone who calls me that has something against me. It's more like one of those friendly nicknames, not one of those hurtful, mean jokes all the popular kids are pulling to ruin my life. In fact, I've taken the name New Kid to heart and mind, turning around in the halls during or after school when anyone calls, 'Hey, New Kid! How was your day?'
And with my socialness and outgoing personality, almost everyone likes me. In the last month I've been here, I've been invited to a couple of parties, hung out at some local restaurant with kids from school, and talked over the phone with just about everyone.
I said that almost everyone likes me. That's true, no doubt. Guys like me, teachers like me, some of the lesser popular girls like me. The only people who seem to hate me are the most popular girls. Why, you might ask?
Because I'm a legend in my Tech class. And just because I can pick up a saw or a hammer and not cry about breaking a nail, it means that all the boys in my Tech class practically fall to their knees in worship. I don't care that all the boys are asking for my number, but the popular female population at Cheson High School doesn't want to acknowledge that fact. Oh, no. They'd rather glare at me from afar and make fun of my hair.
Not that my hair's that bad. It's short, about up to my chin and light brown with natural blonde highlights, I swear. I would never dye my hair, partly because I hate that it ruins my hair and my mother would never let me. My body's build is about the same as any other fifteen-year-old's: lanky, mediocre, fat here, thin there, and still growing. The only really attractive features I have are my eyes. They're almond shaped and gray with little flecks of green when the light shines on them.
Or so, that's what people tell me my eyes look like. I have to have people tell me what color everything around me is. I can't tell; I'm colorblind.
I don't really tell people this fact about me because at my old school, whenever I told someone I was colorblind, they started acting strange around me. They avoided me like the plague, as though I were some freak of nature. I'd let them. If they thought they could become color blind just by being around me, then they were morons, every last one of them.
I didn't want anyone at my new school about my condition, as my thirteen-year-old brother liked to put it. So I refrained from saying anything in class whenever the teachers asked, 'So, Eva, would you like to tell the class something interesting about yourself?' I'd always reply with a simple no and that was that.
After the first three weeks, I had found my first friend at Cheson. Her name is Catalina Sanche. We met at lunch when she had asked me to join her table. Me, being the polite person, had obliged and sat with her and her other friends. And although I liked her other friends, too, Catalina became my best friend. Only a week after I had met her had I told her of my condition. She replied, 'That's unusual. What's it like?'
I couldn't have asked for a better friend. Because not only did she stay my friend after I told her I was color blind, but Catalina also described the colors of everything around me. She'd point to the french fries at lunch and say, 'Eva, these are yellow.' Or, she'd point at a guy I found cute and say, 'His hair is black, and his eyes are this gorgeous hazel color.' Or, she'd tell me, 'That shirt Mr. Doganic was wearing today? Yeah, that was this really tacky orange color everyone made fun of behind his back.'
Catalina wasn't the only one describing the colors to me. At home, I had my parents, my brother, and my two sisters to help me, too. They've helped me ever since I was four, when my older sister Evelyn had asked me to help color this picture in her coloring book, and I ended up coloring everything red, instead of the respectful colors. Evelyn had gotten mad at me and hit me because I wasn't doing it right. She told my parents and I had to explain that it all looked black and white and gray to me. Then I had to take these tests and bingo! I was officially colorblind!
So here I am now, a month after I moved to this new town, same old plain Eva Starls, colorblind but happy. And there's nothing I would do to change that fact.
Except, of course, impressing a certain Scott Vanholf, a boy who probably doesn't even care about anything dealing with me…
a little short, but i promise the next chappie will be better! review please!
any and all good comments r appreciated! flames r just ignored! ;)