Three

Needless to say, I did eventually get out of bed, despite my deepest desire to simply not. Sleeping was peaceful and painless, two adjectives that weren’t easily applied to school. My sole motivation for wakefulness was that the sooner I got this early morning routine established, the sooner it was that I would feel only a dull ache of exhaustion, instead of a sharp pain.

When I made my way down the stairs some twenty minutes later, dressed with my hair and teeth brushed, my Aunt Mo had pancakes waiting. Somehow I’d managed to forget that my aunt shared her daughter’s opinion on the first day of school. I sank into my customary kitchen chair, across from my Uncle Mack who was sullenly reading the newspaper. Perhaps it was because he and I were related by blood—Uncle Mack being my mother’s older brother—that Uncle Mack shared my utter disdain for anything and everything that happened before the sun was up.

He and I sat across from each other wordlessly, each eating pancakes at our own paces, while Aunt Mo—short for Maureen—moved with immeasurable grace around the kitchen, flipping batter about with precision.

As I continued forward steadily and a bit queasily—I was never much one for a large breakfast, but I knew that Aunt Maureen would be offended if I didn’t have at least one—my yet empty messenger bag slung at my feet, Katy and Molly bounded down the stairs with, well, boundless energy, chattering eagerly.

“Do they really have Freshman Friday?” Molly squeaked nervously. Katy merely smiled mysteriously. “I hear that they shove the freshmen in their lockers the first Friday of school, and make them wait there until the janitors hear them. And then, if the freshmen can’t remember their locker combinations, they’re stuck until the guidance counselors come back in on Monday.” This was the most ridiculous rumor I had ever heard—guidance counselors didn’t have anything to do with lockers—but Molly genuinely seemed to believe it. I tried and failed to remember being so gullible upon starting freshman year.

Aunt Maureen put down yet another plate of pancakes. If memory served me, we’d be having pancake peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches for the next week or so; Aunt Mo always over estimated when making batter. “There’s no such thing as Freshman Friday,” she soothed. “And don’t let your brother hear you talking about such nonsense, or you’ll get him started worrying already.”

That was true enough; Jack was our resident worrier, more like his father than mother, but he was also only starting eighth grade, which meant that he was still sleeping, which made me jealous.

“Way to ruin the fun, Mom,” Katy complained, rolling her eyes and hefting her stylish faux-designer backpack. During the conversation, she had bolted down a single pancake, and was now glancing at her watch with creased brow. “Let’s go,” she said to the room at large.

Glancing at my half-empty plate, Aunt Mo bit her lip. “Won’t you be hungry, Deirdre?” she asked me as she handed a brown bagged lunch to each of the three girls in front of her.

“No,” I answered plainly, bending down to reach my bag. By this point, both Katy and Molly were at the door, having thrown a hasty, “Bye Mom; Bye Dad” over their shoulders. I lifted the flap of my slouchy bag, tucked my lunch inside, and then trailed behind my cousins.

Still fretting, Aunt Maureen followed. “Won’t you be hot in those clothes?” she fluttered, looking as if she were about to kiss my forehead, or pat my cheek, or perform some other equally maternal action. I sure hoped that she didn’t.

“No,” I answered again. One would have thought by now that my aunt had grown accustomed to my regular outfit, but this appeared to not be the case. I had, after all, worn my customary black-shirt-and-dark-wash-jeans combo throughout the summer, despite the Pennsylvanian heat. Mornings were simply easier when I had a makeshift uniform.

She looked prepared to ask me yet another question—a railing assault against my decrepit backpack, perhaps—but Uncle Mack interrupted her. “Let the girl go, Maureen. She’s going to be late for school.” Aunt Mo turned to him with a reproachful glare. “Goodbye, Deirdre,” he intoned, returning to his newspaper.

While my aunt was otherwise occupied, I escaped to the driveway, where Katy and Molly waited. “Could you be any slower?” the elder of the two sisters asked plaintively, leaning against the car.

“Probably.”

Katy merely rolled her eyes and jumped into the driver’s seat with an exasperated snort, slamming the door behind her. Molly climbed into the passenger seat, leaving the back for me. I entered obligingly. After making sure that everyone was buckled in—Katy was most likely the most meticulous driver that I’d ever met—Katy pulled out of the driveway, expertly maneuvering past the neighbor’s garbage can, which had rolled into the street.

This car was Katy’s baby; she’d been saving up for it ever since she’d first gotten her permit. This summer and the one before our junior year, she had worked ridiculously long hours at a summer camp, sleeping in tents and enduring bug bites just to turn a buck. I couldn’t imagine being at the beck and call of fifteen ten-to-twelve year old children for twenty four hours a day, for six weeks, but my economic demands were much less. My mandatory summer job had been, since freshman year, at a local bookseller, stocking shelves. And, instead of blowing all my earnings on a automobile that I didn’t need—there was nothing around that I couldn’t walk to—every penny I’d earned had gone towards college, only a year away.

I leaned my head against the window, watching the scenery flick past. At least the sun was up now, but that innocent pleasure would be gone by approximately mid-October. But still, the daylight made is possible to pretend that it wasn’t quite so early. It may have been lying to myself, but it wasn’t exactly a real lie, so that was fine.

“—and I’m so worried that I won’t be able to find my classes. Jessica told me that if you’re late, even on the first day, you get detention.” Molly’s skittish anticipation was partially irritating, partially endearing. Thinking about it, I supposed that freshman year had been somewhat more exciting than all the others, even if all the made-for-TV-movie clichés had proven false.

Katy laughed at her sister’s naïveté. “You don’t get detention, Mol,” she reassured, no longer playing the part of mysterious insider; now she was the knowledgeable contact. “Not in the first few days. If after a few weeks you’re stupid enough not to have figured out where everything is—and you will, it’s easy—then maybe some really nasty teachers’ll give you detention. But you’re fine for now.”

“I don’t even know where my homeroom is!” Molly wailed.

Fog was covering the football field as Kelly pulled into her much-coveted parking spot with precision. It was pretty, but it would be burned off by the summer sun soon enough. Already the day was relatively bright, considering that it was only seven in the morning and all.

“I think your homeroom is close to Deirdre’s. What homeroom’re you in?” Katy turned the key in the ignition, and the comforting rumbling of the engine died beneath me.

“Two hundred fifteen,” Molly replied after digging through her backpack for her schedule.

“Deirdre?” Katy inquired, turning to look at me.

“Two thirteen.” I didn’t need to look at my schedule. I have a good memory.
Katy clapped her hands together once, like a child presented with a new toy. “There you go, then, Mol. You can follow Deirdre.” Clearly my year was kicking off to a momentous start.