FareWell

Call it a fairy tale; for this day started out almost identical to one. I was completely unaware of what the future had planned for me. I became accompanied by a surprise. One which would soon change everything, allowing me to become dumbfounded for what was about to happen. It was a lost needle in a haystack, completely and utterly unpredictable, and here my life was about to change in less than a fraction of a second.

He was the kind of guy that could make any girl blush with just his freakishly, adorable smile that radiates off his mouth. He was 5’8” with short brown hair perfectly combed to the left side of his face nearly caressing off the corner of his left eyebrow. His hair flawlessly reflected his light brown eyes. They were different than most; they glimmered in the sunlight and showed kindness that was constantly radiating off of his very essence.

Underneath both of his eyes were a series of a dozen or more freckles that looked to be a ten-hour masterpiece by Leonardo da Vinci himself. He was a canvas of every perfect quality wrapped into a single human body. He was a dream that had become a reality. There was never a fuller moment that could be put into comparison, no books filled with neither luscious romance nor a million-dollar love story.

His name was Kalvin. Yes, Kalvin with a ‘k’. He was a senior at Grand Valley High School and was the most popular kid in school. Kalvin was 17 and always the center of attention wherever he went. You would know of his arrival just by seeing the multiple heads rotate his way or by the girls blushing whilst attempting anything to gain his attention for even a fraction of a second. He came from a wealthy hand-me-down family of lawyers and is supposedly the next heir to take over his family’s business.

It was a cold fall day, the first day of fall to be exact, and had started the same way all of my days had; with me hitting the snooze button repeatedly, twice, three times, and then before I had the chance at a fifth my furious mother was clawing her way through my sheets in an attempt to get motivated. I was more than delighted to have made it to the bus stop in time. I had already missed the bus twice already this week, and I am fairly certain my mother’s response would have been everything but pleasant if I watched the bus drive past the house again.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to spend all of my morning prepping, or half-decently putting on my makeup just to look half as good as the remaining 99% of the kids in my grade. They had it well, or at least you could interpret that from the way they dress, talk, walk or by the lack of dirt underneath their fingernails. It was already past the beginning of my senior year. My anxiety has been becoming increasingly noticeable towards starting a new life beyond Grand Valley.

The differences between the other girls in my high school and me were enough to make me sick to my stomach whenever I came within meters of the closest mirror. Although I do enjoy being labeled as ‘different’, trust me, I live for it. I often get a new hairstyle bi-weekly and sometimes I feel the need to change it at the beginning of every week. This week I decided to go with blonde hair with blue highlights that were perfectly layered and reminded me of just how amazing something simple could look.

Being 5’4” and the oddball everywhere I happen to walk, I am constant subject to rumors. I am well aware of the difference in the atmosphere as my presence becomes known, more known than ever as I walk into a room inhabited by any one person. I constantly feel the tension of thousands of eyes staring down my every movement, like a pirate caught for treason who has just been sentenced for execution. It’s enough to make anyone hate who they are or who they have struggled to become.

As I make my way towards the bus, I notice the same rusted letters that are barely noticeable to anyone who makes the slightest attempt to read the three numbers that became associated with it. If I hadn’t lived here for almost five years now, I would never have been able to guess that the digits were “956” even if they were big, black block letters to show a sense of creativity. Below the numbers coated in a bright red color that had already been faded and repainted over with a completely different, distinguishable shade were the words “Grand Valley Schools.”

I advance towards the first step while mentally preparing myself for another horrible 20-minute bus ride. I slowly make my way down the crowded aisle and take my seat, hoping my name doesn’t become another one to get thrown across the aisle. I sit down in seat 21, the same seat that I have been assigned to since the first day of freshman year. In four years, I’ve only had two girls sit with me, and both girls requested a change of seats within the mere first week.

I am originally from Seattle, Washington. My mother, Jessica Mae Handleton, became famous for her many publications in several major magazines and newspapers, including The Seattle Post. Graduating from Harvard University with a major in journalism and creative writing she moved to Seattle where she would soon meet and fall in love with my father, a young man who gave everything to become an excellent artist. He was fearless and more than willing to go to the extremes in order to create art that was only ever imagined.

They met during an open mic session at their local coffee shop and instantly felt a connection that was beyond indescribable. It was a romantic night neither of them would forget. Shortly after they became married with a newlywed surprise on the way. I was that surprise.

My thoughts became disrupted as the sound of several girls whom sat directly behind me began to whisper my name. As hard as I try to stay out of everyone’s way it never seems to work. I even made an attempt to look better than usual this morning, spending several hours last night deciding on an outfit that I had received for my birthday the week before. I decided on a skirt, which had imprinted lotus flowers along the waistline, perfectly placed showing the beauty that comes with harmony and simplicity.

20 minutes later my bus ride came to an end and my endless amount of time spent day dreaming, wishing for half of the things that seemed to weaken me terribly to disappear altogether. I was thankful to breathe in fresh air and the aroma of a beautiful fall day. If only every day didn’t consist of me trying to block out every new rumor that I was pertained to, maybe then I could be happy with myself. I always think “Who is getting stepped on this week?” and then I realize week after week it’s me.

I stepped off the bus and was immediately welcomes by hundreds of eyes, some of which were the basis of confusion, follow my movements towards the front door of Grand Valley High. Any new kid could easily tell who belonged to the Jocks. Or those involved with the Physic Club. With so many groups containing far more sub groups the school seemed more like a jail than a place for education. As I walk past the senior class Jocks, I can hear one of them whispering, “Look what that freak did to her hair this week.” It was a comment that was followed by multiple explicit laughs as if they didn’t realize just how loud they were actually being.

I personally didn’t belong with any of the many social groups. Mainly because I have social anxiety and would rather listen to music than spend my time surrounded by half of the kids I was forced to be around. It was the very reason why I was shocked to find a certain guest noticeably hanging around my locker.

Kalvin was the type of guy who was fearless and loved making acquaintances out of anyone. He was the most popular kid in my grade, and more than likely the most popular kid in school. As I began to walk the opposite way and avoid him altogether, I was stopped by a certain thought I never would had expected to blossom. I quickly made my way to my locker trying not to make even the slightest bit of eye contact with those eyes that could easily make any girl blush. It was those exact eyes that glistened with warmth and compassion.

Kalvin was best known for his extraneously detailed paintings of anyone willing to be made into a masterpiece of the decade. The talent that he portrayed was overpowering. It even brought the attention of some of the best art schools in the United States, as well as colleges in England and France.

I immediately began to panic and question just how presentable I looked. I attempted to fix my hair since I barely had time to get dressed. The only explanation was my poor sleeping habits that often tended to run right into first period. I only wish I spent more time on my face and hair than trying to pick out the perfect outfit. Since the only person I ever impressed was myself. My social anxiety began to kick in and made me question how much acne was noticeable on my face. As I tried to cover up the dark underlining’s underneath my eyes with my black Ray-Bans, I began to wish I had subjected myself to more than five hours of sleep.

I continuously stared up at the ceiling wondering endlessly about the impossible as the lack of sleep started to affect me psychologically. “You must be Alexandria Handleton?” Kalvin asked trying his absolute hardest not to sound like he had already known what my answer was going to be. I began fighting the urge to become completely speechless. I had never been in this position before. But here I was, talking to Kalvin, one of the most popular guys in school. He was conversing with me, the girl with barely any friends, and the outcast at every school she managed to make it into.

“Yes, why do you ask?” I respond to his question while trying not to sound completed startled by the question Kalvin surprised me with. My parents never prepared me for a full-on conversation with the man every girl dreamed of being with. As I try and ignore the overwhelmingly potent nervousness I was barricaded with, I notice the palms of my hands becoming increasingly clammy just as my face began to turn bright red. It was at this point that my anxiety, my Achilles heel, became beyond noticeable.

“I have wanted to ask you if you wouldn’t mind posing to be in one of my paintings.” His British accent became easier to notice as the words continued to escape his mouth. “It would be my pleasure to have someone as unique as you contribute that beauty of yours onto one of my paintings.” His generous personality began to explicitly show as his pre-rehearsed speech continued.

Honestly, I didn’t know how to respond to any of the dozen compliments I was made aware of. It was unlike me to submit myself in a social manner, let alone submit myself socially with the guy so many girls dreamt of being with. My lack of communication skills seemed to evolve into the ending of the beginning.

Even as a baby my interests were always different than my parents. My mother and father, James Handleton, were constantly living their life in the 80’s. They were always hoping fate could forge me into the very person that I am thankfully opposite of. I was the ambitious one in the family who enjoyed going on wild adventures alone and experiencing in first person, what it was like to be surrounded by nature’s wonders.

I was always open with my emotions and who I was. Every week I would come home with another poster that needed to be taped next to the 15 other posters I made my room accustomed to. My living space became my very own museum of anything valuable or displayed to the world the real me.

My purple walls were no longer in sight; only the creativity that was smothered on top. As I became older, music became a passion that I couldn’t be kept away from. I was in love with the feeling I would receive from music flowing through my veins with every sound I created. It was music that led me to prove myself worthy to the world, and to make a difference amongst the rest of civilization.

I now finally worked up enough courage to respond to the question of the year, or at least it was in my world. I accepted the offer, trying not to sound too excited with my new acquaintance, or how the next few days would be spent.