SIX

ARABELLA

For me, the first days of school are my favourite time of the year. There's just something I really like about it- it's like the start of a new era, a clean slate, a chance to reinvent yourself or try something new.

I know to say that I like going back to school as the Prom Queen of Riverside High is pretty easy for me to say since I'm a quote on quote "popular" girl. Many people could agree with the argument that the first day of highschool entails the death of individualism and the mind-numbingness of conforming to a hierarchy where wearing a cheerleading skirt or not can decide where you belong in this world. But I love the idea of first days and I think mostly because first days give me that anticipating sensation where it kind of feels like everything and anything is possible.

Yeah, I'm an idealist like that. Sue me.

I could smell bacon wafting through the air when I arrive in the kitchen. Momma is hunched over the stove, humming Whitney Houston as she fries up some breakfast. Daddy is reading the paper, shaking his head as he flips it over. My little sister Camille is spooning Lucky Charms into her mouth.

"Eat up, Bella," my mother says the minute she sees me come through. "You gotta get some energy for the first day of school."

"Wearing that on the first day of school? Don't you got dress code?" My dad peeks from the edge of his newspaper, scrutinising the new A-line denim skirt I purchased with the money I've saved up from dog walking.

"Still no less than six inches above the knee, Daddy," I groan, tugging on the hem of my skirt.

Suddenly, the sharp bleat of the house phone ring throughout the whole house. Momma suddenly drops her pan, turn off the stove and head over to pick it up. "Hello, who is this?" Then a cross expression splashes over her face. "Bella, it's for you. It's Adrian."

"Sorry," I sheepishly smile at my mom and grab the phone from my mom. Twirling the cord, I stretch it out towards the hallway so that I can talk in private. "Adrian, it's breakfast."

A screech pierces through the phone lines. "Imogen Ryan can fucking die."

I sigh. "What happened?"

"She's dating Thomas Fuller now! I called her to tell her I'm about to pick her up for school and she tried to be all slick, telling me how her dad's taking her but I know that her Dad's a surgeon who's at work by like four a.m so I went to her house anyways and she was getting picked up by Thomas Fuller! Can't you believe her?"

"No, I can't," I say immediately. "That's horrible, Adrian. I'm so sorry. I know you really liked Thomas."

"She's officially out of the group," Adrian rages, "If she tries to talk to you, don't. We do not associate ourselves with backstabbers like her."

I nod, "Yeah, okay. Would you wanna swing by Big Joe's before school? Get your vanilla milkshakes to make you feel better. It's on me."

I could hear Adrian shaking her head. "No, don't do that." Her tone instantly changes to a much sweeter, softer one. She knows how I live in an area of town that isn't as fancy as hers. "I managed to weasel twenty bucks from Stepfather Stalin this morning though. Milkshakes on me. I'm gonna be there in twenty. See ya later?"

"See ya later. Love ya," I add our customary goodbye that's been part of our phone calls since the end of time.

"Ha, bet I love you even more," Adrian laughs and then she hangs up the phone.

No, you don't. I think silently.

-

Truth be told, I bet you're wondering how in the hell does a girl like me become friends with a hothead white girl like Adrian.

I've been told by many people I can come off as an ice princess. People's first impressions are often that I'm cold and unfriendly but the truth is I think I just weigh my words a little more than others. I pick and choose my moments and if you're a girl like me, a black girl in a majority white school like Riverside, picking your moments are vital to my survival.

Adrian is white as hell- there's no doubt about it but I swear that girl has Latina blood because I've never known such fire. I've known Adrian since second grade since we braided our bodies together in sleeping bags at girl camp since we first blood-brothered ourselves to each other. I know Adrian and can read her every raised eyebrow, every toe pivot. She holds certain things—calculus, hall passes, her stepfather, stop signs—in a spicy contempt that drives her hard.

Once, she dunked Ursula Mayor's toothbrush in the toilet at fifth-grade camp because Ursula made out with the guy I liked and she calls her father "Deadbeat" to his face, and there's that one time she called our cheerleading coach a cunt when she made us run suicides for mucking about.

I know things about her no one else does as well. I know she's full of Daddy Issues and too much trouble. I know the only guy she ever truly loved- Matty Wilde- dumped her after she lost her virginity to him. I know about how she cried for three days straight after. I know how she likes to act all tough when she's actually chicken about the dark and horror movies. I know how she once went through a phase in eight grade where she threw up anything she ate. I know how she likes to pretend she's a cynic and scoff about the whole true love gimmick when she's the biggest romantic out there.

I even know things about her that she doesn't know. Like how we once got drunk on two-dollar wine coolers and kiss for the laughs in freshmen year but I've been thinking about it ever since. I know how much I love the way she sleeps- how it's one of the only times she experienced peace and quiet, how her chest rises and falls and how her hair fans around her like a halo. I know how much I love her fiery head and I know how much I love the way she talks- rude and brash but full of meaning and heart. She's got stuff for a white girl.

But I also know how Adrian and I can never exist in that sense. It goes against every moral fibre in my body. I'm a religion Christian girl, who's been taught since day one that it's always going to be a man and a woman.

Even on a surface level, Adrian and I can't mix like that. As much as I can try to deny it, Adrian's still an uppity white girl on the other side of town and I'm just a lower-middle-class black girl who got lucky. 

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