TRACK #1 MUSIC:

🎵 "Anthem for the Year 2000" - Silverchair

🎵 "Basket Case" - Green Day 

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TRACK #1 - FALL

"Anthem for the Year 2000" - Silverchair

It had been four years since I last stepped foot in Bridgeview, but the familiar scent of sulfur still lingered in the air. A thin veil of smoke hovered in the gray skies, remnants of the steel mill in the adjacent town. The sun tried to peek out from behind the clouds as the birds chirped a morning tune through the dusty screen door in my foyer. The song was cut short by the shrill screeching of tires and a thick voice screaming, "Hey! Watch it, asshole!" Ah, the sweet sounds of home.

"Aria! Are you ready?" My mom's voice bellowed down the hall of our townhouse before her figure appeared beside me. Her long, white-blonde hair was tied in a disheveled ponytail atop her head. She shivered, then tied her fluffy pink pastel robe over a pair of matching pajamas. Bright, blue eyes slowly scanned me, and I was positive she was silently judging my wardrobe.

"Wait... you're going into public like that?" Well, maybe not so silently anymore. I brushed off the faded wide-leg jeans and the semi-fitted black tank I was wearing, trying to ignore the scoff that escaped her lips at my attempt. My long, dark hair draped at my side when I bent down to gather my worn low-top Chucks. My mom, unfortunately, continued: "Didn't I just buy you new shoes for school? Why are you still wearing those old ones?"

"Mom!" I snipped, waving her off with a flick of my wrist. My mom and I were two separate beings when it came to our appearances. She was practically a life-sized Barbie doll. Her outfits were always coordinated and perfectly accessorized. Because she was only a teenager when she had me, many people often mistook us for sisters, much to my chagrin. Even though I mostly looked more like my full-blooded Italian father, it was obvious that we were related because she had given me her eyes.

"I'll wear the new ones tomorrow– I just– I didn't get them out yet." I clutched my keys in my fist so hard my knuckles were almost white. I knew my parents were going to make a big deal out of my first day of school, but I didn't realize to what extent. I was hoping they'd go easy on me. They did not. "I have to go. I'm going to be late." I twirled the keys around absently as I took a deep, steadying breath. There was no way high school was going to be worse than playing in front of sold-out arenas on tour with my father, right? Why, then, did I feel so nervous?

"Just one picture, okay?" My mom held a yellow disposable Kodak camera, which immediately elicited a roll of my eyes. Pretty sure junior year didn't warrant a first-day-of-school photo. At least I wouldn't have to see it for a while, since she always forgot to get the film developed.

I was able to open the door and step outside with my protest before I was abruptly cut off. "Mom, no–"

"Buongiorno!" My father's chipper voice sounded behind her, dripping with his thick accent as they both pushed their way out of the creaky screen door and onto the tattered sidewalk behind me. "This needs to be fixed," he muttered, surprisingly in English, nursing a mug of coffee between his hands. He kicked a stray rock with his house slipper. Our home was in serious need of a facelift after years of being rented out while the three of us were on the road. My father refused to move out of the city and vowed to fix the house up himself. Who knew when that might happen?

"Good morning," I smiled as he wrapped me into a warm hug. I breathed in the muted scent of clean woods left behind from his earlier shower. The bold smell of coffee and his calming presence were enough to push my nerves aside. I could handle high school.

"Just one photo? Your father and I would really, really love it if–" my mom began pleading, and I reluctantly waved her on as she motioned for me to stand by my father. If a picture was going to make them that happy, then I was going to have to pose. I wasn't even looking at my father when she snapped the photo, but I could feel the pride beaming through his pores.

"Alright, I have to go!" I hugged them both before sliding into the driver's seat of my new-to-me Ford Focus. The car was handed down from my grandmother, who moved back to Italy around the time we came home. The paint job was shoddy at best, and the power steering fluid had to be replaced more often than I would have liked; but the car got me from point A to point B. I named him Freddy after my favorite lead singer and prayed daily that he'd make it to graduation. I put the car in gear to a chorus of "goodbye" and "good luck," then began the drive to my first day at high school.

Downtown passed by in a blur while I sped through the maze of narrow one-way streets. It felt like forever had passed since I saw this mostly concrete landscape, but I remembered it as if it was etched on my heart. The city held both beautiful historic villages and rough slums. We lived somewhere in between.

The dismal haze began to lift as I drove the two miles to Bridgeview High. Rolling grassland gave way to a modern building with a clean brick exterior in hues of charcoal and tan. A long, burnt-orange strip cascaded down the middle with block letters reading "BHS" in the center. The brand new building had been erected just two years ago when the middle and high schools became separate buildings. It was a sign that although Bridgeview had some unsavory areas, overall, the town was thriving.

I pulled into the parking lot with my car windows rolled down and an old cassette tape sending Green Day's "Basket Case" into the atmosphere. Unfortunately, Freddy didn't play CDs. I made a mental note to find a contraption to remedy that as soon as possible. The parking lot felt strangely full already, but the digital clock on my dashboard read 7:30. I was under the impression that school started at 7:45. Was I late?

Before I could answer my own question, my attention was immediately diverted to a sleek black Cadillac in the aisle ahead of me, blocking my path. I put my foot on the brake, then waited for it to move. Suddenly, a voice shouted from inside the car. "Well, I wouldn't have to drop you off if you hadn't been so stupid and wrecked your damn car!" the voice roared. A tall boy with a handsome face, tawny beige complexion, and broad shoulders got out of the passenger's side.

"Yeah, whatever," the boy retorted with a huff as he opened the back seat to grab a large orange-and-black equipment bag that read Bridgeview Football.

"Seriously? That's how you talk to your father?!" The driver abruptly got out of the car and stormed over to his son.

The boy pleaded in a hushed tone, "Dad, come on."

"I don't care if the whole school sees! I'll kick your ass right in front of everyone!"

"Dad, seriously, chill out," the boy repeated, shifting uncomfortably. THWACK! The father's hand flew right across his son's face with a resounding smack. I grimaced as the noise seemed to echo throughout my car.

"You can walk next time!" the boy's father screamed, face red with anger, before getting back into the car and driving off.

The boy and I locked eyes, a large outline of fingers marring his cheek. My breath hitched.

Oh. Oh, no. Look away, Aria. Look away.

I bit my lower lip and tapped on the steering wheel, pretending I hadn't seen anything. The boy's shoulders slumped, and he walked away. My chest deflated as my path was cleared to find a parking spot.

This certainly was going to be an interesting first day of school.

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