Ironic // Alanis Morrisette

The school building, the brick and mortar I am facing as I pull into the parking lot, looks deceptively better than the school I just got kicked out of. Well, I didn't get kicked out, but that's the rumor that will be floating around soon enough. According to my mom, I escaped. According to the school board, I was encouraged to have a fresh start. According to me, however, I was forcibly removed from the life I knew. True, that life wasn't pretty, not even sub-par. It was actually shitty, if I'm totally honest. But it was what I knew so I just planned on surviving until my birthday.

Now I've got to deal with a whole crop of new shallow people. I am not digging it and have no delusions that anything will be an improvement. Same old shit, different day. There's a reason that saying is a thing. It's actual facts, right there.

I reluctantly park my 'Stang in the lot at the front of the school. I'd rather bolt than park but then I'd just have to go home and face my mom. So I park. Turns out, that's my first mistake of the day.

"Back lot next time," says some random guy getting out of his Audi next to me. "This lot is for high profile vehicles, sweetheart."

What a warm welcome from asshole number one. I'm keeping track.

"Thanks for the heads up, bitch." I salute the guy, who looks pissed that I'm blowing him off, or that I called him 'bitch,' but I walk away without letting him expand.

This brick building must have dreams of being part of an ivy-league institution instead of a mid-range high school. There's even a sad little sprout of ivy trying desperately to latch onto the exterior. The leaves have footprints on them. No one gave the little plant the memo that high school kids don't give a crap about vegitation. They only care about the exterior of their crew, how glammed up they are, perfection inspired by a YouTube tutorial. I shake my head at the students I pass as I walk up the steps to the main entrance. I'm getting all of the eyes focused my way. Glares, judgments, assumptions...all based on one look. Yeah I'm wearing all black. Yeah I've got hot pink on my lips, nails and in my hair. Yeah my heels are spikes. Yeah all I brought to my first day was my phone. They can judge me all they like, it doesn't change who I am. It only changes how people treat me. I don't intend to hang with anyone so the way they treat me isn't relevant.

The door opens automatically and stale air rushes out. Perfect. The place smells like old books and dirty socks. I haven't taken two steps in the door when I am addressed by the awaiting principal.

"You must be April. I'm Dr. Connors. Welcome to Jefferson High School." The woman reaches out to shake my hand, her nails perfectly manicured with French tips. I don't usually suck up to authority but it is the first day, so I shake her hand. I don't need that kind of reputation. Detention is not my thing.

I nod hello while looking at her demeanor. Dr. Connors is put together; sharp grey pinstripe dress suit, black wedges, tasteful statement necklace with a pop of teal, and soft dark curls resting on her shoulders. Her look says 'take me seriously' without adding any intimidation. The woman seems approachable and understanding.

That assumption is my second mistake of the day.

As we walk to the main office, Dr. Connors has some words for me. "I'm not sure how things are addressed at Miller, because while all the principals have discussions, we don't all handle issues the same. But at Jefferson, we don't allow for any issues that detract from learning. You will comply with our policies and procedures or there will be consequences."

What the hell? Is she implying that I violated some policy? I was literally forced to come here due to harassment. Not my harassment of others, but a long list of asshole students harassing me.

Me.

ME.

What fucking policy did I violate by being targeted relentlessly?

"I'm not sure I follow, Dr. Connors." My blood is boiling. I'm so pissed that everything I'm looking at actually looks red. I'm literally seeing red because of this woman.

She pauses her steps, looks around us seemingly to make sure no one can hear what she's about to say. Then she gives me that look. The I-know-what's-really-going-on-with-you look that adults who have no idea what's really going on give.

"What you do outside of this campus is your business. But there will be no 'meetings'," she uses air quotes on the word, "in any bathrooms. There will be no sneaking into the boy's locker rooms. There will be no money exchanged for any reason, even for a stick of gum." Dr. Connors raises an eyebrow at the end of her rebuke.

Rumors have a way of infiltrating every area of life. Here I am, attempting to escape the rumors that I got paid for bathroom and locker room favors—a rumor started by a guy bitter that I wouldn't put out on our first date—and those rumors have arrived ahead of me. The principal buys them, hook, line and sinker. Which means I'm already sunk.

I steal myself, put up the only armor I've got, my attitude, and smirk. There's a fine line between disrespect and self-preservation. I need to ride that line for the next eleven and a half months—my legal b-day and official escape—unless things change, that is, but I don't have a good feeling about Dr. Connors suddenly being enlightened.

"Guess I'll have to keep my 'meetings' to myself, then. Thanks for the talk, super glad to be here." I grab the schedule of classes Dr. Connors had been holding and turn to leave. She knows she made her point so she doesn't stop me. I know I made mine as well, because she adds, "We're so glad to have you, April," when I turn my back on her.

I don't know where a single class is, but I'd rather walk the halls hunting for them all day than have an uptight escort.

Looking down at my schedule for the first time, expecting to see the same classes I'd been taking at Miller, a new one stands out to me. Last period of the day: auto shop. I've never taken auto shop, don't know a thing about autos except that mine is a piece of junk. Why the hell would the counselor assign me to that class?

I pull out the only thing on me—my phone—and text my mom.

Auto shop?

She's got to know something about this. Her reply comes quickly.

Another favor. Double sided. They wanted more girls in the course. I wanted you to know how to take care of your car. Win-win.

Nope. Lose-lose. I will probably ruin my car attempting to fix it. The rumors will just swirl that my meetings happen in the guy-heavy course, because why the hell else would the new girl with a reputation like mine take a class that must be ninety percent guys?

Thx for not informing me BEFORE I showed up in 6 in. heels and a mini skirt.

What was she thinking? Do adults get high school amnesia the second they graduate? Is there some kind of toxin on the diploma's that causes them to forget the trauma they endured for the four longest years of their lives?

I give up. Done. I have no more fight for this in me. I'll show up in class, do my work and ignore the rest of my very small world. Including my mom at this point because the woman just single handedly destroyed the next eleven months. Finished.

Over.

I can't...

Ugh, except I have to and the bell just rang for the first torture of the day. I pocket my phone and walk into my first period class, actually having found it on my own, and scan the room layout. The teacher greets me, checks my schedule then informs me that the seats are not assigned and to pick any desk I'd like. I grab the one in the corner of the last row.

Mistake number three.

Three bouncy, joyful, bright shiny girls enter the room and zero in on me. They make a beeline. I'm the queen of darkness compared to them. They literally sparkle, glitter on their cheeks and sequins on their clothes.

"Hi. You're new." Barbie number one makes an astute observation.

"Yeah, figured that out, huh?" I don't make eye contact but look right past her.

"So, awkward, but these are our seats," says Barbie number two.

"Right," Barbie number three adds, "your kind sits over there." She points to some desks by the storage closet.

"My kind?" I lean back in the seat, not moving to get up at all.

"Yeah, your kind." Barbie three gestures from the top of my head to the bottom of my shoes. "Disturbed."

This time I lean forward, giving them the clear message that I'm not offended. "Oh, you have no idea." I let the words linger. I don't mind them thinking I am disturbed. Better than the alternative. "But thanks anyway. I prefer this seat."

"I don't think you heard me. These are our seats."

"I heard you." Now I look up at Miss Barbie one, two and three. I acknowledge each one of them individually. I say nothing else. Silence. It really does have its own power.

Barbie One huffs. "Fine. But don't think this is forgotten." Then she stomps to a different section of seats.

"Oh I know it isn't."

The Barbies spent so long trying to intimidate me into moving that there are no longer 3 seats together. They end up spread around the room. That may be the only good thing to happen today.

The rest of the day is a carbon copy of first period. Each class has some element of disturbing interaction with someone in close proximity to me. Nothing is nearly as entertaining as the Barbie encounter, however. I eat lunch alone, as far away from these so-called humans as possible. Once I get to last period I figure that the drama is over. I know auto shop will be a shit-show, but that is more on me, and my complete lack of auto knowledge, rather than on the dudes of the class.

Mistake number four.

I'm not in the shop for more than three seconds before I realize what a massive mistake being here actually is. The worst. I should have fought harder this morning when I found out this is where my day would end.

Standing next to an older Honda is the guy. Nico of the bad pick up lines, in the flesh, not covered in coke or barbeque sauce, still covered in grease.

And still having the power to strike me silent when I look into his honey eyes.

Mistake number five. I look. He smirks. I turn. He speaks.

"Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes?"

Yeah...her first day of school didn't go so well. I know you all anticipated the Nico sighting but did it live up to the hype?!? And how about those rumors?? I really need to add that Fleetwood Mac song to this playlist *on it!*

Also-I legit forgot I post on Fridays. 🤦🏻‍♀️ My last book, inevitable, posted on Saturday's and for some reason I forgot I was paying homage to MTT and the original Friday Feel Fest. Well, better late then never!

April's day couldn't have been more ironic, and her personality screams angry '90s girl band so...

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]