Your dad gives you a ride on your very first day of high school. You scuttle into the building with the rest of the teenage population, like a bundle of mice all scurrying into the same hole. You and the other newbies try to slip unnoticed between the mobs of upperclassmen, but it's hard to be inconspicuous when you're clutching your schedule and a neon-orange map like life preservers. “Fresh meat!” some obnoxious seniors wail, and you duck and hope they don't mean you.
You make it to your locker, which sticks as you try to pry it open. You glance at the emo band stickers plastered up and down the door. You internally groan and note to bring in some peace sign stickers. And a mirror, as you start to wonder if your hair looks as good here as it did this morning when you were still in your bedroom, where you wish you were now.
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