8

Fifteen Years Old

THE FIRST DAY OF my sophomore year. It's not as terrifying as the first day of freshman year. But there's still something unspoken that goes through everyone's mind. We've survived a year in the cutthroat place that is high school, but we're not done. We still have to survive another year to be considered something special. Only juniors and seniors have respect.

But I don't have to survive it alone anymore. Ophelia stands beside me in the parking lot where my mom dropped us off. It's her first day of freshman year.

"So," she says, watching as other students talk in little circles on the steps. "This is high school."

"Yeah. But don't worry. I'll be there to guide you through everything. Us against the world."

We walk up to the entrance, and she smiles as I pull the door open, motioning for her to enter first.

The build-up to high school is a letdown. Ninth grade is no different than any other grade. Maybe it changes when you're a junior or a senior and you're at the top of the food chain in the unspoken hierarchy, but as freshmen and sophomores, we're unnoticeable.

I help Ophelia find her locker, leaning back against the one next to hers. I hear the hallway doors open, then heels clicking on the vinyl floor.

Ophelia says something to me, but my eyes have caught the source of the clicking.

It's a girl with dark raven hair and tanned skin. She wears a black skirt that falls just to her knees and a blue top that meets the waistband of the skirt. Her smile is one of confidence. As she gets closer, I see her eyes are brown, the warm kind that glows golden in the sunlight.

She might be the most beautiful girl I've seen.

"Who's that?" Ophelia asks.

"I don't know… but I'm definitely going to find out." I watch as the raven-haired girl continues down the hallway, my heart fluttering.

THE NEW GIRL WALKS into my English class, taking the seat in front of mine. The smell of her perfume invades my senses in all the best ways. My mouth goes slightly dry as she turns around in her seat, her eyes meeting mine.

"Hello," she says, and it's now that I notice the reddish tint to her lips. "I'm Moriah."

"I'm Atlas," I say, returning her smile. "You're a sophomore? When I saw you in the hallway, I thought you had to be a senior."

She smirks. "You thought I was older? Everyone tends to think that. I like to present myself as more mature."

Class begins, but I'm so caught up in the smell of her perfume and the way her hair seems to fall in waves with ease that I hardly notice what the teacher is saying.

At lunch, I insist that Moriah sit with me and Ophelia. Ophelia is kind to Moriah, and we all start talking about our hobbies. Moriah likes to read, just like we do. But the books she talks about aren't ones I've really paid attention to. The popular books that trend online. The ones that everyone is reading. Ophelia and I tend to find the odd ones out in the bookstore. But now I'm tempted to look more into the books Moriah reads, given the way she talks about them.

She and Ophelia instantly seem to hit it off. I'm grateful for that.

As the week goes by, Moriah hangs out with us more and more, despite the cheerleaders trying to get her to hang out with them. I have no doubt Moriah will be a cheerleader when she's a junior.

Heck, I may even join a sport at that point, if only to stay close to her.

Moriah is bold and funny and smart. It's not long before I notice the butterflies in my stomach when she's around.

At night, I lie awake, thinking about her. About the smell of her perfume that seems to captivate a room. Or the way her eyes light up when she looks at me. Maybe she feels the same way about me.

I've noticed little glances in class, the small touches to my shoulder and arm. That's a sign, I think. Maybe she's feeling the butterflies, too.

I want to tell Ophelia, but I don't know if I should. We tell each other everything, but for the longest time it's only been us. Becoming a trio of friends has been nice. And since they get along, I don't have to worry about anything.