“I’m Samantha. Sam,” another girl says.
Samantha’s hair color is a mix of red, blonde and light brown. There are various shades all throughout her hair, but it doesn’t look like she dyes it. It looks natural. She’s got bright green eyes and she’s the tallest of her friends. She’s just a little taller than I am.
“And I’m Zoey,” the last girl says.
Zoey has awesome hair. It’s dark brown, but it’s perfectly straight and thick. I know it’s naturally straight because I saw her with wet hair in the dorm, earlier. She’s one of the lucky few who has awesome hair right from the shower. She’s got dark brown eyes and she wears dark-framed glasses.
I wonder if all the girls on the dance team are as cute as the three of them.
“Are you going to try out for the dance team?” Penny asks me.
I shake my head. “I don’t like to be in the spotlight so much. I am trying out for the soccer team.”
“What’s the difference in people watching you dance or people watching you play soccer?” Zoey asks.
“Um, well... when I play soccer, I’m focused on the game. If I danced, I feel like I’d be trying too hard, and would lose focus. Plus, to be honest, I am not a good dancer. I’m really doing you guys a favor by not trying out,” I say.
They laugh.
“None of us were that good when we started,” Penny says.
“Penny was,” Zoey says. “The rest of us weren’t.”
“Whatever,” Penny says, then looks at me. “I did ballet growing up, but it’s a lot different than what we do here.”
“She's the best dancer on the team, by far. She was our first-ever sophomore captain,” Sam says, obviously proud for her friend. At my old school, people would stab their friends in the back for that kind of title. It's nice to see that they encourage each other here. Or, at least these three girls do.
“Thanks,” Penny says, her cheeks turning red. She looks at me. “So, every year, we girls get together with a few friends and have girls’ night in the dorms. A night where no guys are allowed to hang out. It's fine to just have a drama-free, fun night where we don't have to worry about dressing cute or fixing our hair. We will probably have one soon. Do you want to come and hang out with us?”
“Yeah, definitely,” I say, feeling shocked that they're inviting me.
“Awesome. Text me your number,” she says, pulling out her phone.
She gives me her number and I add her contact in, followed by Zoey and Sam too. They all promise to text when the girls’ night will be, and to be honest, I'm looking forward to it.
8pm.
When is my life ever fair?
As I’m headed back inside, I end up running smack into somebody else.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, as I back up.
“Watch where you’re going,” a girl snarls at me.
“It was an accident. I’m truly sorry,” I say, as I look at the girl.
She’s tall, a few inches taller than I am, and thin. She looks like she came off the cover of a magazine. Like the kind of girl who is so beautiful that photographers try to recruit her off the street to be a model.
The girl has dirty blonde hair with streaks of lighter blonde throughout. Her waves hang just below her shoulders. Her face is... well, perfect. Her nose is small, and her lips are big.
But she is frowning at me.
“Who are you?” she asks.
“Phoenix Underwood,” I answer. “I just transferred here.”
“What kind of name is Phoenix?” she asks, laughing. “I get that you’re new here, but you’d better stay out of my way.”
Wow.
She is suddenly less pretty.
“Like I said, it was an accident,” I say, then step around her.
That’s great.
My second day here and I’ve already made an enemy.
Of course, I have a feeling she and I wouldn’t have gotten along no matter what the situation when we met.
“Don’t mind Paige. She’s always like that. It’s not personal,” a guy says, as he steps in front of me. “I’m Landon Prescott.”
“Hey, I’m Phoenix Underwood,” I say, glad to know that I’m not the only person that mean girl, Paige, talks to like that. Back home, I would have Charlie to protect me. But not here. I’m on my own.
“I know. I’ve seen you around,” Landon says.
I look at Landon, trying to see if I recognize him, but I don’t.
“You came and watched all the guys play football,” he says. “I was playing and noticed you sitting by Teagan. I was going to introduce myself, but you left before I could.”
“Sorry,” I say, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. I look down at my feet to avoid looking at Landon. I don’t understand why. Sometimes, I am completely fine talking with somebody, and other times, I get bad social anxiety. I can’t explain it, but I wish I wasn’t like that.
“I heard from somebody that you’re from California,” he says.
I look up at him. “Yeah, um, I’m from Malibu. I recently moved to New York City with my uncle, though.”