Cheryl Browne smoothed down her hair. She'd worked on it all morning, trying to stop it from flattening out, and hoped it looked feathery. That was the style, and she liked to look good. She made sure her red tee shirt wasn't riding up, and checked the wrap of her polyester skirt, white with red poppies. Then she slipped her feet into the red Candie's strapless, wooden-soled sandals. Her toenails, shiny and red, peeked out at the tip of her shoes and she knew this outfit would draw attention. She'd bought this outfit in Salt Lake City and she knew for sure that if she wore it in front of her friends at school, Ben Lomond High in Ogden, all of them would admire it.
Just one problem: She didn't live in Ogden anymore. Nor in Salt Lake. Her dad was starting a new insurance brokerage in Santaquin, Utah and he'd bought a home in Goshen, and that was where she was stuck living. She hadn't met any kids yet, and she hoped that when school started she could develop new friendships and have a great Sophomore year.
It wasn't absolutely true that she hadn't met any kids in Goshen. Actually, she'd met one kid named Blaine Chedister who really acted like a prig. And she'd met a girl named Darlene Stump who looked like a little church mouse, and then there was Kent Jones. He was fat and wimpy, but he seemed to have the most potential for Cheryl discovering whether or not he had any brains. Shannon McCoy? Mormon bitch-girl. And Laura Woodsong? She could've been cool but she was under Shannon's spell. So, no. Cheryl could honestly say she hadn't met anybody in Goshen.
The first day of school arrived, and Cheryl didn't want to ride the bus so she'd made her mom take her in their Buick. At the entryway to the high school she slid out of the car and stood behind the open door to make sure her wrap skirt was in place. Mom started to pull away and she hissed,
"Wait a second! Jeez!"
When everything was straight she slammed the car door behind her and went up the sidewalk. Kids milling around the yard and sitting on the steps turned their eyes to her. She smiled and said hi, but...
They didn't smile back. Some of them stared, some turned politely away, and one or two of them snickered at her! She felt herself blushing but squared her shoulders and went up the steps. The school doors were covered with fingerprint smears and there was a crack in the window. Santaquin was as bad a dump as Goshen.
Even the teacher in classroom 11 stared at her.
"Howdy doodee, y'all," she said sarcastically.
Just one problem: She didn't live in Ogden anymore. Nor in Salt Lake. Her dad was starting a new insurance brokerage in Santaquin, Utah and he'd bought a home in Goshen, and that was where she was stuck living. She hadn't met any kids yet, and she hoped that when school started she could develop new friendships and have a great Sophomore year.
It wasn't absolutely true that she hadn't met any kids in Goshen. Actually, she'd met one kid named Blaine Chedister who really acted like a prig. And she'd met a girl named Darlene Stump who looked like a little church mouse, and then there was Kent Jones. He was fat and wimpy, but he seemed to have the most potential for Cheryl discovering whether or not he had any brains. Shannon McCoy? Mormon bitch-girl. And Laura Woodsong? She could've been cool but she was under Shannon's spell. So, no. Cheryl could honestly say she hadn't met anybody in Goshen.
The first day of school arrived, and Cheryl didn't want to ride the bus so she'd made her mom take her in their Buick. At the entryway to the high school she slid out of the car and stood behind the open door to make sure her wrap skirt was in place. Mom started to pull away and she hissed,
"Wait a second! Jeez!"
When everything was straight she slammed the car door behind her and went up the sidewalk. Kids milling around the yard and sitting on the steps turned their eyes to her. She smiled and said hi, but...
They didn't smile back. Some of them stared, some turned politely away, and one or two of them snickered at her! She felt herself blushing but squared her shoulders and went up the steps. The school doors were covered with fingerprint smears and there was a crack in the window. Santaquin was as bad a dump as Goshen.
Even the teacher in classroom 11 stared at her.
"Howdy doodee, y'all," she said sarcastically.
