Eyes turned as I peeked through the door to my Algebra class. The teacher stood and directed the students attention to the door upon my arrival. "Class, this is EmmaRae Atwood, of Blue Springs, Georgia." The students stared with disapproval, I glanced down seeing my boots, tan legs and light cut off shorts. Suddenly becoming embarrassed as I realize that California does take a liking to southern gals like me. Tears welled in my eyes as I took my seat near the front of the class room. I was surrounded by girls wearing "Prada" and "Bebe" whatever that is. All the boys in this class room were dressed in clothing I had only seen in movies and T.V. shows about rich stuck up snobs. Every person around me (including the kind lady teacher that introduced me) in this school looked like they had walked straight out of a runway magazine. I definitely didn't belong here.
Walking to my Advanced English class seemed to be the most miserable and drug out walk of shame. Stares from teachers and students pierced through me. What kind of forsaken Barbie/Ken Doll was this? How was it that so many smart beautiful and wealthy teens lived so close together and all came to Berkley Hall Academy? The halls in this school were perfectly lit, all the lockers perfectly uniform. I felt as though I had been moved to some sort of flawless utopia. At that moment I missed my home on the farm. I missed waking every morning to the crow of a rooster at day light. Everything that had been my life before was now morphed into this fairytale NIGHTMARE. A week ago I would have never guessed I would be going to a private (on campus only) school.
Days passed and nothing changed. Stares came in with the no decrease in number. After two weeks of feeling out of place I woke up in my dorm one day and looked in the mirror. The gal with freckles staring back at me reminded to much of the kids at school, even i was unimpressed with my reflection. I raced to the on campus market place. I stacked my basket with ribbon, makeup, and jeans.... To Be Continued
