Addison had never liked her name. It didn’t reflect who she was or why she was there, sitting in that classroom, staring at that dumb community college math chalkboard for the four hundredth time this week. She pushed her blonde hair away from her green eyes and tried to focus. So the square root of fifteen times twelve to the second power plus…her mind trailed off. It was too much information for her brain to process at this point. “I already took algebra in high school,” she whispered to Meg, the girl sitting next to her. “is there a reason for me to take it again?” Meg frowned at her notebook and displayed the notes she had been taking for Addy to see–it was a simple portrait of the teacher, but in Meg’s hands it had taken the persona of their grumpy, dumpy, frumpy middle-aged teacher with her winged glasses and vivid lipstick. Addy laughed, happy that someone was as fed-up with the class as she was. She popped her lips together and hunched over again, starting to scrawl notes out about the Pythagorean theorem or whatever they were learning about. Her tiny hands and long nails made quick, neat strokes across the page. As she was writing, her hair fell onto her paper again. Annoyed, she pushed it back and kept scrawling, thinking about what she would do after class rather than what she was doing now.
Only an hour later but after what felt like a lifetime, Addy had finally escaped from class. She stood outside, alone, wind brushing at her rosy cheeks, books hugged to her chest. She took long, slow breaths of the fresh, crisp air. The parking lot of the college stretched in front of her, pretty far away, and Addy stood alone in the freezing cold–no one would have accompanied her on a day like this, and she didn’t mind. Another student raced past, trying to escape the cold, windy air outside. From behind Addy, a high-pitched voice rang.
“You’re one crazy girl, you know that?” Meg asked, walking briskly towards Addy. Nine inches shorter than the blonde girl and with insanely curly red hair, Meg looked downright frozen. Meg was flanked by two tall, black-haired boys who Addy knew very well.
“I think she does,” said Trent, a tall boy with black hair whom Meg had become extraordinarily good friends with. “She’s just rubbing it in our faces that we’re wimps that can’t stand the cold weather.”
“It’s ’cause you are,” Addy said, with a grin.
“I’m not a wimp,” blurted KC, Trent’s best friend.
“Oh yeah?” Addy asked, turning around to face them with her arms outstretched, nearly dropping her books in the process, “I’m not the one who ran screaming across a football field being chased by a two year old with a plastic bat.”
“It sounds worse when you say it like that,” KC whined.
“It sounds worse when you say it at all,” Trent countered. “C’mon. Are we all ready to get something to eat? Something about math just makes me hungry.”
“Where’s Jess?” Meg asked the group. “I haven’t seen her all day.”
“Neither have I,” Addy mentioned. “I’ll call her.”
She called Jess’s cell phone, but no one picked up. Addy resigned to calling her sick for today, and guessed she wasn’t going to meet us at the usual place for dinner.
“I can’t get through to her,” Addy told Meg and the others, who were now in a heated debate about the importance of the Hoverboard.
“It’s a freaking skateboard,” KC practically yelled. “It’s like a recipe for breaking an arm.”
“It’s a segway without a handle, KC. Relax a–what, Addy?”
“Jess isn’t picking up. I figure we can just go without her. I don’t think she’ll mind, she’s not like that.”
So they all went out to get something to eat. This was how every day went–routine, classes, food. Friends. Addy longed for a change, but she wasn’t sure what that change was yet. But she could still make it happen.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s