My dad is a tall man, with emerald green eyes, a square jawline, and a smile that seems to always make any situation seem better.
I’ve inherited some of that. His emerald green eyes and the height.
Now you might be wondering about my mom. Well, I am, till this date, still wondering about that, too. She died right before I was born in a car crash.
“You were lucky to be alive,” Dad says. “Or else, I don’t know what would have become of me,” Dad says that my blonde hair and wide eyes come from my mom. He never really talks about her, though. I don’t blame him. It must be hard for him, even up till now. That’s why I try not to bring up the topic too much.
“Bye, Kelly!” Dad called from the kitchen counter.
“Bye, Dad!” I called back, and the minute I stepped outside, I knew that eleventh grade would be tougher than a ninth or tenth grade ever will be. Prom would happen, the nerve-racking SATs, etc.! Most of all, eleventh grade would change me.
I stepped onto the bus and put on my earbuds. Despite putting the music on to the highest volume, I could still hear the boys screaming in the back.
“Hey! Turn it down!” the bus driver yelled, but there was no change.
“Be quiet!” a voice called from the back. Everybody turned their heads to see what all the commotion was about. When we saw who said it, everyone started laughing. I couldn’t help but smile. That girl was Ava Max, the shortest kid in our school.
Her face turned pale as she put on her earbuds and continued reading.
A few minutes later, the bus pulled up in front of the school.
Home of the Raiders! The titles screamed.
I stepped into my first class: homeroom. Ok, well technically, it wasn’t really a class, just somewhere you would get your schedules and all, but whatever.
As I got my schedule, I started checking it over. First-class was math.
I stepped out of the homeroom and into Math.
“Take your seats, everyone!” Mrs. Matos, our math teacher, said. She was very charming. She had wide eyes and blonde hair, just like me. Some wrinkles on her face indicated that she was old, but she was exceptionally old.
Before beginning, she glanced over at everyone, her eyes lingering on me for a moment, and started attending.
“All right, do we have Emma Taylor?” A girl whose long blonde hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail raised her hand. It looked like Mrs. Matos was going to say the next name when her face turned sort of confused.
“Um, Kelly Brown?” I raised my hand and she continued with the attendance.
We were given an assignment on angles to work on for the rest of the period, I gave the paper in, and she gave me a C-. I guess they didn’t grade by effort anymore like they did in middle school.
“Do you, um, have a free period by any chance?” Mrs. Matos shifted in her chair, just as I was about to head out the door. Was she nervous?
“Yeah, right now. Why?”
“Well, I—I needed some... help. I needed some help in grading papers. Would you like to help me?" I looked around as if asking for help. Right now? I was planning to study! But her large blue eyes made me think otherwise. I plastered on a huge smile on my face and said, "Of course!"
“So,” Dad said that night. “How was your second day of being a Junior?”
“Oh, it was nice,” I said. “Mrs. Matos, my Math teacher, isn't as bad as Ms. Marsh.” I rolled my eyes as Dad laughed. "She was horrible! She barely taught us anything! Thank God eighth grade wasn't the longest school year!" Dad laughed even more and I lightly punched his shoulder.
That night, as I was cleaning the attic, I found a picture of a woman. Her long blonde hair flowed behind her back and her deep, sea-blue eyes reminded me of a quote by William Shakespeare: The eyes are the window to your soul. She reminded me of Mrs. Matos, too, both with the same mammoth eyes and long, stringy hair. I grabbed the picture and hung it above my bed. It looked nice there.
At Math class the next day, before heading out to English, Mrs. Matos asked, “So Kelly, do you want to help me grade some papers after school today?”
“I can't,” I said. "I promised to help Dad clean the house tonight."
