It was a hazy Thursday morning. The smog from downtown got blown east from the strong wind from the night before, leaving a thick layer of orange fog on the ground. I always thought it was interesting how you can see clearly when you’re in the fog, but from a distance it looks as if you’d be encapsulated.

I started my short walk to school. My thumb found it’s comfortable spot in the hole in the sleeve of my favorite ugly orange sweater; and my other hand played with another near my collar. A nervous tick.

It was my first day of sophomore year - though the rest of the school started a week ago. My family had a sudden move, the most recent in a string of many. I had gone to so many different schools by that point that it wasn’t a daunting experience anymore. I still found myself a little on edge.

A quick three minutes and I was nearing the school, I wasn’t even able to finish the song I was listening to. I shoved my phone and earbuds in my back pocket. I’d regret that later, earbuds have a nasty habit of getting all tangled.

I passed by a group of seniors sitting just off campus lines, a security guard staring from their post with a disappointing glare. It was interesting how on their turf security have complete control over our lives; we sign our rights over when we enroll. But take a few short steps until you’re out of their jurisdiction and they can’t do shit. Kind of like a mall cop.

My new school appeared to be nice enough. It was an outdoor campus, something new to me. All the classes were indoors, of course, but they were housed in smaller individual buildings instead of one large one. There were awnings instead of halls, for the rare occasion that it rained I supposed. I could use a little sun and the weather here was quite nice, though I was sure I’d come to enjoy these foggy mornings more than sun.

My family and I had just moved from the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, Washington, to a small town in Southern California. The population was only a few thousand, though if you drove west 30 minutes you’d find downtown LA. It was a populated area really, but the city limits were small which limited the amount of people that actually lived within them. Even with this obvious fact the townspeople took great pride in being small and self sufficient. Even though we got our police and fire from the next city over - go figure.

Looking at the map posted to a bulletin board I tried to translate the hieroglyphics that would point me to the administration office. Building A. That made sense. At the front of the school, right next to me. That made more sense.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

I could be a little dense.

I opened the heavy wooden door to building A and instantly took note of the amount of cute older ladies working there. Makes sense when you’re in a “small town”, I guessed. I found a place in line at administration, which stretched out into the hallway. Leaning against the wall, a conversation from across the hall caught my ears.

It was a small office, the nameplate on the side said “Mrs. Hayes: Clubs and Activity Planning”. Mrs. Hayes was an older chubby woman with red hair. At that moment she had a face to match, her eyebrows all scrunched up. She looked like she might have an aneurism from the glare she was giving this girl.

The girl was sitting with her back to me and had blonde hair down to her mid back. It looked well kept and quite pretty. I always wanted lighter hair but my mother told me that with my thick black eyebrows it just wouldn’t work. I told her I could dye my eyebrows, too, and she told me if I did that she’d disown me. Fair enough.

The girl seemed to be monologuing to this woman. I didn’t catch all of it as I assumed it had been going on for a while, but I did hear the tail end.

“It’s outrageous. This school has 13 different sanctioned clubs relating to culture and heritage. This is mine, and I should be able to have a space where I can discuss with people like me!”

Mrs. Hayes took the chance to get a word in, “I hate having to repeat myself, Ryley. The school handbook clearly states the guidelines for clubs and your proposal does not fall within these. I can’t allow a club that promotes illegal activity! And that’s the end of it. Get to class before first bell rings.”

The girl, Ryley, stood up in a flurry. Grabbing her bag and stomping (as best she could wearing sandals) away, I watched as she disappeared out into the courtyard. I had a moment of honest bafflement, what on earth did she ask for? Promoting legal activity? Based on looks alone, she seemed like a good student who everyone would love. The floral dress, sandals that revealed perfectly painted magenta toes, an initial embroidered backpack - she was the definition of perfect. She was quite cute, as well. It was a shame she was trying to get some illegal club started. Maybe she was on coke. She sure had the enthusiasm.

A tap on my shoulder brought me back to the real world, notifying me that the line in front of me had dissipated. I smiled as I approached the woman at the counter. She was younger, maybe 30. It made me sad when I realized she’d become another one of the old ladies here filing away paperwork. It scared me, too.