Heavenly Bodies

by Rochelle Allison

  I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We went through it yesterday,” Mama says, eyes flickering to my schedule. “If there’s anything else you’ll let us know?”

  “Of course, Mrs. Kelly. If I could just have you sign this…”

  I zero in on my schedule:

  Homeroom - Miller

  AP History

  AP English

  French

  Lunch

  Calculus

  Physics

  Physical Education - M/W/F

  Art Elective - T/TH

  I wrinkle my nose. “Physics? I thought I was done with that stuff.”

  Mama pokes me, but Ms. Blackwood just nods. “Seniors aren’t required to take it, but you were most likely placed there as a result of late registration. I can check and see if there are available study halls that period…or perhaps an alternate elective, like theater or yearbook.”

  “I’d love yearbook,” I blurt. Yearbook means photography, and that’s right up my alley. “I was told there's a lab here?”

  “There is, actually.” She jots something on a pad of paper before returning her attention to me. “Do you develop film?”

  “A little. I took a class one summer.”

  “Excellent!” She taps her pen thoughtfully. “I’m going to go ahead and place you in yearbook, then. I’m sure they can squeeze you in. My daughter takes it, and she’s always complaining about the lack of sports coverage.”

  I nod, giving her a grateful smile. As long as I get to take pictures, I don’t care really what I’m assigned to.

  “That would be wonderful; thank you,” Mama says. Alex squirms his way back to the Lego table right as Ms. Blackwood motions toward a door opposite the one we came in.

  “We’re all set then. Go on ahead, Isla; your mother and I can finish up.”

  “Cool. Thank you.” Adjusting my backpack, I blow a kiss to Alex and give my mother a quick squeeze, anxious to get going. Nerves prickle through me, making my hands clammy. The sooner I get through my new classes and meet my new classmates, the sooner I can get to the point where I’m no longer new.

  Mama adjusts my collar, trying to hide her anxiety for me. “Remember, you’ll come home with Auntie Greta...”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “She’s in the Lower School.” She points in what I assume is the general vicinity. “Third Grade. Her name should be outside the door, but if — ”

  I grab her hand. “I’m sure I’ll see Camille right away. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay.” She takes a deep breath, dark eyes suspiciously shiny. “Have fun.”

  “I will,” I say, waving, stepping out into sunshine so bright my eyes water. Save for a few stragglers, the pathways leading to different classrooms are empty now. I peer down at my map, which, judging by the attention to the most minute details, looks like it was rendered by an enthusiastic art student. Locating the Upper School with ease, I pocket the map and start walking.

  The school is built on a terraced hill, along a gradual grade. According to my map, the offices and Lower School are on the bottom, the Middle and Upper Schools are somewhere in the middle, and athletics, pool, music and art are up top. Stairways and sidewalks connect everything.

  Butterflies and bees float around flowers in full bloom. Tall, leafy trees provide shade, and there are picnic tables scattered around. Each building is a different shade of pastel...it’s like going to school in a garden.

  I find Mr. Miller’s room halfway down building twelve. To my dismay, he’s already doing roll call when I pause in the doorway. He straightens up, pointing his pen at me. “Isla Kelly?”

  Heart pounding, I nod and step inside. “Yes.”

  “Welcome. Find a seat. I won’t mark you late this time.” He gives me a friendly wink, gesturing to the desks.

  “Thanks,” I mumble, gripping my schedule like a life raft. A quick survey of the room tells me Camille is not here, which sucks, and also that the only available seat is front and center. Of course. I move toward it, keenly aware that literally everyone is looking at me. The willowy, dark skinned girl to my left appraises me briefly before whispering to the guy beside her, while goofy blond twins give me grins of approval. Not sure which is worse, I slide into my seat, resting my backpack on my desk.

  My phone vibrates. I wait until Mr. Miller finishes with attendance and turns back to his desk before checking it, not wanting to get chewed out my first day.

  It’s Camille: u here yet?

  I peek quickly at Mr. Miller.

  Yes

  whose homeroom?

  Miller

  boo. i’ve got chaudry. 2 doors down.

  Ok :)

  c u soon

  Her texting shorthand might be worse than my friend Morgan’s.

  I hardly hear the rest of the announcements. These classrooms could not be more different than the ones back home. Like Grandpa Harry’s house, there’s no air conditioning, just fans and louvered windows. The breeze is sporadic, the fan lazy, and I’m wondering how I’m supposed to learn anything when I’m battling heat exhaustion.

  Mr. Miller looks expectantly at me. I’m worried he’s going to make me stand up and talk about myself, but he does it for me.

  “So. Isla Kelly.” He looks at something on his desk. “From Atlanta, right?”

  I nod, swallowing. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Great city! My in-laws hail from Alpharetta.” He smiles. “Like I said, welcome. You’ll like it here. Fernando, would you be so kind as to show Isla around today?” He waves a paper around. “I believe you two have similar schedules.”

  “My pleasure, my man,” Fernando says, earning a laugh from the rest of the class. I twist around to look at him, and he grins at me, giving me a wink much saucier than Mr. Miller’s.

  “That’s Mr. Man to you,” Mr. Miller says, not missing a beat. The chuckles continue, and even I smile, grateful for the levity.

  Second bell rings, and everyone hustles to their feet. Fernando sidles up to me as I stand, an easy smile on his face. He’s charming and cute, with light brown skin and black hair cut real short in a fade. “Hey, Isla. Welcome to las Palmas.”

  “Thanks…Fernando.” I tuck my hair back behind my ears, hoping it’s not frizzy.

  “Nando.” He grimaces, leading me out of the classroom. “Miller Man likes to keep it official, but we can chill.”

  I nod. “Nando.”

  “Yeah, lemme see your schedule,” he says, taking my paper as we head down the hallway. Actually, it’s not so much a hallway as it is a sidewalk. Kids crowd past in both directions, talking and yelling and laughing. I get a few curious glances, and I ache. I’m used to having friends, and being the odd one out feels strange. “Yeah, we have a lot of the same classes…except physics. And P.E.”

  “Oh, actually I’m not taking physics. They’re letting me switch to yearbook.”

  “Yeah, have fun with that.” He gives me back my schedule. “I’ll be sleeping it off in study hall.”

  Mr. Miller couldn’t have given me a better guide, because Nando knows everybody. People high five as they pass, clapping his shoulder, catcalling, asking who his new woman is. My face warms, but he just laughs back, knocking fists, telling fools to mind their own business. Some of the kids here have thick Crucian accents, while others sound totally American. Nando slides effortlessly back and forth between the two, depending on who he’s talking to. He even speaks Spanish to one girl.

  “Okay, we’re here.” He ushers me into another classroom, leaning close to whisper, “Ms. Franklin’s a bitch, so you might wanna stay on her good side.”

  My heart drops to my shoes, but not because of Nando’s silly warning. The cute guy I saw at the gas station the other day is standing just inside the door, talking to Camille. With no hat to hide his hair, I can see all of his curls, brown and blond and adorable. He’s tall and lean, but he’s built—his shoulders are exceptionally broad—making me wonder if he plays sports. He doesn’t seem like a jock, b
ut things are different down here.

  He grins at something my cousin says, before squeezing her into a side hug and walking away. They’re obviously friends, and I plan to pump her for info the first chance I get. Nando gently shoves me along, reaching for Camille, who squeals when she sees me, linking her arm through mine. “You’re in this class?”

  “Yeah.” I nod, relieved to see her. “I was wondering when I’d get to see you.”

  “Wait, you guys know each other?” Nando asks, throwing one arm around me and the other around Camille.

  “She’s my cousin, Nandito.” She rolls her eyes. “The one I told you about?”

  “Oh, okay.” He eyes me, making a point. “But I have to say...all you have some good genes in your family,” he says, accent so exaggerated I barely understand.

  “I know you’re not surprised,” Camille says, extricating herself from Nando’s grip. “Anyway, come sit with me, Isla.”

  “But I’m her guide,” he teases, following us.

  Camille sucks her teeth, dropping her backpack onto a desk in the back row. “You can be her guide later.”

  With a dramatic sigh, he leaves us for a group of guys a couple of rows over, one of whom is the cute guy. I don’t know if I made an impression on him the other day, but he sure made one on me. It’s hard not to stare. The bell rings. True to Nando’s word, Ms. Franklin runs her class like a drill sergeant so there’s no chit chat. Camille manages to pass me a note halfway through class, though.

  you trying out for anything?

  I shrug, glancing at her before responding.

  like theater?

  Now she’s shrugging at me, smirking. With a quick glance at Ms. Franklin, she jots a reply and tosses the paper back.

  i meant sports, but theater works.

  Probably not. I’m taking yearbook though.

  good, you can make sure i look good in my pics

  Biting back a smile, I stow the note before we get caught. Ms. Franklin’s nasally drone fills the room as she explains the syllabus and what she expects from us.

  “Not everyone is cut out for advanced placement,” she’s saying, eyes narrowed. “I’ll be assessing each student at the end of the first quarter to ensure that everyone here, belongs here.”

  That’s not worrisome or anything.

  Meanwhile, I’m trying not to be distracted by the cute guy. The desks are set up in traditional rows in this classroom, and he’s only a seat up and over. He twists to hand the person behind him more of Ms. Franklin’s paperwork, and our eyes meet so suddenly that my stomach flips. Violently.

  Startled, I avert mine, staring down at my desk. Faded pen marks and etchings of students past litter the surface, reminding me of Grady High. Same scene, different place. Guess not even private school is immune to student mischief.

  He’s returned his attention to Ms. Franklin so I return mine to the back of his head, wondering if he has a girlfriend. He must, right? Boys like that are either majorly attached or completely un-attachable, bouncing from one girl to the next. I peek around the classroom, checking the other girls out. Back home, the obvious head-turners were Marina Camp, graceful and princess-pretty, an actual ballerina, and Quiana Whitney, the enviably curvy head cheerleader and most likely this year’s valedictorian. Me? I’m just glad St. Croix’s relentless sunshine has made my skin darker and my hair lighter, making me a more exotic version of myself.

  The bell rings. Camille darts out of her chair and slides a kiss across my cheek. “See you at lunch, okay? I gotta get across campus!”

  Nando appears, hands in his pockets as he watches Camille leave. “Ready? Tardiness is a big deal here, nena.”

  I’m tempted to ask him what the cute guy’s name is, but I refrain. High school can be brutal, and if gets around that I’m asking, people will think I want to hook up. And while that may or may not be true, I don’t need the gossip, drama or possible rejection.

  Also, though I’m loathe to admit it, I’m still pretty sore over Benny. Not just because we were over seconds after we began, but also that he moved on as quickly as he did.

  “Isla like Ees-lah, right?” Nando quips, using the Spanish pronunciation of my name.

  When I nod, he smirks. “La Isla Bonita.”

  “Like I haven’t heard that one, Nando.”

  I sit with Camille and her friends at lunch. They’re mostly friendly, although her girl, Jasmine, is a little on the abrupt side. With huge, dark eyes, inky black hair and olive skin, she’s undeniably beautiful—even if her personality leaves something to be desired. Camille’s not the type to suffer bitches though, so Jasmine must have some redeeming qualities.

  The Palms has an interesting scene. There are cliques here, but they seem less defined. A lot of people drift from table to table, and there are even a few juniors in the mix. It’s not like Grady, where the delineations between jocks and hipsters and brainiacs are maintained and apparent. Nando arrives late, trailed by the cute guy. They plop down across from us, someone’s sneakers hitting mine beneath the table. My eyes shoot to Nando, but he isn't looking my way. Cute Guy is.

  He smiles faintly, opening a can of soda. “Sorry.”

  In an attempt to feign calm, cool and collected, I just shrug. “It’s okay.”

  “Ey, you meet Cam’s cousin yet?” Nando asks him, belching as he polishes off a soda. “Isla?”

  “Hi, Isla,” he says, staring at me as he takes another sip.

  “Hi. Sorry,” I say, wrestling my PB&J from its cling wrap prison, “I don’t know your name.”

  Putting down his can, he gives me a grin. Of course he’s got dimples. “I’m Ri.”

  “Rigel,” Camille corrects, scoffing. “He thinks he’s hot shit because he got swim captain this year.”

  “Nah.” He chuckles, turning those awesome eyes on her. “I knew I was hot shit before that.”

  She throws a handful of sunflower seeds at him, and he opens his mouth, managing to catch a couple as they sail by.

  Loud and rowdy, easygoing and inclusive, the vibe here is warmer than I expected. It’s easy to see who’s closest to who, although these kids have known each other forever. Camille’s been attending the Palms since kindergarten. She points out several students she’s known since then, like Rigel and Jasmine. She’s known Nando since fifth; they dated briefly in seventh.

  “You guys are like family,” I say, when a guy I haven’t yet met passes by and kisses her cheek.

  She snorts, side-eying me. “Yeah, kissing cousins maybe.”

  One of my last classes is Phys Ed, which I have mixed feelings about. On one hand, it’s really hot and getting grossly sweaty is magnificently unappealing. On the other hand, I love being outside. It’s a gorgeous day, the sky a cheerful, bright blue. A breeze picks up, breaking the stillness as it rustles through the palm trees.

  I’m about to pop back into the classroom to look for my faithful guide when he appears with an apologetic expression. “Sorry, had to clear something up with the teacher.”

  “It’s okay. You have P.E. now too, right?”

  “Yeah, but I’m down in the gym,” he says, looking at our schedules one more time. “You got Coach Lockhart. Opposite end of campus. I’ll walk you, come on.”

  “Oh…no, Nando. You’ll be way late.”

  “It’s cool. Mr. Miller can get me a pass.”

  “Thanks, but I can find it if you just point the way,” I promise, taking my schedule back.

  “Okay,” he says, shaking his head. “Follow this sidewalk all the way up those stairs. Pass the pavilion, pass the art center. Softball’s on the Upper Field. You literally cannot miss it.”

  “Cool. Thanks,” I say, touching his arm briefly. “I appreciate everything today.”

  “It’s all good. Call me if you need me.” Procuring a marker, he scrawls a number on my hand and leaves, instantly flanked by a pair of girls who’d been at our lunch table earlier.

  I jog up the stairs, hoping I can make it before the next bell.
Everything here is so spread out; I don’t know how everyone else does it. But like Nando said, the Upper Field is easy to find. Shielding my eyes from the sun, I approach the short, rotund man with the clipboard and wait for him to finish his conversation. Everyone is in gym uniforms, reminding me I need to get one.

  “Coach Lockhart?” I come forward as the student he was talking to steps away.

  He smiles grandly at me. “Yes, hello dear. Are you in this class?”

  “I think so,” I say, holding up my schedule. “I’m Isla Kelly. It’s my first day.”

  “Welcome, then. Let me just…” He scans the clipboard in his hands, frowning. “Isla Kelly, you say?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hmm.” He puts his clipboard down and looks at me. “Your name isn’t here, but if you give me a moment I can check.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  He gives his whistle a shrill blow, warning the boys horsing around near third base, before retrieving a walkie talkie from his belt. After a series of crackly back and forth messages, he comes back, smiling.

  “There was a little mix up, my dear. You’re over at the pool.”

  “Oh…are you sure?” The pool? Not that it isn’t impressive there’s a pool, because it is, but swimming is just not my thing. “Can’t I just stay? Since I’m already here? I don’t have a swim suit.”

  “All new students take swimming. It’s right over there, see the flags?” He dismisses me with a pat on my shoulder, returning to his students.

  Weighed down with dread, I walk back down the hill and over to the pool. Green, yellow and white flags stretch across the pool, rippling sharply in the breeze. The class is already assembled on the bleachers, listening to a petite blonde in a baseball cap and shorts.

  She spies me immediately, stopping mid-sentence. “Hi! Lockhart just called. You must be Isla. I’m Coach Archer.”

  “Hi.” I wave awkwardly, feeling my face flame as yet another class full of kids stares on. “Sorry I’m so late.”