"All right, Nia, you can sit today out, but tomorrow you'll have to dress out with everyone else," said Mr. Peters. 

    He was a short, gruff man. With salt and pepper hair, he wore a pair of grey shorts and a worn East Chapel Academy t-shirt.

    "You can sit on the bleachers and observe," he directed me to the rows of green bleachers along the wall.

    I sat on the bleachers and watched the other students begin to stretch they wore matching gym uniforms, green sweats and navy t-shirts, East Chapel Academy Physical Ed., was printed across the front. Mr. Peters, or Coach, said he would get me one too.

    "So what excuse did you use?" A girl asked from behind me.

    "What?" I asked, turning around. She was pale, and her silver white hair didn't do much to help that. She looked like a fairy, and her eyeliner was on point. I wish I could do my eyeliner that well, Tasha tried to teach me, but it was a disaster, eyeliner was all over my hands.

    "How'd you get out of participating? I said I had cramps," she explained, setting her phone next to her on the bleachers. "It's my signature. A trick I learned in middle school, 'If you're always on the rag, you never have to play tag.'"

    "Nice," I chuckled. "I'm new, so he said I could sit out."

    "Hmm, never used that one before. Do you think I could get away with that? I mean I have been going here since kindergarten, but I'm sure Coach would believe it. He's not the brightest."

    "Maybe," I replied. "But I think he knows who you are, you tell him you have cramps every day, remember?"

    "You're right," she agreed. "My names Lavender by the way."

    "Nia," I replied, shaking her hand.

    "Oh, you must be the new girl," she said.

    "Guilty," I shrugged. "It's my first day."

    "Is it true that your dad is an FBI agent and you guys had to move here, because you're in the witness protection program?" Lavender asked.

    What? Is that what people are saying about me, that my dad is an FBI agent. "Uh, no. And even if I was in the witness protection program, I wouldn't be able to tell you."

    "I knew that was a lie, so what's your story. Why did you transfer in the middle of a semester?"

    "I got a scholarship, and now I'm here," I explained. "It's not as exciting as the whole FBI thing."

    "You're right, it's not," she said, brushing her hair to the side. "Maybe you should lie."

    I laughed. "Should I be in the witness protection program or maybe drunken supermodel?"

    "Definitely, drunken supermodel," Lavender laughed along with me.

    "Did your parents name you after the flower on purpose or was it just a freak accident?"

    I never understood how people can say that black names are ghetto, and hard to pronounce. When white people do the exact same thing, they just name their kids after plants, Sequoia, Birch, and of course, Lavender.  Or they give them a standard name like Ashley, but they spell it, A-s-h-l-e-I. Teachers can still pronounce it though, but my name is only three letters, and it never fails a teacher will always get it wrong. What a load of B.S.

    "It was a mixture of both. My mom had a water birth, and in the room, they were burning lavender, and hence the name lavender. They're like super hippy herbalists, it was either lavender or patchouli. Thank, God, they chose lavender," she said.

    "I don't know, I think patchouli could be a nice name."

    She scoffed, "Yeah, right."

    "So what other things are people saying about me?" I inquired. If there's a rumor that I'm in the witness protection program, there's bound to be more.

    "I also heard that you're a genius, and that you and Albert Einstein have the same IQ," she responded.

    Lavender continued to tell me all the rumors that were being spread about me, and none of them were anywhere close to the truth. Most of them were ridiculous, but some of them were funny. My all-time favorite one is that I'm a rich heiress. Little do they know, I have twenty dollars in my bank account until I get paid, and I'm on scholarship.    

    I like Lavender, she's cool, and she's so funny. I'm so glad she actually stepped up and said something, instead of just staring at me and making up ridiculous lies.

    As we sat on the bleachers, Lavender began to tell me about the other kids in the class.

    "That's Whitney, total preppy, her dad is the CEO of some big company. They're loaded," she said pointing to a girl with blonde hair standing next to the volleyball net. 

    "I thought there were really strict dress codes here?" I asked Lavender, as I looked at the model like girl talking to Mr. Hobbs on the other side of the gym.

    Her skirt was a few inches shorter than my own, and she wore sky high heels that accentuated her already long legs. Her brown hair fell in waves down her back, and she had the most gorgeous bag I have ever seen. Premium black leather, gold hardware, I was too far away to see the brand, but I knew it was expensive.

    "You'd be amazed at what you can get away with when your daddy gives millions of dollars to the school every year," she said, following my eyes.

    Damn. Millions. "What's her deal?"

    "Oh, just your stereotypical queen bee," she explained. "Class president, head cheerleader, football player boyfriend, or maybe not that last one, I heard they broke up."

    "Pity, who was he?" I asked.

    "Marcus Garret—tall, built guy, looks like Superman. I'm sure you'll see him sooner or later, he's like super popular." She looked bored as she gave me the details of East Chapel's it couple. "It's all quite cliché if you think about it."

    Adonis. "I know Marcus, he's in my chemistry class. We're lab partners." Now that I think about it he does look like Superman, but I still think he looks more like an art piece than anything.

     "I've known him since kindergarten, he's a decent guy, I have no idea why he's with Whitney," she added.

    "Is she not nice?"

    Lavender laughed loudly, gaining the attention of the some of the students below. "Absolutely not! Actually, I take that back, it depends on who you are. For example, I have never experienced the nice side of Whitney. Once in the second grade she convinced everyone that I was a witch, everyone stayed at least five feet away from me for the whole school year. I think some people still believe that. But if I was a witch I would have hexed all of them by now."

    "Oh, but Lavender, then you would be a bad witch," I pouted playfully. "And I don't think I can be friends with a bad witch."

    She laughed, giving me a playful shove. "Oh, speaking of witches."

    "What do you mea—"

    I looked down at the bottom of the bleachers, and Whitney stood there with a bright smile. Wow, she's pretty. Her and Marcus must make a perfect couple.

    "Hi," I called down to her.

    "Hi," she smiled up at us. "Are you Nia?"

    "Yes," I answered her. "Can I help you?"

    "I'm Whitney Milton, the class president. Dean Nelson wanted me to introduce myself," she explained. "How's your first day going?"

    "Oh, it's great." I met your super-hot boyfriend, and he walked me to class, and I made a new friend that's named after a plant. I would say it's been a pretty great day.

    "I'm glad to hear that," she said. "We have lunch next period, and I wanted to invite you to sit with my boyfriend, and friends, and I."

    "Oh, thank you so much Whitney," I said. "I'll think about it."

    "Oh, okay," she said, I could hear the confusion in her voice. "I'll save you a seat, just in case."

    "Okay, thank you," I smiled. Whitney left, the loud click of her heels echoing through the gym.

    "Hi, Nia, my name is Whitney Milton, and I'm here to steal your soul," Lavender mocked Whitney's voice next to me.

    "Ha, ha, very funny," I said sarcastically.

    "I thought so," she said. "Can you believe she acted like I wasn't even here?"

    "Maybe she didn't see you," I said trying to make her feel better. "She might have astigmatism."

    She huffed, "Yeah, right. I'm almost fluorescent, there's no way she didn't seen me. But at least she didn't give me a pity invite to eat lunch with you guys."

    The lunch invite.

    I hadn't even thought about where I was going to sit during lunch, until Whitney brought it up. It's not like I have many options, but I don't know how I feel about sitting with Whitney and Marcus. I mean, I was just thinking about making out with her boyfriend earlier.

    Lavender walked me to the cafeteria, explaining what lunch at East Chapel was like along the way.

    "Lunch here is pretty basic," Lavender said as we walked down the hall. "Everything's good, but the chicken tenders are the best."

    I've learned that as far as school structure goes East Chapel and Jefferson aren't that different from each other. Six periods, lunch right before fourth period, East Chapel just has more class options and better facilities, and hopefully, better lunch too.

    Basic was an understatement, the East Chapel Academy cafeteria was immaculate. It was huge, and unlike at Jefferson it smelled good, like fresh baked bread. There was so much food to choose from burgers, salads, fries, sushi. Sushi.

    What kind of school cafeteria has sushi?

    I'll tell you what kind, a rich ass private school cafeteria. I was becoming overwhelmed by all the options, so I took Lavender's recommendation and settled on chicken tenders and fries.

    We reached the end of the line, where a lunch lady sat behind a counter with what looked like one of those scanners that they use at Walmart.

    "How do I pay?" I asked Lavender.

    "With your i.d., of course," she said giving her school i.d. to the lunch lady. "You have one, don't you?"

    "Yeah, I have it." I pulled it out of my pocket. Marge had given it to me on the day of my tour. Holding up my card, I let the lunch lady scan it.

    "You girls have a great day," she smiled. Lavender and I thanked her.

    "So where do you usually sit," I asked Lavender as we got out of line.

    "I usually sit in the back and read," she said.

    "Nia! Over here!" Whitney yelled from the other side of the cafeteria.

    "I think that's my cue," Lavender said, beginning to walk away.

    "No," I stopped her. "You have to come to."

    She chuckled, "I wasn't invited, and I don't want to sit with them anyway. But just give me the signal, and I will put a curse on that whole table." She gave me a encouraging smile, "You'll be fine. I'll see you later."

    Lavender went to her table, leaving me alone. Whitney stood by her table waving me over, there were already people sitting with her. Two girls, two guys, and Marcus.

    Fuck.