Cutler 01 - Dawn

Jimmy just glared. Soon we were at the center of a pool of laughter and noise.
    I looked at the papers that told us the times for the class periods and realized we had to move along if we weren't going to be late the very first day. In fact, just as we got our lockers opened and hung up our coats, the bell rang to signal that everyone had to go to homeroom.
    "Good luck, Jimmy," I said when I left him at the beginning of the corridor.
    "I'll need it," he replied and sauntered off.
    Homeroom at Emerson Peabody was the same as it was anywhere else. My homeroom teacher, Mr. Wengrow, was a short, stout, curly-haired man who held a yardstick in his hand like a whip and tapped it on his desk every time someone's voice went over a whisper or he had something to say. All of the students looked up at him attentively, their hands folded on their desks. When I entered, every head turned my way. It made me feel like I was a magnet and their heads and bodies were made of iron. Mr. Wengrow took my schedule sheet. He read it, pressed his lips together, and entered my name in his roll book. Then he tapped his yardstick.
    "Boys and girls, I'd like to introduce you to a new student. Her name is Dawn Longchamp. Dawn, I'm Mr. Wengrow. Welcome to 10Y and to Emerson Peabody. You can take the next to last seat in the second row. And Michael Standard, make sure your feet aren't on the back of her chair," he warned.
    The students looked at Michael, a small boy with dark brown hair and an impish grin. There was some tittering as he straightened in his seat. I thanked Mr. Wengrow and walked back to sit at my desk. Everyone's eyes were still on me. A girl wearing thick blue-framed glasses across from me offered me a smile of welcome. I smiled back. She had bright red hair tied in a ponytail, that hung listlessly down her back. I saw she had long thin pale arms and thin pale legs that were covered all over with pale red freckles. I thought about Momma telling me how awkward and gangly she was when she was my age.
    I heard the public address system click on. Mr. Wengrow straightened into attention and glared around the room to be sure everyone was being attentive. Then Mrs. Turnbell came on and commanded everyone to rise for the Pledge of Allegiance, after which she made a series of announcements about the activities of the day. When she was finished and the public address system clicked off, we were permitted to sit down, but almost as soon as we did, the bell rang to begin the first-period class.
    "Hi," the girl with the red ponytail said. "I'm Louise Williams." When she stood next to me, I realized how tall she was. She had a long bony nose and thin lips, but her timid eyes held more warmth than anyone else's had yet at this school. "What do you have first?" she asked.
    "Phys ed," I said.
    "Mrs. Allen?"
    I looked at my schedule card.
    "Yes."
    "Good. You're in my class. Let me see your schedule," she added, practically ripping it out of my hand. "Oh, you're in a lot of my classes. You'll have to tell me all about yourself, who your parents are and where you live. What a nice dress. It must be your favorite; you look like you're wearing it out. Where did you go to school before? Do you know anyone here yet?" She fired one question after another at me before we even reached the door. I just shook my head and smiled.
    "Come on," Louise said, urging me along.
    From the way the other girls ignored Louise as we passed through the corridor to our first class, I gathered that she wasn't very popular. It was always hard to break the ice in a new school, but usually there were cracks to find. Here, the ice around me seemed solid, except for Louise, who talked a streak from homeroom to our first class.
    By the time we reached the gymnasium, I knew that she was very good in math and science and only fair in history and English. Her daddy was a lawyer in a family firm that went back just ages and ages, and she had two brothers and a sister who were still in grade school.
    "Mrs. Allen's office is over there," Louise said, pointing. "She'll assign you a locker and give you a gym suit and a towel for your shower." With that, she hurried off to change.
    Mrs. Allen was a tall woman about forty years old, "All the girls must take showers after class," she insisted as she handed me a towel. I nodded. "Come on," she said. She looked stern as we walked toward the locker room. The loud chatter eased up when we entered, and all the girls turned our way. It was a mixed