White is for Virgins (2 page)

Surprisingly, the people in this class looked relatively normal. I mean, they were all gorgeous and pristine, but they didn’t appear too self-absorbed on the surface. They looked like they’d actually take this class seriously.

More hope grew.

I averted my gaze back to the door at the side of the room, where a head of white blonde hair caught my eyes. He was walking lazily through the doorway, as if he had all the time in the world.

Mrs. Sawyer looked up from the smart board on the wall and stared at him. His eyes made contact with hers, but he didn’t stop walking. He just continued to the seat behind me.

I found myself sitting up straighter in my chair, more alert. Why I suddenly felt the need to be as pretty as possible, I did not know.

“It’ll be a detention next time, Mr. Evans. You’re well aware that Mr. Dawson would not be pleased,” Mrs. Sawyer said from the front of the room, scribbling away.

“Yes, ma’am,” the guy said from behind me. His voice was… perfect, for lack of a better term. Deep, but not too deep. Soft, yet still masculine.

“Alright, class. It appears we have a new student…” Mrs. Sawyer started, turning to face us – mainly me.

I immediately felt the blood rush to my cheeks.
She better not make me introduce myself to the class…

“Her name is Ms. Emery Price, over there in front of Mr. Evans,” she finished, nodding her head in my direction.

I tried to cool myself down, hoped the flaming red of my cheeks wasn’t too visible. Everyone turned to acknowledge my presence, then resumed their note taking.

I exhaled once class started up again, and by the end of it, I had an essay to write and a vocabulary to enhance. Mrs. Sawyer gave us SAT words to study and memorize by next week.

After creative writing, I headed for health class. My other school never required some sort of sex ed class, but here it dictated whether I graduated or not.

I hope this class isn’t too awkward.

I took my seat, and class began. Ms. Tibble made a grand entrance in her mini skirt and a pink polo. I would’ve mistaken her for a student, had she not introduced herself.

“Good afternoon, class,” she said, smiling as she walked around the room holding a box.

“This month, is prevention month,” she stated, handing a pile of packets to a guy in front of her, “Pass these out please, Tommy.”

“The packet consists of four pages. On the front is a picture, on the back is information. Birth control, menstrual cycles, condoms, diaphragms, and diagrams of the male and female reproductive systems,” she continued.

“This month, we’ll be focusing on pregnancy and STD prevention. I’m sure many of you know how to be safe already; you just don’t want to be. And that’s a problem.” Ms. T said, holding the packet up.

“Alright! Everyone knows about periods, right?” she asked cheerily.

Oh my goodness.

After going over the menstrual cycle, in full detail, with the entire class (made up of mainly boys), the bell rang. Thankfully.

I raced out of the room, and went in search of my cooking class. It was in the west wing, and part of me hoped to catch another glimpse of Hottie Guitar Player. The halls cleared out, and I was almost at the door. I peered around the corner and into the stairwell. Propped up against the wall atop the staircase was the guitar… sans guitar player…

It was definitely the same guitar though – an all-black acoustic with white strings and a metal bridge. It had a black leather strap connected to it. Custom made, that’s for sure.

Curiosity took over, and I climbed up the first few steps of the staircase. I heard breathing, and I glanced up only to find no one. Then I looked over the rail, and saw a flicker of movement in staircase below me. In the corner were two students, a boy and a girl. It would be understandable, however, to classify the two as one, considering there was no part of one’s body that wasn’t flushed to the others and they were locked at the mouth.

I leaned over to get a closer look. It seemed that some blonde girl had cornered
Hottie Guitar Guy.

Furiously making out… I didn’t know that was a course option
.

I was strangely disappointed, though I should’ve known; cute guys with talent are either taken or gay.

I started back down the stairs, remembering I had another focus course to attend to before school ended. However, the bell rang, causing me to gasp.

Chancing a glance back over to the couple in the corner, some crazy part of me was hoping they hadn’t noticed me at all.

The girl certainly was busy leaving bruises on his tan neck. But Guitar Guy, he looked up. The sunlight crept in through the stained glass windows and his bright emerald eyes bore into mine.

And just like that, my image of
Hottie Guitar Player and the Evans guy shattered into a million pieces simultaneously. He was that Evans guy, from creative writing. And he was a man whore! I’d overheard girls gossiping about him in the bathroom earlier in the day - his track record was the talk of the school.

I tore my eyes away from him, and headed to my culinary class.

Cooking was within my safety zone. While I’d never really liked it, I pegged it as a relatively easy course. I hated cooking, because cooking for one made me feel kind of lonely. But compared to wood shop, engineering, music, dance, and art, it was the only thing I believed I wouldn’t fail.

It couldn’t be that hard… a couple eggs, some flour, milk, sugar, chocolate powder, mix it, and an oven.

I apologized to Mr. Aurelle, taking my seat without the warning I expected. I decided I liked him. He took pity on the new girl, and his sense of fashion wasn’t bland in the least. His walk, however, was… questionable. There was a lot of hip-swaying involved.

We got to work on a simple recipe for chocolate chip cookies with the partners he’d assigned for us. My partner and I made small conversation.

***

I finally got home, grabbed a snack, and changed into my American Red Cross tee and some white skinny jeans. I tucked the front of my shirt in and stuck my feet into my red Nikes.

Dad wasn’t anywhere in sight, but I didn’t look into it. Maybe he was out at the store, or playing pool at the pub, or he was finally looking for a job. I seriously doubted that last one, but it wasn’t impossible.

I worked on my calculus a little before grabbing my backpack and heading out.

I worked/volunteered at the American Red Cross center on the weekdays I could, as well as the occasional weekend, depending on how much homework I had. The place was like a second home to me.

Nina Santiago, the woman in charge, was practically a sister to me. She may have been a whole different race, with rich caramel skin and a slight accent, but she always straight and simultaneously sweet to me. She was real, and she always knew what to say. I looked up to her.

I walked through the glass doors of the modest building, and opted for my usual position behind the counter.

“Well hello there, Em Gem,” Nina smiled, coming up to the counter.

“Hey, Nina,” I replied, pulling out the vocabulary list Mrs. Sawyer had given us. “Anything you want me to do today?”

“Not today, honey. It’s Monday, let’s take a breather before the week takes off. They’re always long,” she sighed.

“Ok.”

“You’re just gonna sit here?” Nina asked disbelievingly.

“Am I not welcome?” I joked. She knew the situation.

“Of course you are! I’m just surprised you love it here so much.” She laughed, swiping some invisible dust off the counter.

“Well, I do. There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” I replied.

That was the sad, honest truth.

Chapter 2

After the first week of school, we settled into a permanent schedule that alternated our focus electives and our regular, required classes weekly.

It didn’t affect me much, disregarding the fact that man whore Evans had to sit behind me for three full hours of creative writing class. And then I had to cook something for the other three hours. Mr. A, bless his soul, tried awfully hard to give us projects that would take up that much time without too much or too little left over.

Other than that, things were going just as I’d wanted them to. People paid me no mind, and I kept to myself. I did all my work, hung out with Nina, did some extra credit. But most importantly, I made sure I stayed clear of Hottie Guitar Play – I mean, Evans. Guitars weren’t the only thing he played, and for that, he was no longer hot. Or cute. Or handsome. Or attractive. Not anything I thought he’d been in my momentary lapse of judgement.

***

“Emery, you interested in a job?” Nina asked, a sly smile playing across her lips as she leaned over the counter.

“Isn’t this my job?” I asked, looking around the counter.

“No, this is something you put yourself through for unnecessary reasons,” Nina replied, raising her eyebrows in an amused fashion.

“Well, I also teach a few classes, help with the blood drives, organize the stock rooms, and manage the inventory…” I started to list.

“Alright, let me rephrase the question. Would you like a job in which you get paid for doing relatively absurd things?” Nina asked, humoring me.