I Don't Care

Melinda Sordino on her 1st day of her Sophmore year of high school.

A/n: This has been sitting on my hard-drive since September. I've uploaded before a forensics tournament again because I have this weird superstition: if I don't upload a story within a night or two before a tournament, I do horribly. If I do, I excel. So, I had read Speak year and loved it; I wanted to see Melinda adjusting in her sophomore year. Also, I wanted to introduce my teacher to the joys of fanfiction. Unfortunately, she hasn't read Speak, or Georgia Nicolson, so she'll probably become confused for ½ the stuff I write. Ah, well.

Disclaimer: I will…SPEAK out by saying that Laurie Halse Anderson wrote Speak and would SPEAK out against me if I claimed Speak for myself…speak.

I don't care.

I don't care that school is starting in about 10 hours from now.

I don't care that I'm going to have to keep seeing Heather again this year.

I really don't care that I have to pass by my closet, shattered glass and all, again and again.

I… just don't care, so why can't I sleep?

Welcome Back (?)

I wonder why the teachers are always so happy to see us on the first day. I guess the freshman teachers have no idea what their new students will be like, so they could view everything with a clean slate, but what about the teachers who actually know who their students are? Like, if a class is really unruly, would they lay down the straitlaced rules or just paint a smile and try to find the best in everybody?

What does that even mean to "find the best in everybody". The best of us isn't showing, so people have to dig under our skin to see the people we really are? Everybody can't have a best side to them; there's 12 billion people in the world, give or take a bit. It's just not humanly possible for everyone to have a good side… is it?

I guess I could say Heather is… versatile. That's a compliment, in a sense.

But could I say that Andy's good side is that he is… influential? Memorable?

No way in hell.

Like all things in life, finding a good side in people is all about your point of view.

And boy were the teachers going to have an interesting point of view on me.

Last Time I Checked, I'm Not Dying

Mrs. Brinkett- 1st period Sophmore LA. Room 231

That's what my schedule said, so I found myself in Room 231 before the late bell rung. I took a seat somewhere off to the side, second row from the front and took out my analysis essay I did over summer break for A Separate Peace; if I wanted to think about going to college, I'd have to pull my grades up drastically to make up for last year. This year is "Studious without acting like a total prat because I really have to get an A" Melinda.

As other students took their seats, they gave me this look. It wasn't an "Eww you're gross" look, or a "What a bitch" look. This look was tinged with curiosity and sympathy in equal parts. The only other time I've seen this look was on lousy Lifetime movies where the main character is dying of this one in a million disease. For a minute, it took me a while to figure out why I was this strange new toy.

Oh yeah- I held a shard of broken glass to Andy Evans's throat after he tried to rape me. FOR A SECOND TIME. Duh.

I looked around for familiar faces- no one. Not Heather, not Rachel or Rachelle (whatever name she was still going by), not David, not Gandhi, not anybody. Yet they all knew the story of "poor Melinda Sordino".

"Ok class, I'll just take attendance to make sure we're all here," Mrs. Brinkett chimed with a tinkly voice that sounded like tapping a pen against glass and hearing it ring. She ticked through the names monotonously, but then took a pause after calling this guy Nick Santos.

"Melinda Sordino?" She asked with this strange pause before and after my name. Oh the drama. Everyone's heads turned at me with such amazing speed that it should be written about in a fantasy novel. "And then their heads turned with the speed of a hundred cheetahs and the girl new they were inhuman." That's the next Harry Potter right there.

"Um, here?" I responded with a little non-conceited jerk of the hand; she kept peering around to see who this poor, tortured soul girl was.

"Oh, oh," she looked aghast, "well, there you are." Yes, yes I'm here. I'm not a mirage or anything. I don't have this contagious disease that involves me to disappear from time to time. I shouldn't be so white as to become translucent- I went against health warnings and got a slight tan anyway over summer break. I'm not dying faster than the rate I'm supposed to be (because if one were to think about it, we're all dying as we grow older, and I'm older now than I was 10 seconds ago.) I'm made of carbon and currently possess the chair off to the side second row from the front!

After she finished going over the roster, she asked us how our summers were. Other people had jobs, or went to Cancun over summer break; I stayed home and ran a small plant-sitting service. I couldn't have been the creator of a babysitting service because:

There were too many sitters and not enough kids on my block.

The last time I held a child, she threw up all over me.

The last time I played hide and seek with a child, I almost had to set out an Amber Alert because I didn't know she would be hiding outside in a tree.

The last time I had to watch a child and go outside, I locked myself out. This left me in the pouring rain with the kid having to use the bathroom.

Plants are nice; they don't cry, they don't blab secrets, and they don't betray you- no matter how annoying or drastically depressed you get.

I should've met a plant last year.

Who will I sit with, and other mediocre issues to deal with in high school

After a boring bout of classes (but the other teachers treated me like a normal person), lunch came around. I packed a lunch- peanut butter and banana sandwich- and headed over to where I ate last year- Mr. Freeman's room. As I got to the door, I noticed a large sign over the door: STATE HEALTH CODES PROHIBIT EATING IN ANY ROOM IN THE BUILDING OTHER THAN THE CAFETERIA.

Below it was Mr. Freeman's sloppy handwriting on a vibrant green post-it note: Sorry, but there was a swarm of ants that the custodial staff had to deal with during the past summer, and students can only work on projects in here- not eat and work. I am truly sorry for this inconvenience- just another way the Board is trying to kick me out.

Poor Mr. Freeman had a lot of crap to deal with in the Board of Education- they want to cut his funding. If they wanted to cut funding, why not cut something useless, like gym class, or new cheerleading uniforms?

So… it came to the question… who will I sit with at lunch today?

Look left… there's Heather. Oh Heather, she's now stashed her Martha Stewart prim and proper blazers somewhere deep in her closet for a Rolling Stones shirt and torn skinny jeans. The Marthas have officially ousted her, so I guess she's trying to make it with the rocker chick wannabes.

Look right… Dave Petrakis. I haven't seen him all summer, partly because he was accepted to a John Hopkins young doctor in training program thing and was gone from the beginning of July to the end of August. Should I have gone over there? I thought about it for a moment, headed toward the table, but then stopped when I saw a petite brunette with tortoise shell glasses slide in the seat next to him. With the way they started looking at each other, I figured I would only be a third wheel. I think her name was… Cara or something; she was in my chemistry class.

Look in front… and that's where the food is purchased.

Look in back… and that's where I entered the cafeteria in the first place.

Time for diagonals… which is when I notice a tall gangly girl trips over her own foot, sending mashed potatoes all over her. At least no one threw it at her. While everyone laughed I helped her up and brought her over to a table in a distant corner of the cafeteria.

"Here," I said, giving her a prepackaged wipe from the bottom of my backpack.

"Thanks," she mumbled as she wiped the mess off her shirt. "I guess all those years of ballet went to waste because my balance still sucks."

"It's fine- been there, done that."

"I wish I could say that, but I'm only a freshman. Only 729 more lunch periods of high school to go- I counted. I'm Jacqueline."

"Melinda. Sophmore." I respond, expecting an "Oh my God that Melinda" or even a "the Melinda who was raped Melinda" or maybe even nothing at all; just a stare and a sprint headed for the hills.

"So… I don't mean to be all intruding and stuff… but I don't…. it's not that… it's just…" she babbled.

"You don't have anywhere to sit, don't you?" I asked. It wasn't in a "ha-ha in your face" tone; more like an empathetic one.

"Yeah," she glanced toward her much abused running sneakers before turning back at me.

"You could sit, um, with me if you want. The bathroom stall isn't necessarily the best place to eat…so…" She looked nervous. "You know… if you don't want to sit with me, I wouldn't be insulted."

It was a start; I am officially more sociable than last year. But then again, I could have said 'hi' to anybody to make me more sociable.

"Oh no, I'll sit here," she perked up, motioning to the empty table. Eating lunch with Jacqueline was different than eating with Heather; she was bubbly but cared about more important issues than fitting in or colors of shoes. Instead, she mentioned how she had been a victim of cyberbullying back at her old middle school and it got to the point where her parents had to move from New Jersey (or was it New Hampshire- something 'New') so she wouldn't be with the same kids. Wow, some people are truly unforgiving bitches.

"So, after I got all the spam emails from Kathy, I knew that she had been given the email by my supposed friend Mandy. Then I knew that Mandy wasn't really true-blue because no one gives out a friend's 18th email address after being spammed," she continued. In a way, it reminded me of Rachel, who I heard ditched 'Rachelle' the beginning of this year. Speaking of her, I have a bad feeling that she's in my Geometry class. Speaking of bad things, I pondered whether or not to tell Jacqueline my story.

But how do you tell someone you hardly know that you're a victim of rape? There's no self-help book out there called, "How to tell the innocent freshman you've been raped by a senior in high school when you were 14". Would I gradually slip it into conversation: "Oh yeah I've been bullied too… after I called the cops after a rape." Would I come clean: "All right; I'm a victim of rape." Would I never mention it at all?

Brrrng.

"Well, I guess that's the bell. I don't want to be late to my first day of history with Mr. Neck- did you have him? See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," I said, "I will."

"Ok, bye!" She waved and headed toward the room where the devil takes on a human form. I guess there are some things that she'll have to find out on her own, like Mr. Neck and 'Melinda the rape victim'.

Now it's time for geometry. Why do we have to prove stuff that's already been proven millions of times?

Just keep swimming…

On my way to geometry, I passed my closet. I was tempted to go in there, to see if everything had been left the way it was before. Then I remembered what Dr. Ingrid told me over the summer (my parents sent me to a shrink for the first couple weeks of summer); act like Dory from finding Nemo and just keep swimming and forgetting about the past.

I felt insulted that she had to use a Disney metaphor with me- you'd think I'd be more mature to get an example that wasn't in a cartoon. But hey- I liked Nemo.

Just keep swimming Melinda; the day's almost over, and nothing horrible has happened yet.

Prove it.

I learned something on the first day. What. The. Hell? We never look over anything on the first day. It's all "here are the rules now let's get to know one another." No work! But here is my proof that Rachel (teacher confirmed it to be the Rachel formerly known as Rachelle) and I can't be friends again.

Given: Rachel's boyfriend raped Melinda and didn't believe her even though it was true

Prove: Rachel and Melinda can't be friends again

4 steps.

Rachel's boyfriend raped Melinda and didn't believe her even though it was true

GIVEN. DUH.

Rachel didn't speak to Melinda all summer.

The ACP theory (avoid correct person theory)

Rachel never apologized

The ETYWRISCBMTA theory (even though you were raped I still can't bring myself to apologize theory)

Rachel acted like a total bitch to Melinda

The OABAAB Theorem (once a bitch always a bitch theorem)

Rachel should not be given another chance

The BTDTAIDWTBHAAIWDBFAIBTASY Theorem(been there done that and I don't want to be hurt again and if we did become friends again it'd be too awkward so yeah theorem)

Rachel and Melinda can't be friends again

The NSS theorem (no shit Sherlock theorem)

That's all the proof I need.

Melinda Sordino and the no-good Naughty Bus

Public displays of affection are a no-no in school, yes-yes on the bus home. A bunch of sexually frustrated teens take it out on the pleather seating. Oh joy. It's only 3 miles from the high school to my house, give or take. I think I'm going to walk from now on.

I'll brave the snow, the cold, the wind, the rain, the hail, etc. Then when I have grandkids of my own, I can say that I walked 3 miles to school- just like my grandparents did. A pioneer for all those who cannot drive.

So…

"So, how was your first day of school sweetie?" My parents asked generically, throwing in a 'sweetie' to soften the question.

"I met someone new at lunch… but other than that, it was just an uneventful day," I replied.

It felt amazing to say that without lying.

A/n: I love reviews, and leaving them brings a big, stupid grin to my face. That, and a sudden urge to break out into song (La Vie Boheme is really fun to dance to, fyi.)

Thanks for reading!

:D Allison