A muffled voice called from beyond my bedroom door, "Niyah, you better be up or we’re both going to be late." Mom’s usual morning urgency wrapped in love and frustration.
"Yeah, yeah, I’m up," I said, stretching under the covers, though truth be told, I was still tangled in sleep’s grip. The sun was ruthless, streaming through the curtains and smacking my face with unwelcome warmth.
"Move it," she yelled again, impatience edging her tone.
Rising reluctantly from my cocoon of blankets, I shuffled toward the bathroom, already counting the minutes until I could escape the routine of getting ready. The shower was a brief reprieve, steam swirling around me as I woke up under the spray.
Back in my room, I peeled off the damp towel and eyed the wardrobe with a mix of dread and defiance. I should have made this easier last night, but here I was, scrambling.
In a rush, I grabbed a soft tan blouse, slid on my high-waisted black jean shorts, and slipped my tan moccasins onto my feet. Finally, freedom from the suffocating school uniforms I’d hated in Philadelphia.
Uniforms were the one thing I truly despised about my old schools. They tried to make us all identical, erasing personality and dividing lines with endless rules and fabric. Not here, I reminded myself. Not here.
My makeup bag, brushes, and flat iron tumbled to the floor as I sat before the long mirror. Carefully, I traced my eyelids with eyeliner, then swept on mascara, giving my hazel eyes a sharper edge. After a few tries and some stray strands, I pulled my black hair up into a high bun, securing it until it felt just right.
Ten minutes later, I was dressed, made up, and ready to face whatever the day had in store. My bag was slung over my shoulder as I bounded downstairs.
"Five minutes, Aniyah," Mom called, waving her car keys. "I’m starting the car now." Her eyes locked on me, a mixture of sternness and humor flashing through them.
Once she stepped outside, I smirked and muttered, "Five minutes, huh?" mimicking her impatience as I darted toward the kitchen.
Grabbing a granola bar and a bottle of orange juice, I kept breakfast quick and light. No time for eggs and bacon or the usual cereal—the seconds ticked mercilessly.
The drive was short but silent, the car filled with the hum of the engine and my anxious thoughts. When we pulled up in front of a large three-story building, my stomach clenched. This was it: my brand-new prison, my school.
Mom turned off the car and asked gently, "Will you be okay from here?"
I tested her, "If I say no, will you take me back home?"
She chuckled, "Let me think about that... hmmm, no." Her smile was warm, but firm.
"Then I’m fine," I said, reaching for the door handle and unbuckling my seatbelt.
"Remember, once you get inside, head straight to the main office for your schedule," she reminded me as I stepped onto the marble steps. "I’ll pick you up around two-thirty, okay?"
"Got it," I replied, my voice dragging slightly with reluctance.
The heavy double doors opened smoothly under my push, revealing a silent entrance hall bathed in muted light. The stillness was unsettling—most students were likely already in class, I guessed.
Following the signs on the walls, I found the main office without much trouble. Pushing the door open, I approached the smiling receptionist behind the counter.
"Hi, what can I do for you?" Her cheerful smile seemed almost too bright for this early hour.
"Um, I’m Aniyah Ross. I’m new here," I said, trying to sound confident.
Her voice squeaked with excitement, "Oh yes! I’m Anna. I have your schedule right here. We placed you in three honor classes based on your transcripts from your old school. Does that work for you?"
"Yeah, that’s fine," I murmured, not thrilled but resigned.
Honestly, honor classes weren’t my favorite, but they never tripped me up. I cared more about how they’d look on college applications than the work itself.
"If you want, you can take a seat there," Anna pointed toward a row of plastic chairs lining the wall. "I can have a student come by to give you a tour."
Before she finished, a voice interrupted, "I can show her!" A girl stood from one of the off-yellow chairs and walked over to me.
"No, the principal will be with you soon, Ms. Hall," Anna said sharply to her.
"But who knows the school better than me?" The girl’s eyes shone with a playful, pleading look. "Besides, you don’t want her sitting here waiting for a random student, right?"
After a brief glare, Anna relented, "Fine. Show her around, but come back here afterward."
"Yes ma’am," the girl grinned, turning to me. "Come on, my Wonderland tour awaits."
She stepped through the office door, and I followed her down the hallway.
"It’s nice to get out of that box," she laughed softly. "Can I see your schedule?"
I handed over the sheet, and she scanned it quickly.
"English is in room 209, history right next door in 210. Easy to find, no stress there. Lunch is with me, so you won’t be eating alone. After history, meet me back by the main office, and we’ll head to lunch together. Sound good?"
Relief warmed me a little. "Sounds like a plan," I said, managing a small smile.
"Cool," she replied, her voice low and casual as she headed back down the hall.
Left on my own, I took a deep breath and stared at my first classroom: English. Mustering every scrap of courage, I pushed the door open.
All eyes seemed to turn my way, and heat flushed my cheeks. The silence was heavy, and I felt the weight of their stares like invisible pins.
"Hi, can I help you?" A voice broke through my nerves. Mr. Clearmen, my new teacher, rose from his desk with a welcoming smile.
"Yes, I’m Aniyah Ross. I’m in honors English," I replied quietly.
"Perfect, I was expecting you. Here’s the syllabus and the work you’ve missed so far—don’t worry, not much," he said kindly, handing me papers. "Pick any open seat."
Thankful for the option, I scanned the room and chose a desk near the back, away from the curious eyes.
Sitting down, I pulled out my notebook and pen, trying to focus despite the buzz of newness.
"Hi, I’m Keisha. What’s your name?" A whisper reached me from my left.
Turning, I met a pair of bright brown eyes and a warm smile. Her voice carried a cheerful lilt with a hint of a Spanish accent.
"I’m Aniyah," I whispered back, returning the smile.
"Cool," she said, then turned her attention back to the teacher as he began to speak.
When the bell finally rang, releasing me from English, I crossed the hall to my history class. Being first inside spared me from prying eyes, giving me a moment to brace myself.
As I waited for others to arrive, I let my guard down just a little, feeling the tentative stirrings of belonging in a place that still felt foreign.