[Six years ago.] Annie Rameau clutched the transcripts with her trembling hands. She wondered if she looked overdressed for her new day at Wilmer High School, what with her ringlet curls and her light summer dress. Yet, with a heavy bag full of new notebooks, she felt intimidated in the presence of all the familiar, yet unknown, students at Wilmer High. Most girls were giggling and gawking at one another, hugging and gossiping while sharing lip-gloss and eyeliner. Most boys—those she presumed to be the "jocks" of Wilmer High—were detailing each summer tale of the girls they scored. Nevertheless, Annie Rameau felt like an outcast. She had a map of Wilmer High School, one that was mailed to her brand new home just two weeks before, but it was useless. She tucked it into her rucksack, tying her hair into a ponytail. The curls were loose and cascaded past her tanned shoulders. The school was not air conditioned, like her last school had been, and her neck was beginning to perspire from the nerves circulating her blood. Finally, she found an office labeled "ADMINISTRATION". She curled her hands around the weak knob, the door squeaky as she entered. There, her eyes fell to a gray-haired, wrinkly lady that looked less than pleased to be back at school. They exchanged a few words and then the woman handed Annie her newly printed schedule. "If you feel overwhelmed or lost," the lady said with a nasally voice, "just show them your late pass. They know they're expecting a new ...
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