Food was fuel, right?

The move had at least made it easier for me to bike to school. At our old house, I’d been stuck riding the bus, which none of the other seniors seemed to do. Piper, my best friend—pretty much my only friend—and I sometimes seemed like the only ones who hadn’t gotten a cool new car the second we got our licenses and had to find alternate means to get to school. She and I had bonded over our shared distrust of the high school hierarchy. It probably had something to do with us not registering on it at all.

Wind blasted my glasses against my face during my final downhill stretch. Greenwood Senior High waited at the bottom, a not-so-glowing beacon with a line of cars cruising into the entrance.

I weaved my way through the cars lined up to enter the school parking lot. Off my bike, I entered the crosswalk and a car honked, revving their engine.

“Hurry up, TNG.” A guy called out of his driver’s side window before laughing with his friends in the car. “Or are you going to choke again right here in the parking lot?” He wrapped his hands around his throat making choking sounds.

I clenched my hands around my handlebars. Three more months. I only had to put up with this shit for three more. For some stupid reason, I’d thought I could try to take part in the talent show my first year here. Sing a song for my dad. To show him he wasn’t wrong about me and I could do it.

The plan was to fling myself up on stage and force the music out of me. That had crashed and burned and the heat of the flames of embarrassment continued to lick at the back of my neck three years later.

I’d run off stage. And they’d never let me forget it, cementing my new non-name when someone scribbled down TNG on my intro card. And it had stuck.

Cliques would posture and preen beside their cars until the late bell rang. I’d overslept in hopes of catching a stomach bug, or possibly Ebola, and not needing to go into school today.

I’d have to stop at my locker before class, which meant I’d be stuck in the hallway crush as everyone remembered why we were actually here in this 1970s-cinderblock building with barely-functioning heating on a Monday morning.

Brand new cars and clunkers filed into the lot. It looked like I wasn’t the only one late today. The back row was reserved for the football team. The furthest from the building and the closest to the football field.

They laughed, high fived and threw around footballs like they didn’t get enough pigskin time during practices and games. My gaze skittered over them, fear racing down my spine that I’d lock eyes with Dare. But why would he ever want to be caught looking at TNG?

I parked, locked up my bike, and headed into school, leaving the Greenwood Grizzlies crew behind. The hallway was decorated with banners and flyers for all the end-of-school activities. The senior trip, spring musical, prom, end of the year talent show. But the biggest banners were for the post-season Bedlam Bowl football game of juniors vs. seniors that took up more space than any other school activities even though they were scrimmages between our own team. That’s how much they ruled this school. Their practices got top billing over everyone else.