This one is kind of fun. And I wrote it in one sitting on my phone over the span of like an hour. So it's probably not perfect, but it's a little bit different, I think. Hope you like it! (And sorry that I haven't updated in like 3 weeks...)

The first day of school is the worst. That's something that every high schooler can agree with. Your summer freedom is suddenly gone, and you're forced to spend hours inside this heat-trapping prison with some people who still haven't adopted the habit of hygiene.

For me, the first day is awful for another reason: I'm left handed. Don't get the wrong idea, I'm not ashamed to be left handed! It's a fun little quirk that I enjoy to use to remind myself that not everyone follows the same steps in doing a project. Being unique isn't odd; it's normal. However, this particular uniqueness of mine is why I look upon my new high school with complete dread.

I wrinkle my nose, glancing over at my older brother as he smoothly steers the car into a staff parking spot. He pulls the keys out of the ignition before turning to look at me.

"You ready?"

"Are you serious? Were you or were you not the person I complained to all summer about going back to school?"

Michael chuckles, placing his hand on the door handle. "I remember hours of you saying things while I was trying to play COD," he clarifies.

Rolling my eyes, I open the door and step out of the car, waiting only a moment for him to do the same, pulling a bag out with him.

"You're all adulty now. You shouldn't still be spending hours on video games," I inform him, stepping to his side as we approach the big brown building.

"You can never age out of video games, Melinda."

I don't make another comment, knowing he's right. I'm not sure that I could just one day stop playing video games.

Crowds of students are pouring into the front doors, and I cringe at the thought of how many times today someone will say "Oh my gosh, you're left handed! That's so cool!"

"Michael, I want you to know that I seriously considered showing up today with a giant sign that says: 'I'm left handed. Now move along.'"

He laughs. "I think that would garner more attention than you want."

I grumble a soft agreement, and he laughs louder.

"Hey, if you ever need a break from the onslaught of questions, you remember where to find me?"

"Room U-42. Sir, yes sir." I give him a sarcastic salute as we finally reach the front doors.

"Alright, alright. I'll see you later."

"Good luck with your freshman!" I call as he starts to walk away from me. I stop in the middle of the flow of people, watching my brother's average-height frame blend in with the students around him.

Then I turn myself around and step out of the way. For a moment, I watch my new peers, trying to figure out how this school works. When I come up empty handed, I pull a folded piece of paper out of my pocket: the map of the school.

It takes me a moment to figure out where I am in relation to everything else, but I eventually make sense of it all. With a deep breath, I start towards room I-15.

When I find the room, I notice that there aren't any students inside it yet. I'm not sure if there's some kind of unspoken rule that says the less time you're in the classroom, the cooler you are. Because that was a thing at my old school. No one dared to be the first in the room. Which is why everyone flooded in right as the bell went off.

I look around, trying to evaluate the situation, but I figure, what does it really matter? And I open the door and pick a seat towards the front of the room.

As I pull out my notebook and pencil, I think for a moment. Maybe today is the day that I learn how to write with my right hand. It's never too late to learn, right?

So right before the bell rings and students pile into random desks, I pick up my pencil with my right hand. It takes me a minute or two to figure out how I need to hold it.

Isn't it interesting how everyone has one hand that can do everything, and another that can barely brush your teeth, let alone hold a pencil?

As class progresses, I try to take notes with my right hand, I really do. But I know that it won't work. My note-taking is about two minutes behind the teacher's words. There's no way that this will work.

So I take a deep breath and move the pencil to my left hand. Instinctively, the pencil flies across the page as I attempt to write everything down that I need to know for how this class will work.

"Hey," the person next to me whispers. "Are you left handed? That's so cool!"

And so it begins...

*****

Lunch doesn't come fast enough. In all three of my morning periods, at least two people had to ask if I was left handed. Like seriously? What kind of question is that? If I'm using my left hand to write, then I feel like that question is just moot. Why even ask it when they already know the answer?

The bulk of the student body is filing into the cafeteria, but the thought of sitting at a table either all by myself or with random people doesn't appeal to me. So I go to U-42 instead, knowing Michael will be in there. He's about as anti-social as I am.

He lifts his head from his desk as I walk into the room. I take some time observing his set up. Maps are all over the place. Big ones, small ones, 3D ones. I guess that's what happens when you're a geography teacher.

"How have your classes been?" I ask, smirking as I pull a desk over to the side of his.

He rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his sprite. "It's fine. I chose to teach 9th graders for a reason, Mel. The real question is, how have your classes been? Lots of people picking on your left handedness?"

"Pretty sure that's not a real word, but okay."

"What do you expect? I'm not an English teacher," he points out.

I wave off his comment. "Yeah, yeah. But it really hasn't been that bad. Yeah people annoy me with their redundant questions, but I guess it could be worse."

"That's the spirit! Just keep that up for another hour and a half, then you're done for the day."

"I swear, if someone in my last class says anything about me being left handed..."

"Wow, great threat there." Michael says, picking up his PB&J.

"Shut up," I groan, knocking his shoulder.

*****

The remainder of lunch passes too quickly, and then I'm back in the sea of smelly teenagers.

My last class of the day: choir. The odds of me having to use a pencil are low, especially on the first day. What teacher makes us seriously practice music on the first day of class?

Unfortunately, as soon as the bell goes off, I learn that this teacher does that.

"This is just a fun first day, okay? So no stress if you don't know all of your notes. That being said, this song that we're going to practice will be included in the concert lineup, so I highly suggest you take notes."

I run a hand across my face before leaning down to get a pencil. What are my chances of staying undetected?

As we start practicing the song, which is actually a really fun and pretty easy piece, I make notes along the way.

Since I sing second alto, I'm right on the line between boys and girls. And what do you know, during a moment where the teacher talks about the sopranos totally missing their note, the guy to my left leans over.

"Hey."

Great.

"Do you have a pencil I can borrow?"

"Yes, I'm left- Wait. A pencil?"

He nods, "I only brought mechanical pencils, but I somehow forgot to bring lead. I promise I'll give it back to you at the end of class."

Still slightly wheeling from his unexpected question, I hand over the one I'm using, knowing I have extras in my bag.

"Thanks," he says as he takes it. "My name's Will. What's yours?"

"Melinda."

He smiles and nods at me. "Well thank you, Melinda. And it's nice to meet you."

I only nod in return, the teacher having us continue singing so I can't say anything.

Maybe this is one class that I won't have to worry about being left handed after all.