Southern Lights: A Novel

The first class on her schedule was French. She took AP French classes in New York and had gotten good grades for her boards. The teacher was reading a paragraph from a book as Savannah slipped into her seat. She glanced up, looking slightly annoyed by the distraction, nodded, and went on. There were thirty students in the class, and most of them looked bored. The class lasted for fifty-two minutes, and when the bell rang, after the teacher had given them their assignment, everyone bolted for the door. The teacher smiled at her as she left, and Savannah wandered down the hall. She had been given a map, but everything was confusing and she had no idea where she was. She was turning the map around and around, with her books still in her arms, when a girl with bright red hair in a pony-tail and freckles came over to her with a smile.

“Looks like you’re lost. Can I help?” Like everyone else except Savannah, she had a heavy South Carolina drawl.

“I think I have history next. Thanks,” she said as she handed the pretty redhead the map.

“You’re on the wrong floor,” the girl explained. “The class is straight up, right over our heads where we’re standing, and Mr. Armstrong sucks. He gives too much homework and has bad breath. Where’re you from?” She was still smiling and Savannah was grateful for the help. No one else had asked, although several boys were staring at her from their lockers across the hall, and Savannah thought they were cute. She hadn’t had a boyfriend since the end of junior year. She just hung out with friends. And she knew that if she’d had to leave a boyfriend in New York to come here, it would have been worse.

“I was from here originally. I was born here. But I’ve been living in New York for ten years.”

“Welcome back.” The girl smiled broadly. “I have to go upstairs anyway. I’ll walk you up. I have chemistry. I always flunk. I can’t wait to get out of school. I’m taking a year off.” Savannah nodded as they hurried up the stairs. The girl was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, and so were most of the boys. It was no different than New York, although she felt out of place here somehow, as though there were a sign over her head, “I’m new.” “Why’d you come back?” the girl asked her.

“I came to stay with my dad till the end of school. I live with my mom in New York.” She didn’t want to say that she was there because her life was at risk. That was too heavy to share with other kids, particularly one she didn’t know.

“If you’ve been fighting with your mama, I know alllllll about that,” the girl said with a grin. “My mama and I fight like cats and dogs, but I love her to pieces anyway, bless her heart. I can get around my daddy, but my mama is a bitch,” the girl said, and Savannah couldn’t help but laugh. “Yours too?”

“No, mine is pretty good. Great actually. We just thought it was a good idea if I visited my dad for a while.” It sounded suspicious even to her, but she didn’t know what else to say.

“What’s your name, by the way?” She was curious about the girl from New York. She had style even in her sweatshirt and jeans, and a spark in her eye.

“Savannah Beaumont. What’s yours?”

“Julianne Pettigrew. My great-grandfather was a general or something like that. Sounds pretty boring to me. I get so tired of all that crap. My grandmother’s in the United Daughters of the Confederacy, and goes to tea parties all the time.” She was tired of it but had mentioned it anyway. It made Savannah think of her father’s mother.

Julianne had gotten Savannah to her classroom by then, and promised to catch up with her later. She said she’d be in the cafeteria for second seating at twelve-thirty and invited Savannah to join her. Savannah glanced at her schedule and saw that she was free then too and said she’d try to find it.

“Thanks for the help. See you later,” Savannah said, and disappeared into her classroom. There were twice as many students in history as in French, and she got the last seat in the back row, behind a wall of boys who passed notes to each other and ignored the teacher completely, who did exactly what Julianne had said he would, and gave them too much homework.

She had two more classes after that, English Comp and a social studies class, and a break. And then it was lunchtime, and she found her way to the cafeteria, but didn’t see her new friend. Two boys asked her to sit with them, but she felt awkward since she didn’t know them. She was helping herself to a yogurt and fruit salad and a bottle of orange juice, when Julianne found her.

“You were right,” Savannah said, happy to see her. Finding someone in the cafeteria was like looking for a lost sock at the airport. There were hundreds of kids milling around and sitting at large and small tables, and the noise level was tremendous. “Armstrong gives too much homework.”