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Cleo and Clay
You can reinvent yourself at any age
Just be yourself, Owen. They’re going to love you.
Thanks, Mom. Such sage words of advice on this, my first day of freshman year at George Hammond High. But I can’t blame her; she’s forty-four, after all, and obviously out of touch with most aspects of teenage culture. The woman still believes that getting together to “Netflix and chill” means sharing a big bowl of popcorn with friends while watching Meg Ryan flicks.
But I digress.
And I shouldn’t think about my mother while I am locked in Ernie Callahan’s supply cupboard. Ernie is our school’s janitor, and he’s scary AF. This means that he, for real, has a teardrop tattoo on his face. So, it isn’t the fact that I am an unfortunate freshman victim of the Junior’s annual initiation ritual that has freaked me out. It’s that I’m locked in Ernie’s supply cupboard. There could be weaponry…or, worse, body parts.
“Beats chemistry class, right?”
I jump and knock over what sounds like a metal bucket beside me.
“Relax,” the voice says—a girl’s voice. “I’m not being held hostage. Well, not by Ernie, anyway. I’m a freshman. Like you.”
“Oh,” I say, doing my best to sound nonchalant, as though hanging out in a dark cupboard is just another day…