They eye the four year senior steps with an anxious hope, stairs reserved only for seniors who spent all four years at the school. Next year, it'll be them. Not transfers. Not me.
I suddenly realize that I'm still the new kid, and I'll always be new. I'll never have time in between being new and senior, like all the fillings missing. Other girls have known each other for years, from their own beginnings. I'm still new. It's not my school. It's not my locker. It's still not my theater.
I feel homesick for a place that was never really my home.
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