The Greatest Lie Part 14

"Don't know how I can do that," Fabiola protested loudly. Then, in a louder tone, as if to enlist support from the miscreants gathered for punishment, she whined "How can I change a boy's transcript to a girl's? How do I know there's not some cheating going on here?"

I felt the mood of the whole crowd turning against me. Up 'til then they had given me their coarse adulation. Now I felt them turn hostile and hateful: their stares burrowed like daggers in my flesh.

I backpedaled furiously from my pressure tactics and asked, "When does the assistant principal come back? Perhaps I can explain my situation to her."

Fabiola crowed triumphantly, "She comes back at three thirty, after school's out, but we close at four."

I felt as if the whole school was staring at me as I beat a cautious retreat. High school had defeated me again.

Now the halls took on an even more ominous aspect, as half-familiar faces bobbed by on their way to class. Did this psychopathic cretin recognize me? Had that violent gangbanger heard the fantastic rumor spreading from my unfortunate encounter at the principal's office? I was terrified as I strode, high heels rat-tat-tatting a drum roll of retreat, up Westgate Avenue from the fetid jungle of Uni High and towards the temperate and civilized climate of Wilshire Boulevard.

I didn't really feel safe until I was in the haven of my favorite Starbucks, in the company of Juicy Couture'ed, yoga-mat'ed and soy latte'd Westside stay-at-home-moms. They regarded my youth and beauty with apprising envy. Though I felt nothing in common with these rich, spoiled symptoms of capitalist largesse and leisure, I felt safe at last: I no longer felt like prey in the beady eyes of predators. God, I hate home: fear or alienation, and nothing at all in between.

I waited my turn for my jolt of caffeine and hot froth, and tried to blend in with the soccer moms. I tried to strike a nonchalant pose, but the interminable wait in the highly caffeinated, privileged atmosphere of the Wilshire and Westgate Starbucks was driving me crazy.