Excerpt
More Anger Chronicles: Freshman Year
Jessie Preisendorfer © 2026
All Rights Reserved
Chapter 1
I got a black eye on my first day of ninth grade. It mostly wasn’t my fault. You should know that I showed up at school that morning a little cranky, which may have contributed to getting the black eye. I was cranky because Toya had been acting weird for at least a week. All summer, we had been dating, “hanging out” (kissing), and texting constantly when we weren’t together. Awesome.
Then, about a week before school started, I didn’t get as many texts from her, and she even ignored one or two of my texts, which kicked off my anger. I didn’t want to be angry because of Toya. I really liked her. Like, really, really.
Making everything worse, she bailed on going to the movies with me the night before the start of school. She told me some shit about her dad changing the dates for her staying at his house, but she still could have gone to the movies. I mean, we were starting high school the next day, which was kind of a big deal. I thought we were in this whole first-day-of-high-school thing together. When she texted me to cancel our date, I got super angry and sent her a long voice-to-text rant that was way too long and way too angry. She didn’t respond. At all. So, I finally texted Whatever and turned off my phone.
I woke up early, and Spock, my foster family’s big black cat who sleeps with me, came up to head bonk my chin to say “good morning.” I rubbed his ears and turned on my phone. Toya had responded Whatever to my Whatever. Ugh. I guessed we were in a fight. On the first day of high school. Terrific. Also, my friend Wanda had texted around midnight to see if I wanted to come over for breakfast before school, but since I hadn’t responded—BECAUSE MY PHONE WAS OFF BECAUSE OF TOYA—I didn’t tell Wanda Yes. I was starting high school alone.
Before school, my morning was filled with my foster brothers, nine-year-old twins, bouncing off the walls with excitement. Going into fourth grade apparently made them grown men because they both asked for coffee at breakfast. Their mom, Mrs. Morgenstern (Mrs. M to me), poured them each some milk in a coffee mug.
“Your coffee, Mr. Morgenstern,” she said to Eli and, “Here’s yours, Mr. Morgenstern,” to Nathan.
Raising my orange juice glass to Nathan, I said, “Cheers, old chap,” and then, “Old bean,” to Eli and raised my glass to him. We all clinked drinks because we were proper gentlemen.
“Cheers, bean,” Eli said to Nathan, and they both slipped out of their chairs as Mr. Morgenstern came into the kitchen. Together, at top volume, they told their dad the story of the morning—that they’d had coffee and were chaps and beans.
He raised his eyebrows. “Certain people are excited about today, I see.” He asked me, “Are you excited to start high school?”
“No. Toya is being weird. I don’t know where any of my classes are, and I’m starting all over again. Again.” I remembered last year when I had three first days of school because of transferring midyear three times. It sucked to do that in a regular year, but in eighth grade, it was a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.
Mrs. M said, “At least it’s only you ninth graders in school this week. None of you knows where anything is. You won’t be the only one starting from scratch.”
She had a point.
She continued, “Sorry about Toya. Maybe she’s worried about school.”
She did not have a point there. Toya was not worried about school. She was practically a genius—all honors classes and gifted track stuff. Something else was definitely the problem—probably something about me. Her “whatever” text cut through me every time I thought about it, and I thought about it a lot.
“Yeah, probably. I’ll see her today.”
Mr. M said, “Let’s celebrate tonight. Shay, you like kale salads, right?”
The twins swiveled their heads at us.
“Love them,” I said. “Kale’s my favorite.”
The twins were horrified.
I winked at them, and they started bouncing around again, cheering, “Pizza! Pizza!”
I headed off to Median High School on my bike. Toya and I had made this trip a bunch of times over the summer, but today, I rode alone.
There were teachers posted everywhere outside, and one of them near the bike rack helpfully pointed me toward the bike rack, saying, “Bike rack right there,” so cheerfully I felt sorry for her. Who liked the first day of school?
“Last name?” she asked.
“Turner.”
“That door right there,” she said cheerfully, unhelpfully pointing to a giant bank of many doors.
“Thanks!” I tried to mimic her cheer, but it totally sounded sarcastic.
Her face fell. Disappointment? The realization that today was the first day of school, perhaps? Shaking it off and resuming her cheerful smile, she pointed at the bike rack next to her to the next kid who rode in.
I went in the first door in the bank of doors, and another cheerful teacher asked me for my last name.
“Turner,” I said again, and he cheerfully pointed to a long line of students. I took my place at the end and eventually got to the front.
“Hi, I’m Ms. Milly, your school counselor.” She glanced at me, then checked my schedule. “Head to Room 102 for homeroom. Down that hall and down the stairs.” She pointed to the other side of the school entrance where there were three halls.
“Okay, thanks.” And I took a guess and headed down one of the halls. I picked the least crowded hallway to search for the stairs.
“Oh my god Shaaaaay!”
I turned around to see Wanda running down the hall to me. We hugged.
She leaned back, checking out the shirt Toya had helped me pick out for today. “I love that shirt! Your boobs look great!”
“Oh my god, Wanda. Stop. Where’s Raymond?” Wanda and Raymond had been a thing at the end of the year—they’d hooked up the same night Toya and I had hooked up. Raymond spent a lot of the summer at camp, so Wanda hadn’t seen him much.
She frowned. “Raymond? Meh.”
“Uh-oh. What happened?”
She waved her hand. “He’s a child. Where’s Toya?”
I waved my hand. “Meh.”
“Eewww, that sucks. Well, watch out Median High, here come two single ladies, ready to break some hearts.”
I did not feel that enthusiastic. I did not want to be a single lady at all.
I told Wanda my homeroom was Room 102. Her homeroom was Room 302. We got to the stairs and went our separate ways, promising to meet up at lunch.
The teacher was waiting at the door to Room 102. “Hi, I’m Ms. Kern.”
“Shay Turner.”
“Hi, Shay, this is homeroom. The seats are in alphabetical order. Find the folder with your name on it at your desk. Sit there. It’s nice to meet you.”
I walked in, and there were about five other kids in there already. I found my seat and sat down. No one stared at me, which was a good thing. I scanned the room. Everyone was miserable—totally expected on the first day. We were all on our phones when the bell rang, and Ms. Kern started class.
Then, another teacher came in with a skinny white kid with a buzz cut.
“Hi folks, I’m Ms. Marcelli. This is Wilson.”
He was too small for high school. He walked right over to me.
“That’s my seat,” he said accusingly and pointed at the desk with the folder with my name on it.
Then I made a mistake.
I SHOULD have said, “My name is on the folder.” I SHOULD have waited for a teacher to intervene. But seconds before, I had seen an Instagram post from Toya proclaiming her joy at being back in school, with a picture of her that was GORGEOUS. Yep, I was angry. I SHOULD have gotten up and waited for further instructions because, obviously, this kid had some claim to this particular desk. But I didn’t do anything I SHOULD have done. I did the opposite.
I said, “Get the fuck out of my face.” I turned away from him, back to my phone.
He said, “Hey,” and as I turned to him, he swung at me. I have been hit in the face before, but never so unexpectedly. I was surprised, and suddenly, the pain hit me and made me even angrier.
I jumped up, grabbed him, and swung. I missed because Ms. Marcelli had grabbed him and pulled him backward away from me. My punch flew past his face just before Ms. Kern stepped between us.
“Let’s go, Wilson.” Ms. Marcelli took him out of the classroom.
I stood there. Everyone was staring at me now.
Ms. Kern peered at my face. “Shay, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I don’t even care where I sit.”
“Wilson has some things going on right now. We can talk about that later. Right now, you should go to the nurse and get some ice.” I realized my cheek was swelling. And it hurt. Great. Ms. Kern wrote me a pass and gave me vague directions to the nurse’s office.
I found my way back to the main hallway, toward where the nurse’s office was supposed to be. Justin, a boy I’d kissed at a party last spring, stood there, talking to one of the security guards. I didn’t have feelings for him or anything; I kissed him because I was mad at Toya, even though we weren’t even dating yet. Some former friends recorded me and Justin and posted it. The video went viral, and my life was ruined for a long time. He was a junior at the time, and I was in eighth grade. Gross, right?
He stared at me. I stared back. This day was officially a disaster. I hated Median High School. Justin sauntered over and put his arm around me. Such a douche.
“This girl,” he said to the security guard. “We kissed, and it made me famous.” Then he turned to me. “You still thinking about me?”
I angrily shrugged his arm off. “Made you infamous, more likely. I was only fourteen, you perv.”
The security guard’s eyes widened, and he turned to Justin, who was now angry at me.
“Fuck you, foster,” Justin said.
My anger blossomed. “And Justin, you’re a terrible kisser. Probably why I’m dating girls now.”
The security guard laughed, made a shooing motion to Justin and me, and said, “Okay, Justin, go get your working papers.”
Justin gave me the finger and left us. The security guard turned to me.
“Okay, freshman, who are you, and where are you headed?”
That was how I met Marty, the security guard.
Pro tip: Get to know the security guards, especially if you’re me, and drama seems to follow you around.
“I’m Shay, and I’m heading to the nurse.”
He squinted at my face and grimaced. “That’ll be a black eye, I’m sorry to say. What happened?” He turned and began walking down the hall.
I followed him. “I was sitting in my seat, and some kid named Wilson had a problem with that.”
Marty nodded. “Sounds about right. Wilson’s got some issues. Ms. Kern knows him pretty well and so does Ms. Marcelli. I still wouldn’t turn my back on him.” We had arrived at the nurse’s office. “Here you go, Shay. I’ll see you around.”
“Thanks, Marty.”
The nurse was waiting with a small bag of ice for me. “You must be Shay. Ms. Kern called me. Rough first day, huh?”
Her kindness pissed me off. Why was every adult so thrilled to be here today?
“I have to call your mother,” she continued.
I took the bag of ice and ALMOST told her that my mother was dead, and my foster mother was at work. I wanted to make the nurse feel bad because I was still angry about Justin. And Toya.
Instead, I said, “Tell her I’m fine and going back to class. It wasn’t a fight. Some kid got mad because I was sitting in his seat.”
“Do you want to talk to her? Let me see.” She checked my cheek, lifting the bag of ice to see.
“No, that’s okay.” Then I lied for the first time in high school. “I feel fine.”
I was angry, super sad, hopeless, and depressed. The exact opposite of “fine.” I held the bag to my face and gave the nurse the fakest thumbs-up I could muster. She checked my eyes, and I held eye contact because that was important when trying to pull off a lie. And pass a concussion test.
“Okay, Shay. Good luck with the rest of your day. If you get a headache or anything, come on back.” Another fake thumbs-up from me, and I was back in the hallway. Not even eight o’clock and high school sucked already.
Reviews
There are no reviews yet.