The Syndrome Playlist

I stand outside the doors to my new school, my new hell. Canterlot High. Odd name for a high school in my opinion, but I’m low on options. Grandma says it’ll be great; she went to high school here apparently. Doesn’t do much to comfort me. That was how many years ago? Too many to wrap my head around.

It’s a sizeable building and a really nice one at that. It’s like a blocky U. Does that make sense? It goes to either side of me for a distance before cornering back towards the street. It’s a royal purple and even has a glass dome on top. Classy. A nice courtyard separates it from the street. Center of that, a friggin’ huge brand new statue of a horse. I think the school team is the Wondercolts.

This place has a thing for horses apparently.

Not gonna lie, my last high school sucked major. I keep hearing from my grandparents that a change of pace will be good. Apparently this place is that change. The bar’s already set pretty low, so it’ll be interesting to see how this plays out.

The other students are swarming around me. I’m flying under the radar as I tend to do, but I can’t help but wonder.

What the hell is with everyone’s hair?
Walking inside is a lovely lobby. Basic hallways with lockers and classrooms going on for what seems like forever. There looks to be an entire wall dedicated to trophies. Seriously, I’m pretty sure I could get some serious cash if I melted down all that metal. No idea what I would do with the ribbons. Tie ‘em in my hair, probably

It’s unnaturally bright in here. My previous schools, all the way back to preschool, have been dark and kinda depressing, though I only picked up on that feeling much later. But here people are smiling and being friendly. My God, it’s like they’re actually enjoying themselves. I see a nerd and presumably a jock talking to each other without the big guy throwing punches.

What kind of Twilight Zone shiznit is this?

The miasma of students is starting to dwindle. Probably time for homeroom. Should probably head to the office and grab a schedule. I look both ways before deciding I have no idea where I am or where I’m supposed to go. Crap. Time to buckle up and talk to someone.

I walk up to a girl with pink hair that almost looks like cotton candy. If I hadn’t had three bowls of Cinnamon Toast Crunch this morning, I probably would have tried it out. Just kidding, that would probably require loads of charisma to pull that off without it looking weird and creepy.

“Hey, could you please direct me to the main office? Gotta pick up my schedule.”

The girl turns around. Wow, those are some blue eyes. They’re pretty big too. It’s almost as if they’re getting bigger.

“Uh, yeah, hi. Could you point me to the office?” I ask again.

She gasps loudly, almost jumping into the air. Before I can ask if something’s wrong, she zips down the hallway and out of my sight.

I sigh. First person, first girl in fact, I talk to and I either scared them with my looks or they happened to be nucking futs. She was pretty attractive too. Lord knows I probably would’ve messed that relationship up. It would have started slow, maybe as friends. One night, at a party where she might have had a bit too much to drink and I’m too tired to care, we would kiss. Love and fireworks burst in the sky, roses rain down on us. Two months later, she’s… You know what, I’m not gonna go there. Happy thoughts, man, happy thoughts.

I look around. Everyone’s in class and its empty. Great. Guess I’m gonna have to figure this out on my own.

On a whim, I decide to follow Cotton Candy down the hallway. Push comes to shove, I loop back around and get a nice tour of the place.

I’m already starting to hate it here, Grandma be damned.

Alright, finally made it to the main office. Not sure why it’s a mile away from the front entrance, but I don’t plan on making this trip a lot.

It’s a quaint little thing. There’s a decent sized desk covered in flowerpots, and two doors, one presumably leading to the principal’s office and the other… vice principal? Sometimes it’s a dean of students, an academic overseer, headmaster, blah blah blah. Different names all for the same job: Principal’s Right Hand Man. One door has a moon over it, and a sun above the other. Odd choice of decoration. Déjà vu, but I think I’ve said that how many times since getting here? A lot. How much more am I gonna be saying that?

Twenty bucks on a whole lot more.

Behind the desk is a frail old woman with white hair that looks like a shade of pink. Seems even the elderly aren’t safe from dying their hair in bizarre colors. Unless it’s natural. Maybe there’s something in the drinking water. The lady that’s presumably the secretary has the cliché half-moon glasses with beads wrapping around her neck. Never understood that. Eh, if I make it to above sixty, I’ll try and figure it out.

“Hi, Ms…” -check the nameplate- “…Maresbury, I’m looking to pick up my schedule. I’m new here.”

She looks up at me and peers through her thick lenses. There’s an awkward moment of silence as if she’s making sure I’m not some punk from off the street. I mean, I am some punk from off the street, but I actually go here now.

Finally, she smiles at me. “Ah, yes, you must be Mr. Mets. I welcome you to Canterlot High School. This school is absolutely lovely, I am sure you will feel right at home.”

I nod politely, though I highly doubt this place will be any different than every other school I’ve been too. “Looking forward to it, ma’am. Could I please get my schedule?”

“Of course. Let’s see here…”

Ms. Maresbury turns to her computer. Oh God, it’s not printed out already? I simply keep my smile on. I may be a punk, but I’m not an asshole. Usually.

So I smile at Ms. Maresbury as she clicks her mouse. And clicks again. Again. Again. One more time, for the ladies. Another. Oh lovely, she’s typing something out now at 10 words per minute. Just print it. If I hadn’t promised my grandparents I would play nice, I would totally leap over the desk and get the damn thing myself. They were probably just making a joke, but I’m a man of my word.

“Ah, here we go. Let’s just print this and get you on your merry way!”

It finally prints. She hands my schedule over and gives me a warm smile. “Have a great day, Mr. Mets! You are going to absolutely adore this place, I guarantee it.”

Doubt it.

“Uh, if you don’t mind me asking, how is this place organized? Like, where’s…” -consult the chart- “…room 47?”

“When you exit the office, you go right down the hallway and past the lobby. It should be on the right. If not, it is on the left.”

“Wonderful, thank you.”

As I’m leaving, I realize that my new homeroom is on the other side of campus. Fan-freaking-tastic.