A Freak Like Me_Part 1

A Freak Like Me

Hello.
My name is Emily Rose.
And I am a freak.

…

“That is so stupid!” I exclaimed in study hall, surrounded by my friends. I was sitting like a queen on her throne, albeit one who is clad in all black attire over blood red fishnets. Punctuating my sentences with my fists on my friend’s desk, I continued my daily rant, “You’ve liked that kid for HOW LONG and you can’t tell him that? I don’t get you… If I ever liked a guy – which I don’t and never have – I would at least have the guts to tell him! Every day, you just sit here and stare at him or write poems about your secret feelings for him. He’s not just going to come up to you and confess his secret love for you or something!”

“I… I know that… I do… I know that…” Maggie whispered, lowering her head. “But what else can I do?! Not everyone is so sure of their selves all the time like you are, Emma!” She barked back, her pale, light blue eyes locked onto mine.

I sighed and abandoned my doodles on her verses. “Allow me to reiterate…” I said, clearing my throat authoritatively, “Ahem. Just. Tell. Him. He’s never going to know, otherwise! He’s so thick headed…” Squinting my eyes in his general vicinity, I then said softer, “No idea what you see in him… conceited brat… hate those stupid sheep…”

My friends nodded at my last statement and began to glare across the room at “The Sheep.” Those boys were so called for their pack-like and brainless nature when ever two or more of them congregated. If one of them decided to come over and make fun of the ‘nonconformists’ that day, they all did. If one didn’t feel like it, they left us alone. Sheep.

“He… Mark… he isn’t stupid… We’re all in this study hall because we’re taking the same honors classes… So no one in here is really stupid…” Maggie’s blush deepened the more she defended him. “And… and besides… He always gets the top scores on tests…” She tucked an unruly, sandy-blonde curl behind her ear that had somehow managed to escape from her tight, twin braids.

“Um… Hello! So do you!” Sam chimed in, sitting to the left of Maggie, on top of an empty desk. Her shaggy blonde mop of a hair cut was looking even more like a lion’s mane than usual, fraught with static electricity. Her brown eyes fairly snapped, as she easily tired with Maggie’s trivial tribulations.

“He… beats me on some…” Maggie replied. “It did kind of make me mad about it at first… He was like… my fiercest rival all through out middle school… But some where along the way… something changed my view of him… I guess. It was like… He was no longer something I hated, but rather something to be emulated… someone I wanted to be… Some one I wanted to be acknowledged by… liked by…” Her voice trailed off as she noticed we were staring blankly at her.

“Geez, girl! You sure do like to talk, don’t you? You’re normally so quiet, but once someone gets you to talk, good luck shutting you back up again!” I said, one eyebrow raised, as I leaned back in my chair. Maggie always tried to dissuade this action, saying that I would hit my head if I leaned back too far.

“Hmm…” My chair greeted the floor with a thud. “There’s another one who’s been quiet today.” I said, pointing to Brittany. She sat sulking in a chair just behind Maggie. She was hugging her knees and pouting while twirling her wiry red hair around her unpolished index finger. She sighed, staring down at her two-sizes-too-small once white sneakers.

“Hey, you like Mark too, right? Gonna actually do anything about it?” I teased her.

“No.” Brittany said, in a stern, monotone mumble. “Not smart enough. Not pretty enough. Won’t like me.” Maggie, ever the good friend, began to console Brittany. Maggie patted her on the back and reassured her that it was more likely that he would like Brittany than her. Maggie was in a difficult situation. She had to play the part of the concerned friend while lusting after the same guy as Brittany was. However, Maggie lacked the resolve to choose between love and a friend.

“Uh, well, for starters, drop the cave man speech, Brit.” I said, stabbing the air with an impeccably manicured digit, getting a bit irritated with my female friends. This is the foremost reason I would prefer male friends, for they rarely ever act like this. (Should I ever gain one, I mean, as most things male simply throw pieces of paper at our lunch table that say things like ‘God is real’ and ‘Die, devil worshippers’.) I sighed. “Just go talk to him or something. You can’t hope to just pull a relationship with him out of thin air!”

“I-I can’t do THAT! That would be weird… just going up to him and talking to him… and… besides… what would I even say? It’s hopeless!” She said, embarrassed at the very thought of it. Her eyes began to tear up, and she hid them behind her small, white hands.

“You’re science partners, right? Chat while doing your lab or something! Geez…” I was becoming quite aggravated when I noticed the sheep creeping across the classroom. The lethargic study hall supervisor was asleep, as usual, and they looked especially malicious today. Probably wouldn’t be satisfied until they made some one cry today.

I stood in a protective stance in front of Maggie so they wouldn’t see her present state. My eyes narrowed. “What do you want?” I said in a firm voice.

“Just to talk to my fellow devil worshippers…” Dick smirked. The sheep sniggered. “The devil’s my friend you know. Yeah, we listen to the, uh, death metal with him. What is it you like? Cradle of Filth? Slipknot?” Their group broke out into air guitar solos, screaming made up lyrics into invisible microphones, and massive head banging, one of them narrowly missing a desk.

“Umm… No. Now get lost!” said Sam, walking over to stand next to me.

“Oh, yeah. That’s right, you like that Japanese music, right? Chingity-chong long myo gong ching fou.” They began hopping around the room like lunatics, singing in their high pitched made up language.

“Right… One, you are trying to imitate Chinese.  Two, Chinese doesn’t really sound anything like that.” I retaliated when they were through. Then, under my breath, said, “Idiots.”

“What’d you just call us?” one yelled. Sam and I didn’t move a muscle. They noticed they couldn’t get under our skin like this and switched their tactics.

Don picked up one of Maggie’s braids and began playing with it. “Hiya, Maggieeee…” She scrambled to hide her poems. “Why do you always do homework in here? Why don’t you talk to us? Do you not like us?” He asked with an evil grin, revealing already yellowing teeth under a mess of orthodontia. Maggie blushed further and tried to conceal her reddening face. She covered her head with her hands and uttered something inaudible.

“Stop messing with her! She didn’t do anything to you. She’s just trying to study. You could learn a thing or two from her!” I said as I pinched them furiously with my long, crimson nails. I don’t really care if people make fun of me. I’m pretty used to it. I guess I’m an easy target since I’m so different from other girls. However, I am extremely loyal and if you make fun of my friends, be prepared to face my wrath.

“Yeowch!” they recoiled. The audience of one boy and five girls looked up at the scene that was unfolding in front of them. The teacher slept uninterrupted, giving a slight snort as he flipped over in his chair. “That’s a pretty girly move for a soccer player! And I thought you were a good-” Don stopped short when I kicked him in the shin with my foot, clad in a four inch tall black pump.

“Go awaaaaay!” I screeched, swinging my arms wildly, hoping my talons would connect with at least one of their faces. “Leave her alone!” I glanced at the clock. Six more minutes until Honors Biology, when I’d be rid of them. I hoped I could keep them away for long enough.

But, it was no use. They just kept coming back for more. Even Mark started to make fun of Maggie. That’s when she gave up and started sobbing softly, smudging her graphite rhymes with her moist face. “Don’t cry now! Don’t let him see you like this!” I hissed at my sniveling friend. I turned around fiercely to face them, my green eyes glittering in fury.

The sheep flinched. “Geez. What’s with you? Sending us evil brain waves or something? Ooh, look! I’m sending them back!” Dick massaged his forehead and frowned as he began to hum. When he reopened his eyes, he was greeted with a swift blow to the face. My punch however, did not connect with its intended target.

“He’s not worth it. You’ll just get in trouble…” said the new kid who had been watching the whole time. He was gripping my bony, white wrist tightly, just inches from Dick’s quivering face.

“Eh? Lemme hit ‘em!” I protested, trying to free my hand of his clutch. The boy shook his head slightly, rustling his shaggy, dark brown hair. I relented and dropped my hand to my side. He was right. This kid wasn’t worth getting suspended over. Though, I was a bit miffed that I could not wail on that jerk. Dick used this opportunity to take three hasty steps backward and promptly tripped over a chair. Everyone laughed as he scrambled to his feet.

Just then, the bell rang overhead. I turned to the boy who had stopped my blow a moment earlier, but he was already out the door. As if by magic, the once vacant halls now swarmed with boisterous teenagers.

“What was with that kid?” Sam asked me as we fought our way through the throng of people.

“Dunno. Isn’t it like his first day here? Wonder why he’d transfer at the beginning of the second marking period?” I pondered aloud, stepping over some poor soul who dropped their papers, annoyed that they were now taking up half of the already very narrow hallway with their spill.

Sam shrugged. “Looked kinda cute though. That guy, I mean…” Now it was my turn to shrug. I never think of guys in that way. He came across as a bit serious to me. With that dark hair and light gray eyes. And he didn’t let me hit that idiot… though I suppose I should be grateful. I tend to act hastily and my rash actions often get me into trouble. It was then that I noticed that Brittany sat back and did nothing to stop the sheep’s attack on poor Maggie. I wonder if it has something to do with Mark…?

I walked into Bio and saw a dozen white note cards on the six lab tables, two per table, with names on them. I saw Mr. Etitep come out of the teachers’ lounge he shared with the other science teachers. He was sporting a bright pink button down shirt and black tie with expertly quaffed blonde hair. No, I know what you’re thinking… he’s straight, married, and expecting a kid.

“Yo, Mister E! New seating chart?” I greeted him, flinging my right arm in the air, holding my books in my left; my usual greeting.

“Yeah, sorry I gotta split up the dynamic Anime masters duo, whoa. New marking period, new lab partners, woah.” He said, gesticulating wildly. “Find your names and take a seat, peeps, whoa yeah. Catch the latest Flaaaaaava Flaaaaave Flavor of Love last night, whoa? That New York, man… craaaaazy…” Umm… yeah… Mr. E fancies himself somewhat of a… gangsta…

“Yeah… total witch…” I said, feigning interest. I thought that show was a complete waste of a time slot. Mr. E kept talking, but I let Sam take over the conversation as I ignored him. My eyes were busy scanning the tables for my name. I finally found my card in the third row, the furthest from the board. This was the best position for drawing secretly in class! I put my books on the table and slid my black and white striped messenger back off my left shoulder and onto the floor with a ‘thud’.

“Oh, cool!” Sam said. Though we were not at the same table, it turns out we were on the seats next to the aisle between the twin rows of black lab tables. Our peers began to file into the room at their leisure. The room we had study hall in is only a few doors down from Mr. E’s, but our class mates managed to take the full five minutes allotted to use for changing classes to get to Bio every day.

“So, who sits next to you, Sam?” I inquired, content in my own seat.

“Hmm… a Cameron… I think that’s one of those snotty sophomore girls.” She said.

“Ew…” I responded. We simultaneously made a face and fake-gagged. “Their hair is so obviously fake-y colored… I don’t get the point of it. It’s like ‘Everyone can tell that’s fake! You’re not fooling anybody!’… It’s like those old men who think they can get away with comb-overs or toupees…” I continued.

“And it’s so stupid how they look down on us freshmen. Um, hello! They were freshmen last year! Heh, and besides, they’re the ones who are stupid enough to have to take freshmen classes.” She said, folding her index card into an airplane sloppily.

“Whee…” she said oh-so-enthusiastically as the plane flew unsteadily toward the trash can. It didn’t go in, but she didn’t bother to pick it up. Sam slouched back in her chair and I asked her if she was going to get that. Her head hit the table with a hollow ‘thunk’. I took that as a no.

I sighed and picked up the discarded note card and helped it complete its flight. When I stooped over, I heard a distinctly sheep-like voice. “Ah, finally you know your place. Just where you belong.” He said, motioning to the trash. I sneered at him but said nothing. I wanted nothing more than to rip his bottle-blonde curls straight from his scalp, but managed to restrain myself.

“Emma, who do you have for a lab partner?” Sam asked groggily as I returned to my seat.

I grabbed the white card and showed it to her, saying, “It’s blank.”

“Huh. That’s weird. Maybe you get to sit by yourself and just join another pair when we do labs. Oh, that means we might get to work together after all! Let’s ask Mister… E… Uh, were did he go?” She asked, puzzled. We looked around the room, swearing he was in here with us just a minute ago…

“Hmm… Dunno. He musta poofed back into the teacher’s lounge.” I said, braiding a section of chestnut brown hair that fell across my face. “Wish I could poof like teachers can… One minute they’re on one side of the cafeteria, and as soon as you pull out your iPod, they’re right there to catch you…”

Just then, the rest of the sheep were herded into their seats by Mr. E. One of them who was sitting in front of me turned around and asked, “You know Japanese, right?”

“…Yes…” I answered cautiously. Why do you want to know? What do you hope to gain from asking me that? My mind began accumulating a database of witty responses that depended on what he said next.

“So, like what’s Star Wars in Japanese?” He asked, an innocent enough expression on his face.

“They wouldn’t translate movie titles usually…” I said tentatively. “Umm, they would probably just, like pronounce it differently… More like Staaa Waaaz or something…”

“Staaa Waaaz?! Ha ha. Staaa Waaaz. Staaa Waaaz. You say it so funny.” He said, mimicking my accent like a parrot mimics its owner… and with the same level of repetitive annoyance. “Hey, guys, she says Star Wars is Staaa Waaaz in Japanese. Ha ha!” He ran over to tell his friends who were just arriving.

Sam and I looked at one another, shook our heads, and sighed. We still had three quarters of the school year ahead of us. It was going to be a loooooong year…

Just as the bell was about to ring, a bunch of screeching sophomore girls scurried through the door, tittering and giggling in that oh-so-annoying way teenage girls do. Well, I suppose I should say the majority of them any way. “Ohmigod, and then? You didn’t? You did?!” they shrieked, having multiple one sided conversations at once. Sam made the ‘blah, blah, blah’ hand motion with her left hand and proceeded to smash it with her right fist. As her partner sat down, still chatting, she made a gun hand sign and pantomimed blowing her brains out. I chuckled and began drawing pictures of us eating sheep and killing sophomores with dirt and other things they hate.

The last student just managed to shuffle through the door when the bell rang. Mr. E magically was back up at his desk, wiping down the overhead, singing his ‘sexy overhead’ song to himself. Yeah… Don’t ask…

“Oh, woah, that’s right! We have a new student joining us starting today, from… Riverside, was it? Riverside, yo. His name is Chris Sanders, woah,” said Mr. E, presenting him to the class in his own odd ghetto white boy style. I was so absorbed in my doodle that I didn’t even realize what was going on until Mr. E said, “Yo, next to Emma-dog, woah. That’s where you sit, man.”

I jolted back to consciousness when I heard my name spoken. I looked up towards the front of class only to lock eyes with the new kid who had prevented my suspension in the previous period. Now that I got a good chance to look at him, I noticed the ghostly way his gray, misty eyes looked. They were partially covered by shaggy, dark brown hair. So dark, in fact, that it almost looked black. He stood quite a bit taller than the teacher, dressed in jeans and a black hoodie. Though he appeared to be serious and dark, as he walked toward where I sat, smiled softly, making my heart skip a beat.

‘Eh? What’s with that?’ I thought to myself. I quickly disregarded it as I attempted to focus on what Mr. E began writing on the overhead projector. I squinted at his miniscule, messy writing. Hmm… was it just me or was the overhead fuzzy? Looking around, I saw my classmates scribbling in their note books. Apparently, they had no problem seeing it. I squinted harder, rubbed my eyes, and then tried once more.

“Can’t see it?” came a soft voice from my right. Startled, I turned to my right to notice a now bespectacled Chris was whispering to me. I shook my head and he slid his notes towards me. I thanked him, surprised at his kindness. I quickly scrawled Lysosomes on the top of my paper and copied down the rest of the notes as Mr. E was creating an elaborate analogy to describe how they worked.

“And the lysosomes are, like, doing drive-by shooting at a rivaling gang, yo. Except the targets aren’t really moving, or shooting back, yo… So it’s more like ‘lysosome time’ at the old folk’s home, woah. ‘Cause it’s like, they can move, but very slowly, yo. Like, unless they are really fast ninja grandpas, yo, they probably aren’t going to be able to dodge the bullets. Well, sometimes they might shoot at one of the old folks and it might ricochet off their walker or something, but…” Mr. E prattled on. He was one of the few teachers in the entire school who managed to hold my attention for more than five minutes at a time. Mostly because of his ways of explaining things…

After I handed back his notes, Chris tapped his mechanical pencil twice on the desk where he had written something. It said, ‘Is it only far away words you can’t see?’

‘Yeah’ I replied. Why was he being so friendly? We just met.

‘It’s the same with me. I have glasses just for overheads and boards and the like.’

‘Yeah, I guess I should probably get some of those…’

‘Do you need to borrow mine until you get some?’

‘Do you think they would work well enough?’

‘Yeah, we’re probably around the same blindness level ’

‘That would help a lot. Thanks.’

Mr. E again began writing something illegible on the overhead. When Chris was done writing, he gave me the glasses; they were the stereotypical, black framed emo-boy glasses. Apparently, my mouth wasn’t connected to my brain that day, as I let out a ‘Woah’ when I put them on.

The rest class looked at me oddly and I stammered, “Lysozomes… who knew, heh heh.” They returned to their notes, I guess just assuming it was better not to ask. After I was finished copying down the sentences, I heard a ‘tap tap’ of pencil on table top.

‘Isn’t it amazing how much more you can see?’ he scribbled, smiling as I handed the glasses back.

‘Yeah, I was just thinking ‘Do people see like that all the time’?’ I replied. It truly was amazing how much more I could see. The rough texture of the brick walls, small print on various science posters around the room, how fake the sophomore girls’ hair extensions look. It all looked so… clear.

‘Ha ha, that’s just what I thought when I first put them on. ’

We kept up this system until Mr. E snapped the pen top back on the nib and proclaimed, “That’s all the notes for today, guys, woah. You got like five minutes or so of ‘chill time’ woah.” He turned off the projector and went back into the lounge to heat up some Chinese food. I turned to talk to Sam, but noticed she promptly drifted off to sleep. Chris stretched in his chair and took off his hoodie, revealing a System of a Down shirt underneath. I didn’t realize it, but I must have been staring at his shirt.

“What?” He asked me.

“Eh? Oh, I just got ‘I-E-A-I-A-I-O’ stuck in my head, and then started listening to it… in my head.” Wow, I sound like a whacko. Mr. E came back in the room and began to taunt the starving students with his food.

“Oh, you like them? Grr, now you’ve got it in my head too. I’m going to be singing that in my head all day now, thank you. Really.” He said sarcastically, laughing as he hummed the tune. He closed his eyes and began rocking backwards in his chair. For the first time, I was able to just look at him. The length of his eyelashes really surprised me. I suppose I didn’t notice how long they were before because I avoided eye contact. (Oh, I didn’t just avoid him, but with every one. I hate looking people in the eye.) Come to think of it, his face is actually very feminine and soft… He’s prettier than most girls! I wonder if he would let me put make up on him like Mana…

The bell snapped us both from our daze, signaling the end of the day’s classes. “See ya’ll, woah. Keep it real, peeps!” Mr. E called after us.

“Is… Is he for real? Or does he really not know that he’s white?” Chris asked me skeptically.

“No idea… Ha ha.” I answered. We made our way through the busy hallway which was teeming with homeward-bound teens. I didn’t have soccer practice today, luckily. I was way too starving to have to go play a sport. I have to be fed constantly or I get hungry and grumpy. Strangely though, I was in a perfectly content mood, despite the fact that my black hole of a stomach was crying out for sustenance.

We finally pushed our way through the swarm to the stairs. “Um… Is your locker around here? What’s your number?” I asked, wondering why he was still walking with me.

“It’s… uh… 670-something…” He said, fumbling for the paper he was given that told him the number and combination. Why is he still walking with me? The six hundreds and below were upstairs. Chris finally found it when we reached the bottom of the stairs, and corrected himself, “Oh, no, wait. It’s 763.”

“Really? Mine is 756. We’re probably in the same hall way then. Here’s mine. Your’s is probably down that way.” I said, pointing. When he found his, I emptied the contents of my bag into my messy locker, as I had no homework. Hmm… besides study hall, this was turning out to be a pretty good day. I even might have made a new friend, though he’s a bit over-friendly considering we just met. I slammed my locker shut with a bang, giving it the necessary kick required to make it shut.

“See you tomorrow!” He yelled. I nodded and jog-walked to where I kept my bike during school. I undid the lock on my black and green bike, gleaming in the sunlight, and took off my pumps, which I placed in my bag, opting to ride in fishnets rather than four inch heels. Careful not to flash anyone, being in a quite short skirt, I straddled the bike and hobbled over to the sidewalk.

I began to pedal furiously until I gained enough momentum to coast down the street. It was a beautiful fall day. I breathed in deeply, filling my lungs with the crisp, fresh air. A gentle breeze twirled brittle leaves along the ground and played with my hair. The wind also carried to me the nostalgic smells of cinnamon and the burning of candles stubs in half-dead jack-o-lanterns. I reveled in the beauty held in nature’s fall palette of oranges, rusts, and sepias.

I pedaled harder and then made a swooping left turn onto an old cobblestone side road. I stood up off the seat of the bike and enjoyed the soft kla-klack, kla-klack, kla-klack, sound of my tires on the steeply sloping street. Discarded wrappers of Halloween candies glittered in the sun and crackled under my wheels. A little farther down the road, I began to slow down and then turned left into my driveway.

Nestled amid a soaring cluster of vibrant maple and hickory trees, sat a stately, weathered brick abode, tendrils of rich emerald ivy climbing up the walls. On either side of the white-washed front door stood long and elegant French windows, seemingly out place on this otherwise homely appearing edifice, each of which was framed by twin white columns holding up the Parthenon reminiscent roof. Its black slate roof glistened gently in the afternoon sun, throwing the depths of the breezy veranda into cool, slightly blue tinted shadows. A worn, white wrought iron balustrade ran from pilaster to pilaster, enclosing the flower pot filled terrace in its own serene world.

I walked my bike into the jam-packed garage, which was affixed to the side of the dwelling, tripping over my skateboard in the process. Geez. I’m such a klutz… I shut the garage and snatched a banana out of the basket on the kitchen table. I sighed melancholically and slowly peeling the fruit as I was pondering the day’s happenings. I was glad that there was at least one more person on our side now. The sheep out numbered us at least two to one, even on the good days. When I finished my snack, I ran up the stairs to my room. No one was home, but I shut the door out of habit and opened the window, fresh air filling the green room. I laid on the floor, basking in the sunlight like a cat and stretched luxuriously, reaching for my black video iPod.

I turned the volume up on Cascada’s “Every Time We Touch” and danced around the room like a crazy woman, yelling an off-key rendition of the ballad at the top of my lungs. I pealed my red fishnets from my legs and shed my black attire, replacing it with a large green nightgown. I grabbed my beaten up copy of Margaret Mitchell’s classic romantic epic, Gone with the Wind, and began re-re-rereading it while bouncing around and singing. Mood swings? No. I’m just a freak of nature.

You see… I am the combination of two very distinct personalities. One, is the darkness loving, hard rocker, tough, no love, no nonsense girl you’ve seen at school. This other half of me loves dancing, fast music, bright colors, lace, and is a total hopeless romantic. These polar opposite sides of my personality make it difficult for me to just be myself and would just confuse others should I try. A while ago, I decided it would just be for the better if I just choose one of the personalities to be when around my friends. I chose the tougher of the two for my outward appearance to protect my softer side from getting hurt. And it has worked very well.

For instance, I have protected myself by never liking any guy, and thus I have never been hurt by one nor do I waste time obsessing over them. I quell my romantic side with dozens of volumes of shoujo manga and sweet, love movies. I prefer to idealize about love instead of actually take part in it. I keep this side of me separate and secret. I am such a loser.

I put on John Mayer’s “Love Song For No One” and drowned myself in my pent up misery by belting out the lyrics while dancing in front of my laptop which was playing none other than Gone With the Wind. Not as good as the book, but I still loved it.

“Staying home alone on a Friiiiday…
Flat on the floor, looking back on aaaaall love…
Or lack thereoooof…
After all the crushes have faded…
And all my wishful thinking was wrong…
I’m jaded… I hate it…
I’m tired of being alone!
So hurry up and get here!
I’m so tired of being aloooone!
So hurry up and get here… get heeeeere…
Searching all my days just to find you…
Not sure who I’m looking for…
I’ll know it… when I see you…
Until then, I’ll hide in my bedroom…
Just staying up all night just to write…
A love soooong… for noooo oooone…” I sang, mournfully.

Out of breath an hour or two and thirty songs later, I surveyed myself in my bathroom mirror. Before me stood a pale adolescent girl of five feet six inches, with pin straight chestnut brown hair longer than her waist now strewn across her face. Her large green eyes starred with bristly black lashes under dark, black eyebrows with not a trace of make up on her face. I’m so weird looking…

“Emma? Are you home?” called my mom. I silenced my still blaring music.

“Yeah, I’m here.” I hollered. She informed me that dinner would be ready shortly, and yes, it is meatloaf and no I don’t have a choice in the matter.

…

After sitting at the dinner table for a whole hour, childishly refusing to eat that gray mush she tried to pawn off on me as food, I was finally forced to choke down the mandatory three forkfuls and then retreated the solitude of my room. Little did she know, I stashed my entire hoard of Halloween candy in various places around my room, and gorged myself on it.

I grabbed one more fistful of Butterfingers and planted myself in front of my laptop. I opened the ‘Anime’ file on my desktop and watched episode after episode of Ouran High School Host Club.

Wow… Hikaru is so sweet to Haruhi… I was watching episode sixteen, and my romantic side longed to have some one feel like that about me, much to the disdain of my tougher side. To be held in some one’s arms like that… But I always protest when some one tries to hug me, even my own family. No one knows about my secret personalities… They would think I was crazy to just change like that. Er. Crazy-ER.

I honestly don’t know what I want…

…

I awoke that morning half-dead to my screeching alarm clock, fumbling for the snooze button. Still confused from being in the middle of the dream, I fell out of my bed tangled in the lime green sheets. After stumbling over an assortment of obstacles, including a set of ninety six colored pencils, three different shoes, neither of which matched the other two, an open bottle of Red Bull, four magazines and a clothes hanger, I eventually reached the door. I flicked on the lights, my eyes wincing in momentary pain as I waited for them to adjust to the brightness.

My clothes were already laid out for the day. I grabbed a crimson plaid miniskirt, black opaque tights with scarlet polka dots, black collared shirt with sleeves to my fingertips, and a blood-red tie. Some how finding the way to my bathroom, I gave my hair a swift brush and then changed into my daily costume.

The clock read 6:23 when popped downstairs for a quick breakfast before I took off. It seems a little early to be heading off to school, eh? I like to get to school early. Very early. One of the main reasons is that I have art class first period and this way, I got an extra hour or so of work time every day. I’ll warn you, my art teacher is quite an evil lady. Well… at least I think she’s a lady…

Anyway… since I have a short skirt on today, I will be walking to school instead of riding my bike, so I have to leave earlier than usual. On my way out the door, I stuffed a pack of supermarket bought sushi and a coke in my bag for lunch time consumption. I turned on my iPod and clicked on my ‘School Mood’ playlist, consisting of songs by Drowning Pool, HIM, Linkin Park, Seether, and System of a Down, among other artists. Getting in the mood a bit, I did a little mild head banging, to the probable amusement of those passing by me in their cars. By the time I got to school, my hair was wrought with static electricity, radiating from my cranium in all directions, giving my head the general appearance of giant, brown puff ball.

I usually get to school before my art teacher does, but I know a janitor who lets me in the art room every morning. The smell of fresh paint assaulted my nostrils as I opened the heavy door and kicked the rubber stopper under it. I breathed deeply, the scent sharpening my senses as it wafted off the still wet projects on the drying rack from the day before. I laid my bag down on my table and put every one’s project on their desk for them, ‘cause I’m nice like that.

I was grateful that our class only had six people in it, as there were only six two-people tables in the room, meaning none of us had to share the table with anyone else like the later classes did. I lifted my arms toward the ceiling and got on my tip-toes, stretching my entire body. I leisurely got out my own special set of brushes and the paints I would be using that day, not harried by time constraints as my peers were.

I rolled up my sleeves, tied my hair back sloppily, settled into my seat, and became immediately absorbed in my piece. It was a self portrait of sorts, but we had to use only certain colors that were assigned to us and blah, blah, blah. I was given the color black as that is the color they thought suited me best. I thought that looked too plain and boring, reaching for the green paint. I chose to make the focus on my eyes, filling them in with a brilliant shade of moss green layered over a soft, mint color. I then framed them with dark charcoal lashes.

I sighed and stepped back, observing the eerie feeling that resonated from the painting. The hair was such a dark gray, it made my fair skin appear a shocking milky white, twin green eyes staring back hauntingly. Other students began to trickle into the school. I hadn’t noticed before, but the other students in the class were standing at my sides, admiring my work along with me.

“Wow! That’s really good!” they sang in chorus.
“As always!”
“Just what we’d expect from you!”
“That green is lovely! But won’t you get into-”

“Trouble?” completed Mrs. Krutia. My art teacher was standing at the doorway, eyeing my project. Her yellow-gray hair was in its usual amorphous, unruly, mushroom cloud shape, her caterpillars-for-eyebrows lowered over her centimeter thick glasses that gleamed with a twisted glee. “I-thought-I-told-you-to-use-black-and-only-black-and-I-thought-the-rules-were-as-clear-as-I-could-make-them. NO COLOR, A-NI-MU GIRL!”

“But that’s B-O-R-I-N-G. It looks a lot better now, don’t you think?” I said as I smiled maliciously.

“But-that’s-not-the-project!!! You’re not the art teacher, I am! I make the projects. I make the rules. And-don’t-think-I-haven’t-noticed-you-sneaking-in-the-room-every-morning-to-try-and-get-ahead-of-the-class. You have to use the time in class for drawing! Not homework and goofing off!”

“I always work straight through every class and still barely have enough time to finish! You give us three days and expect us to pull together a project that would normally take over a week to execute properly!” I retorted.

“Your classmates seem to have no problem with my curriculum.” She scoffed. My peers looked down at their feet, trying to avoid a tussle with either of us by remaining silent. “I’m going to deduct soooo many points from your project, I swear. Hmph. If you can’t keep up with us, perhaps you should DROP THE CLASS!” She bellowed.

Er… Allow me to explain… we seem to have a yelling match like this nearly every morning. It has almost become a way for us both to blow of some steam and actually makes me work harder and better. And she rarely ever gives me anything lower than a hundred. She just plain dislikes me because I draw anime style pictures. Well… other people do too… She’s just hates me because I can draw them well.

“Excuse me…” said a familiar voice. “But am I interrupting something?” I jerked my head over to the door way to see Chris standing with a class schedule in one hand and a map in the other. I half-waved to him and he smiled at me in recognition.

“No, nothing IMPORTANT…” she said, still sour from our daily banter. She sauntered over to him and snatched his schedule right out of his hand. “Hmm… looks like you transferred in yesterday, yet why were you not present for class yesterday?”

“Um… I couldn’t find the classroom…” He said, blushing slightly. This was understandable. Our school is quite labyrinthine until one becomes accustomed to it. Mrs. K attempted to lift one of those fuzzy things she tried to pass of as an eyebrow and looked him up and down skeptically, a sheepish grin plastered on Chris’s face.

“Hmm… Okay, let’s see here. We’re all out of tables, so looks like some one with have to share!” she said, the corner of her lips curling up. She knew how I liked my space and thusly said, “Let’s have you sit with Miss Rose, shall we? Explain the directions to him, since you are sooo faaar alooong…” She put a special, sing-songy emphasis on the last three words.

I cleared my books and bag from the left side of my table, making room for him. I sighed and grabbed Chris a sheet of white paper and a mirror, placing them in front of him. “Am I correct in assuming you have a pencil?” I asked.

“Uh, yeah.” He said, searching his pockets. Then, lowering his voice, asked me, “Is… Is she always like that?”

“Just to people she doesn’t like… meaning me.” I said, outlining the criteria for the project on a sheet of loose leaf paper. “Okay, first you should sketch out how you want to look in your self portrait. That’s what the mirror is for. When you’re satisfied, you need her to pick a color for your picture. She wants it to ‘match our personalities’ or something.”

It just then occurred to me as I looked in his mirror just how freakish I looked at that moment. My hair was messy and falling out of my pony tail, my long sleeves were rolled up to the elbow which made my arms look huge and fat, and almost every possible square inch of my bare skin had some sort of paint stain or pencil smudge. Why did someone I hardly know have to see me at my worst like this? I immediately took my hair out and tried to rub the pencil smudges off my face discreetly.

“Umm… Emily… You just got some green paint all across your face…” Chris said, pointing to his cheek. Erk. I actually just made it worse.

“Where? Here?” I asked frantically, pointing where he did, but to my own cheek.

“No, no. Other one. No… more… over… Here.” He said, dipping his index finger in my water dish and rubbing the pigment from my face.

“Eek. That’s kind of cold!” I said, touching my wet cheek where his hand had been just a moment earlier. He smiled and returned to his work. I took a peek or two (or ten!) at his work as he was drawing his portrait. He caught me spying and tilted it toward me so I could get a better look. He actually turned out to be a pretty good artist, which surprised me. I could already clearly see his features materializing on the paper, his expression of choice being a soft smile. I gave him a thumbs up sign, as the evil Art-Nazi that was Mrs. K had employed a strict no talking policy as of five minutes ago.

I stared at my own art project for a while and figured it wasn’t going to get any better so I tacked it up on the display wall. I washed out my dirty paint palette and brushes with time to spare. It was rare to not have anything to do in this class so I just watched Chris draw for a while. He seemed not at all bothered that I was watching him draw, where I, on the other hand hate to be stared at when I draw. (Or just stared at in general, which I am quite often when I wear some of my more ostentatious outfits.) Hmm… Chris has a good natural ability… If only we had a more competent teacher than Mrs. K to give him a little instruction, he could be even better. Come to think of it, I’ve never even seen that woman draw a single thing…

“Five minutes until the bell! Time to clean up! And please, don’t put my brushes bristle down in the bucket, because there’s no faster way to ruin a brush than…” our teacher ranted to no one. Every one got pretty used to tuning her out by now…

I pulled out the first volume of my favorite manga, Death Note, and began to skim through it until the bell would signal our freedom from this retched class. “What’s that?” Chris asked, eyeing the slim, black tome.

“This? It’s my favorite manga. I’ve already read the series many times, but I like to keep this one in my bag because I like looking at the art.” I said as I passed the book to him. He read the back cover and wondered if I would let him borrow it.

“Sure. My friends always borrow my books. I’m like their community manga library or something, ha ha.” I laughed as the bell finally rang. I noticed that Mrs. K was still ranting to herself while turning over every upside paint brush in the earthenware jar.

We said our good byes and took off down the halls in opposite directions, neither eager to chat and risk being late for a class. If one ever, god forbid, does have the misfortune of arriving late to a class, teachers act as if they were late to a world summit meeting with Iraq and North Korea, and not third period Geometry.

All my other classes were mundane as ever, the minutes ticking on in an exaggerated pace of a sleep deprived sloth. Nothing especially exemplary to report until I arrived in English class, which I have with Sam right before study hall. We were told by our teacher the day previous we were to have a sub, so we thought it would be a pretty easy day. Uh, yeah… we were wrong.

Our substitute teacher looked as if she was in her mid seventies, her white hair pulled back so taut into a severe bun that seemed to give her an extremely tight face lift, smoothing her angular face of its true wrinkle. She wore a fitted, gray wool pantsuit that was tailored to a T and an expression that looked as if she had just been sucking on lemons. Our stern sub also had the tolerance level for misbehavior that a mother of eight kids has after a fourteen hour car trip with them, as we would soon discover. She introduced herself as Ms. Teeter, making the two students who sniggered at her name stand out side the classroom for the rest of the class. They were lucky.

We originally had nothing planned for the day, but she managed to hand out about a pound of irrelevant busywork to each student that she expected to be completed by the end of class. Yeah, good luck with that, lady. The average student did a page or two and then gave up. Some stared at the large stack, seemingly sleeping with their eyes open, a skill which I was very eager to acquire. Others began to turn the pile of paper into ammunition in the form of paper airplanes for their later classes. Most of them, however, turned instead to trying to communicate nonverbally across the room with their friends, as I was doing now.

One student made the mistake of passing a note to another, which Teeter’s hawk eyes zeroed in on immediately. She grabbed a yard stick from the chalk board and smacked it down on the memo with so much force, the stick broke in two, sending several splinters across the room. I gave Sam the ‘she’s crazy’ eyebrows. Teeter told the student in question that she would ‘deal with her after class.’ We planned to get out of there as soon as possible. That is not one reprimand we were particularly interested in witnessing.

Just before the bell rang, I managed to tell Sam what a ‘Dicteeter’ our sub was being through our special sign language we had developed over many years in school with crazy teachers. Sam tried to stifle her giggles as best she could, but as soon as the bell sounded, exploded in a peel of pent up hilarity. We ran to study hall as fast as we could, with out getting yelled at, of course.

We arrived to find stupid Mark, the sheep cohort, trying to make fun of Brittany. We plunked our books down in the nearest empty seats to the door, completely ready for a fight, when we realized he was actually just talking to her. Like a normal human being. Yeah, I know! We couldn’t believe it either!

Brit had her iPod on, and it looked like Mark had originally tried to make fun of her but found out they had the same taste in music, as they now each had one ear phone in and, much too our amazement, were having a relatively civilized conversation. We watched them for a while until Maggie came in, at which point we said teasingly, “Hey, better get a move on! If you don’t hurry up, you might lose your guy to Brittany, Mags!” We were laughing and unaware of the fact that Maggie was genuinely stressed about this new development. Her lips puckered up like a thwarted child’s and her sandy eyebrows made her forehead crease with worry. She began to fidget in her seat, ringing her hands and biting at her already quite short nail beds. I told her to stop and she obeyed for a few minutes until she took another look at the flirtatious Brit.

“Hey.” Chris said to me rather nonchalantly, dropping his stuff in the desk to my right. My friends gave me the ‘hey, hey, you gonna introduce us, or what?’ face. I introduced them and explained how we were sort of friends now.

“Oh, so you were the scary looking guy from yesterday… I knew I saw you some where…” Maggie thought aloud. She watched as Headphone Kid, a guy who listens to music every day and never speaks to anyone, went to join the growing group around Brit. Sam sneered.

“Oh, ha ha. Sorry about that. Yeah, I tend to come off as a bit serious to people who aren’t my friends.” Chris joked, sitting on top of his desk.

“Oh, yeah… I’m the same way. People tend to think I’m scary or creepy until they get to know me…” I said with a sigh.

“Really? I didn’t.” Chris said, smiling. For some odd reason, I blushed a little, but I didn’t know why. “Wow, your friend is getting pretty popular.” He pointed to Brit. She was surrounded in sheep, yet strangely, was smiling. I hadn’t seen her do that in a long time. Smiling, that is.

Maggie broke the tip on her pencil again and got up to sharpen it. I glanced at her paper and noticed how dark the writing was. She must have been pressing down really hard… Sam and I exchanged looks. Chris knew something was up right away but had the tact not to mention it until we got to Bio the next period.

“So, what’s up with your bespectacled buddy? She seemed pretty thrown off balance by something…” Chris mused, hinting that he too wanted in on the action.

“Er… Well, you see… Both Maggie and Brittany like the same guy and-” Sam started.

“Who? Who?” He begged.

“Umm…” We said simultaneously. I guess we could trust him. “It’s Mark.”

“Ah. Hmm… Well, I see why Maggie would like him… They seem like the same type of people. Kind of reserved and bookish. What I don’t understand is what charm he would hold for your other friend…” Chris pondered.

“That’s part of the problem. Brit just always ‘happens to find out’ she likes the same person around the same time as Mags starts liking them… If that makes any sense…” Sam began again.

“In other words, either they have very similar tastes, or, more likely, Brit can’t figure out her own feelings and so just copies Maggie… However, Maggie is the type of person who will cheer on her friend even if they are after the same thing. So she’s in a difficult predicament…” I explained.

“That’s tough…” Chris agreed. “Oh. Hey, Mr. E!”

“Sup, home dawgie dawgs. What’s shaking, woah?” our teacher replied in typical Mr. E speech. I never quite knew how to respond to him, but Chris answered him as if this dialect was the most natural in the world.

“Nutin much, G. Juss chillin wif mah posse, ya dig dawg? ‘sall good in da hood.” He answered flatly. Sam and I couldn’t resist laughing at his gangster talk. We couldn’t believe he managed to say that with a straight face.

“What? You two never watched the BET station while channel surfing?” he asked. That just made us laugh even harder. The most gangsta song I’ve ever actually listened to is “White and Nerdy” by Weird Al Yankovic… No, I most certainly did not watch that channel.

“Oh, yeah…” he said, reaching into his back pack. He pulled out the Death Note manga he had borrowed earlier. “I read the book. It was really good! Do you have any more?”

“Finished already?” I asked, a bit pleasantly surprised. A lot of times when my friends borrowed my books, I wouldn’t see them back for weeks at a time.

He nodded, saying, “All my classes were extremely boring today. Well… more boring than usual anyway…” We all nodded in agreement. And it’s still just a Tuesday… still a while to go until the weekend.

“Well, I talked to my mom about my eyesight, and I have a doctor’s appointment some time soon to get it checked out.” I sighed. Now I’m going to look even freakier than usual… Everyone knows that glasses up your geek rating by at least ten points.

A bunch of the sophomore girls came running in the room, whispering and giggling in shrill voices that very nearly pierced my delicate eardrums. When ever girls talk that way and giggle like that, I can’t help but think they are making fun of me. Actually, I bet they really do make fun of me. Like, probably a lot. I sighed and got out my green spiral science notebook from my overstuffed bag to begin doodling in the margins.

Mr. E gave us a lecture today and didn’t write too much on the overhead, so I only had to borrow Chris’s glasses a few times. I still felt a little hesitant about his complete openness to me. I wondered why Chris was already so nice and friendly to me… I suppose I’m just uneasy because I could never be so… chummy… so soon after meeting some one.  He certainly didn’t look like some one who would treat a freak like me so nicely, especially since we only met yesterday…

I was lost in my thoughts for the majority of the class, copying down notes automatically. I was glad to hear the dismissal bell ring. Perhaps some fresh air would help me clear my head. We all bid adieu to Mr. E and packed up our things. Chris waited for me to finish and then asked, “Umm… Sorry to bother you, but would you happen to know how to get to the Orange Oaks neighborhood from here? I have to walk home today but forgot to get directions.”

“Eh? I live in that neighborhood! I’m walking home today if you wanted to come with me.” I said as we maneuvered our way through the crowd. Wow, what a coincidence that we live in the same neighborhood! His family probably bought a house in the newer section, whereas I reside in one of the older homes.

“Oh, cool! Ha ha… Thanks in advance, then.” He smiled. I don’t know why, but I like it when he smiles like that… It warms me some how… He almost makes me want to smile too… I shook my head, as if I could shake these confusing thoughts from my head in the process.

I didn’t need to put anything in my locker so I followed Chris to his and waited while he tried to shove numerous textbooks into the long metal closet. He then attempted to close said locker but had stuffed it too much, for it refused to comply. The locker was putting up quite a fight and refused to shut no matter how much pressure he applied to the door.

“Here, let me.” I said, giving the locker a swift kick. We heard the lock latch and exhaled.

“Thanks. Quite a kick. Do you do karate or something?” He asked as we headed for the exit.

“Soccer, actually. Our team should be practicing right now… We have a game tomorrow, after all… but we can’t practice today because the coach has a teachers meeting or something…” I replied. Our coach often thought up excuses to get out of practices. The bright sun made us squint after being that dimly lit school for so long. Geez… I really wish that place would stop being so cheap and actually get some decent lighting.

“Oh, really? Good luck on your game then. What position do you play usually?” he inquired, kicking up assorted golden leaves as he walked.

“Well…” I began. We chatted all the way back to my house when I asked him what street he lived on, to which he replied ‘Pine Street’. “This is Maple Street, where I live. To get to Pine, you just continue along this street and then take a left or two. I’ve only been there once or twice, so you’ll just have to watch for the street signs, sorry.”

“Oh, no, you’ve been a big help, really. Thanks again for showing me the way. See you tomorrow!” He said, waving good bye. I watched him walk down the road for a while before I went inside. I let out a sigh and plopped down on the living room couch. I did not quite know what to make of him.

…

“Yellow?” I asked Chris.

“Yeah. She said I should do that color for my project because I’m smiling and stuff…”

“I actually think yellow will end up looking really good for your piece. It’ll make it really happy and warm looking.” I said. Just like your smile makes me feel… Argh! Get out of my head!

“Hey! No talking, you two!” Mrs. K snapped. She then proceeded to play horrible classical music off her computer. Chris and I responded to this by simultaneously and childishly sticking out tongues out and pressing our hands to our ears. It’s funny how similar we act.

Since we weren’t allowed to talk, Chris pulled out his schedule and pointed out that he had some classes switched around. It turned out we now had English class together. Regular English class was proving to be far too easy for him so he had the teachers bump him up to the Honors class, of which Sam and I already were enrolled in.

I smiled and gave him the notes from the previous week to copy at his leisure. ‘Oh, you’re reading To Kill a Mockingbird? I read that a while ago… I guess I didn’t miss anything too vital, then.’ He scrawled on his schedule. Mrs. K gave us the evil eye, and we returned to working on our own stuff.

I didn’t have any thing to do, so I decided to draw a picture for Maggie. You know, to help try and cheer her up, as she has seemed so listless as of late. Though, I probably would have felt the same way for the losing friend no matter who won over Mark first… I just feel especially bad about Mags since she’s such a good person… I hope that one day she’ll find a guy that will make her happy. She deserves it.