These days she was terribly moody, whether she was sober or drunk, and I didn’t know how to help her. I wasn’t sure if she was annoyed because of me or if there was something else bothering her.
Since I wasn’t hungry, I just took an apple from the kitchen counter, impatient to get out. “See you tonight?” I asked because she had an evening off.
“Yes.” She didn’t even glance in my direction. “Have fun in school.”
And that was it. Have fun in school. She said it like she didn’t know how horrible school was for me.
“I’m going now,” I said, dejection coating my words as I snatched my keys out of the bowl in the hallway.
“Later,” she replied.
I stopped, expecting her to say something more. There was a foolish part of me that still hoped she would show that she cared. Was she even aware that today was my first day as a senior?
She didn’t say anything else, and I stepped outside, trying to suppress my tears. When did it become difficult to tell her “I love you”? When did our signs of affection stop? I wanted to hug her and kiss her, but it was so difficult—like there was some invisible barrier between us, and it was impossible to cross it.
As usual, the first thing I did when I got outside was to check if Hayden was in front of his house. It was my survival tactic I’d developed over time. I always tried to go to school before him in order to save myself from experiencing any potential embarrassment in the early morning. Luckily for me, he had a tendency to wake up late, and today was probably one of those mornings. Nevertheless, I couldn’t let my guard down even for a second.
I sprinted to my old red Ford Escort, which was parked next to my mother’s white 90s Nissan Sentra, hoping Hayden wouldn’t go to school at all.
One could dream.
THE ONLY HIGH SCHOOL in our small town, East Willow High, was a huge complex made of three wings, the athletic center, and a large parking lot. The modern building was a mixture of distinctive gray bricks and glass, its shape and structure standing out among maples that turned the most beautiful shade of red during fall. All windows were wide, providing a lot of light, and I loved the soothing brightness they gifted this otherwise gloomy place.
I parked my car at a remote part of the parking, which was as far as I could get from Hayden’s parking lot. I took my time walking to the main entrance, the knot in my stomach getting tighter with each step closer to those glass doors.
A flock of students was packed inside, and it felt like it had been only yesterday that I saw everyone last. They were all the same, some of them displaying new hairstyles, combined with new fashion trends, and some wearing highly expensive fall pieces, which would strengthen their position among popular and rich kids. Sadly, people respected those who exuded money.
This was one of the things that made me different from them. I never followed trends, and even if I wanted to, poverty was like a cage that limited all my choices, laughing into my face at the possibility of buying anything pricey for myself.
So, I didn’t know what the current fashion or the popular color was. My T-shirts and jeans were plain, baggy, neutrally colored, and paired with ordinary white sneakers. I didn’t do hairstyles, preferring to wear my long wavy brown hair down or in a ponytail. My clothes might be drab and ugly to others, but they didn’t attract any attention. They helped me feel invisible.
I tried to pass next to the seniors who had gathered close to the front doors, bumping into someone’s shoulder in the process.
“Hey, watch it!” this person snarled at me, smacking my shoulder. It hurt, but I didn’t even look at him. I just mumbled that I was sorry and dashed forward, attempting to be less noticeable.
School had always been like that—I tried to be out of the way and hoped no one would mess with me, but this was difficult when all they saw in me was a moving target.
They saw me as a creep, and they felt it was okay to insult me just because I was weaker than the rest. I never fought back, thinking— hoping —it would stop, and they would finally conclude that bullying me wasn’t worth their time.
I came to my locker half expecting to find it covered in paint or graffiti and exhaled in relief because it was clean. However, this didn’t mean that someone couldn’t have put some trash or whatever else inside. I entered the combination on my lock, planning to open my locker carefully.
The first day last year taught me this particular caution when I opened my locker and was welcomed with open bottles of soda lying down, the liquid trickling from the upper shelf to the lower creating a large puddle. Not even a second later, they poured out and splashed all over the floor and my sneakers. I spent hours cleaning that mess after class.
This time, I stepped backward and then opened my locker. It was empty . A heavy sigh escaped my lips. Some students snickered behind me.
“Expecting something?” one guy mocked me.
“Maybe we can put a snake in her locker next time,” the girl on his right side said to me and put her forefinger over her lips, as if she was mulling over something. “The more poisonous, the better.”
They sniggered, and I turned to my locker so they wouldn’t see how embarrassed they made me feel.
At all times, I put an indifferent mask on my face, pretending such hurtful words didn’t affect me at all, but blush betrayed me each time.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my mood rapidly declining. Senior year hadn’t even started, and I already felt defeated. At least nobody had messed with my locker, so that should comfort me a little. I placed all my books inside save for my notebook and the textbook I needed for calculus, which was my first period.
In a hurry, I almost bumped into Masen Brown, Hayden’s friend. I cursed myself for not watching where I went, moving aside to walk away, but of course he didn’t let me. He stepped in front of me and grinned with malice.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Sars, my least favorite girl! How was your summer? Did you actually get out of your cave and have some real fun?”
I involuntarily cringed when I heard that horrible nickname again. Hayden and his close friends had been calling me Sars for years, referring to an illness that was contagious and could be fatal. They had used to say that East Willow High should be afraid since I was a walking disease that could contaminate the whole school with her lousiness.
“Masen, let me through.” My voice was barely louder than a whisper.
He didn’t even pay attention to my words. “I guess you don’t even understand the concept of fun. Are you still a virgin?”
Of all Hayden’s friends, Masen was the biggest man whore. He was known as the “heartthrob” of East Willow High, and it was a common fact that he never dated. He preferred hookups with new girls each week. There was a long list of Masen’s chicks that had the “honor” of sleeping with him only to be left heartbroken when he refused to be with them again.
He was around six feet tall, and his blonde hair and icy blue eyes were the “killer combination” for the female population around here. That was what they said, anyway, since I found him neither charming, nor beautiful. For me he was just a Casanova—a womanizer who knew how to charm others to get what he wanted. But inside, he was rotten.
“Of course you are. No one would fuck such trash.” I winced at his choice of words.