Different colored minds

Maverick

MAVERICK POV

My alarm clock is blaring in the background, the red angry letters bleeding light into my pitch black room. I slam my hand on the top and roll back over.

Ten minutes later my alarm goes off again.

And then five minutes after that.

And then five more minutes after that.

Until I have achieved a perfect fifteen minutes before school. Jumping out of bed I dive towards my floor where a sea of clothing items lie. Picking up an outfit, I turn towards my shoes. At this point I'm jumping into my pants.
I'm shoving my shirt on at the same time as I'm shoving my feet into my shoes. I twist my heals in and pull up on the back. Fresh clothes now on my body—well they smell fresh to me. I run down the stairs and into the kitchen where my mom stands over the stove top, toast sitting on a plate nearby. I shove the toast in my mouth.
"Maverick! Don't forget to brush your hair, and your teeth," she snaps. I'm already at the door. "And your shirt has a stain!"
I almost don't stop but I forgot my backpack too. I sprint back up the stairs.
"Hurry up, or you'll be late," I hear my mom's voice travel up the stairs. I look around my room for my laptop and mouse and quickly jam them inside my backpack. My eyes catch onto my deodorant sitting out on the desk next to my cologne.
It's better than nothing.
I bathe myself in fragrance and clamber back down the stairs, swinging my backpack over my shoulder as I go.
"Don't eat while you're walking, you're gonna choke," my mother whines. I grin through a mouthful of bread and throw the door open once again.
"Your shirt still has a stain!" She yells desperately after me.
"Have a good day mom, love you," I call as the door shuts behind me.

The sun blares on my face as I step into the sunlit world; off to hell I go—excuse me, off to high school I mean. I guess things could be worse. At least this is my last year of hell.

My bike sits along the house, old, red, with only one setting for the gears—7. I hoist myself onto it and kick up the kick stand. First day of senior year.

I stand up on the petals, my legs pumping the bike up the hill towards my high school. My hair billows behind me, my body braced against the wind. I fly by houses in my neighborhood, fly by the kids waiting for the bus. I catch a glint of golden hair as my crush and her boyfriend stand hand in hand waiting for it. I sigh and keep pushing forward. Guess being antisocial doesn't make me the best dating candidate. From the top of the hill I can see the fields sprawl out on the right side of the road. To the left there are roads leading to other neighborhoods--other people. I see other students waiting along the sidewalk.

I blaze down the hill, the houses passing by in watercolored splashes. I turn the corner down the hill, and roll onto the sidewalk by the road filled with more buses of students. I can hear the ruckus of the first day of school beginning. I park my bike between the metal rails and clink the lock onto it.

Unzipping my bag I pull out my earbuds, shove them into my ears and press play on my phone. Notes pump into my brain, my feet stepping down on the beat. I watch my feet as grass passes by me, then cement, and then black and white tiles. I have to make it to English in the next five minutes. The hallway is full of feet passing me by, shoulders bumping into me. Cologne, perfume, and breakfast linger in the air. I look up, greeted by my teacher holding the door open.

"Good morning!" He says jovially, I give him a polite smile and brush past him into the classroom. Students are rummaging through their bags extracting binders and pens. I look towards the back and locate a desk. I sit down, setting my backpack on the ground, pulling out my binder and a half broken pen.

"Seniors," the teacher begins as the bell rings. "This is your final year of high school before you will be continuing your journey to wonderful things. I am so excited you all are here, and I am so excited for the discoveries we're about to make. Now I would like each of you to stand up and tell the class your name, where you're from, and what you want to gain from this school year."

And thus begins the saga of students standing up and expressing their excitement over their hometowns. Or what they'll do with their lives when they graduate.
I can hear the person next to me start talking over the throbbing electric beat in my ear. I pull one of my earbuds out as I stand up.
"Maverick Janex and I'm from here." I start sitting down.
"What do you want to gain from this school year?" The teacher insists.
"A diploma," I say and then sit down.
I must say I haven't gained much from school. It's taught me people are selfish, cruel, and blind to the impact they have on anyone else. Some of the classes have been interesting though, and occasionally I'll meet someone who goes against the grain. But most of my experience has been the accumulation of nasty side comments and then the ones who are brave enough to tell me to my face.
No one wants me. Not in a sad way. But here in this highschool not once have they tried to understand me.
The sound of the teacher moving to the next student greets my ear before I shove my earbuds back in my ears.
All I need from this place is to escape it.