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3rd Pov-
"I'll pick you up after school hun." My hand leaves the car door, finding my bag and I through it over my back carelessly, without thought, crossing over the road. Luckily for me there were no oncoming cars coming, just a voice in my head steering my feet ahead to the school gates. I don't say anything to my mother; I don't speak to anyone. Anyone i can't trust, I don't speak to.
I was 14 now. Old enough to make decisions and know how the world spins. I wasn't that smart, school smart I mean. The rest of the people in school were incredibly different to me, but of course, how should I know other people's lives. Short answer, you won't.
I turn my attention to the bell that rang so mockingly, ringing until the minute hand clicked to 9 when everyone would take their positions at a desk and write. 6 hours. 4 hours of work. 2 of torture.
I didn't get bullied as such, but my mind would play tortures games with me like a stack of cards. Brushing past the files of school zombies, the room of 6E is my destination. That was all that i my mind set on right now, the most important at this minute. It was in view, about 700 yards away from my footing. But it would take a mile to get there with this pack of people. My breathing hardened, fists tightening as well as my jaw that was clenched. I always bit my lip, I always knew and recognised the taste and undeniable colour of blood. It wasn't anything new.
'Just a couple more steps' the sleeve of my shirt wrapped around my fingers obsessively, concealing every part of my body that has been cursed by.. oh so many things. This is why I felt so much need to be here. Even if I had no friends, even if the work was boorish, even if I never spoke a word. I'd rather be here than home in general.
6E, the door opened wide. The smell of freshly cleaned seats and floors wafted through my nose. The teacher was sat there, glasses on the end of her pointed, snobbish nose, hair pinned in a loop with no strand left hanging. She was okay, I didn't mind her at most. Yes, she'd shout and rage impatiently, but she never looked to me once nor ask me for any contribution. I wish I could tell her I wanted to speak. My mind simply wouldn't allow me to, there was a permanent ball that was stuck to my throat that forbade me to.
I slipped my bag off my shoulder and dropped it to the leg of my chair, myself sliding into the cold metal feeling off the common school chair. A pen spun in my hand, bringing out my notebook doodled all over with nonsense my mind let me draw. My dark hair fell to my eyes, swooped back by the pen I held tight in my hand.
More people started to leak into the room, fake smiles everywhere. Schools say they will help us, but they never do. All they do is show us how to fix our problems, problems we can't fix on our own. Some of us can't do it on our own. They teach us to grow independently, yet they fail to realise that everyone is different: everyone grows on a different tree. Once everyone takes their place, they take out what they need to 'pay attention' and the buzz of talk and gossip form. I don't pay attention to it, but I know it's there. I know school like it's a book.
