The End

Chapter 2

            Pulling into a spot at the back of the lot, I sat, intrigued by the behaviors of those around me. Girls, dressed in clothing appropriate for a job on the street corner, hugged and squealed, though they had probably seen each other days before. Guys, looking as if they had just rolled from bed, joked around. Deciding to immerse myself into a new world that I didn’t belong in, I opened the door and stepped outside. Though it was early in the morning, the Georgia morning was already stifling.

            Entering the building, I made my way to the locker I would claim for the rest of the year.

            As I passed my peers in the hallway, I found many pairs of eyes following me as I passed, staring, examining me as if I were unusual. Thankfully, my jeans clung to my skeletal frame, covering my pocked and speckled thighs. Seventeen years of daily stabbing have left thick calluses on my hole-ridden legs. All of the visible differences that separated me from everyone else were easily disguisable, to them, I was just a skinny, awkward new girl.

            Planting my eyes on the floor, ignoring the curious gazes, I finally found the dented, metal hallow in the wall. Opening it, I was greeted by the putrid odor of sweat, which had the opportunity to stew in the humid building over the summer. Lovely. Examining my schedule, I emptied the afternoon materials haphazardly onto the floor of the metal box. Tossing my book bag over my shoulder, I departed for first period, Italian. I don’t understand why I have to be here, as I’ve been studying all of these subjects for years. Dr. Stephens wanted me to receive an accredited high school diploma so I could attend a university and become “self-sufficient”, meaning he was tired of dealing with me.

            Arriving at Room 141, my teacher greeted me awkwardly. I took a seat in the back, wanting to draw as little attention to myself as possible. Five minutes until this begins, five minutes to run.

            As I was thinking, more students began to wander in. With a sigh, a boy threw himself into the desk next to me. Glancing sideways, I found him glaring at me. Well, today was not off to a good start.

            The warning bell rang, and students began swimming through the crowds toward their new classes. Three minutes later, the final bell pealed, announcing the arrival of a new school year.

            From the desk, stood a small, anxious looking women. Rubbing her hands together, she stood and waked to the podium stationed at the front of the room.

            “Ciao,” she spoke, glancing nervously at the class. “My name is Mrs. Gardener and I’ll be teaching Italian this year.”

            The moody-looking punk boy next to me snorted, muttering sarcastically under his breath. Mrs. Gardener took note, looking a bit more nervous.

            I pitied her, though I knew I shouldn’t. She was a teacher, I was a student, a relationship that I’ve learned is synonymous with hatred, but something about her made me feel safe. Watching her shift uneasily brought my attention to the similarities we shared. Maybe because she was the first woman I had ever met, and my all-to-human instincts, yearning for maternal nurturing, supplemented her, or because she really didn’t want to be there either, I’m not sure.

            “Welcome to Italian Four. I recognize many of you from last year, but I believe we have a new student, Miss Florence Stephens?”

            Shit. Any respect I had for the women flew out the window.

            “Miss Stephens, your father told me all about you,” she gushed. No, I thought, he didn’t. If he told her all about me, he would be locked up and I would be undergoing more experimentation than I already have. He made up a convenient and partially true story, saying I was homeschooled.