The Art of being Strangers

iv.

I never realized how boring being alone was. Me and Basil would see each other pretty much daily – though, there were days where he'd randomly go missing. Like yesterday.

I wasn't all that excited to go to school today, nor tomorrow, due to the tests we had. I sighed in relief knowing today was the English test, and tomorrow was the math one. Perhaps if I were lucky enough I'd get a C on my own in math. Hopefully. I strike for an A, maybe a B in English. I always knew I sucked at math, but last year I barely passed math. I promised myself I'd study more this year. Considering I don't do my math homework anymore, I think you can understand that my plan didn't quite work.

Picking up my backpack, I shot a glare at the clock in my room. I was late for school. I swore angrily knowing I wasn't even fully dressed yet – and my brush was nowhere to be seen. I nearly lost my temper when my father entered my room screaming at me, asking why I was still in my room when I should be at school.

My father was a well-known professor. I honestly had no idea what he taught, but he was always muttering to himself, pacing, drawing in the air until he had a pencil and paper in front of him. He was somewhat a nice guy, but not the most attentive of fathers since he was almost always busy. When he wasn't at home, he was at the college academy in the nearby town where he worked, at his office. And when he was home, he rarely spent time with my mother and me. He never really addressed us. I wondered what my mother saw in him. He was average looking for a man in his late fifties. He always wore white or black shirts and expensive suits. I didn't really get him. Not that he ever understood me – or ever tried to. Actually, we never really talked at all.

Calmly, I told him school would start in half an hour because today we'd start school later. Which was a lie. He didn't question it and just left. He probably didn't believe my words but was indifferent to talk to me about it. I was going to school, late or not, and that was what mattered.

I was still irritated because I couldn't find my brush. I grabbed my glasses and positioned them so I could see straight. They were oversized round glasses with black rims and they would constantly fall to the tip of my nose. I tried telling my mom that the glasses were way too big for my face, but she shrugged it off, telling me they'd fit my face later on. It was now one year later and my face structure still hasn't changed. Thanks, mom.

My mother was a fairly successful merchant who ran her own business. She would sometimes be out of the country on business trips, leaving me alone with my father who was also never really home. So, basically, I spent my life not bothering trying to bond with my parents.

My brown curls were getting in my eyes and I frowned. I ran my hands through my tangled hair and called it a day. A black jacket hung beside the front door waiting for me to pick it up and leave the house. Grabbing it, I checked my phone for any notifications. I wasn't surprised to see none, yet every day I still checked.

The school wasn't really that far, but it still took me a solid 15 minutes to get into the school's yard even though I practically ran the whole way here. I decided to skip the first period, which was music, because there were only about 12 minutes left of it, so I didn't bother going. Either way, I'd still remain absent.

There were truly few people in the halls. I started randomly walking through the school, waiting for Basil to greet me. He never did, though.

He was nowhere to be seen. I tried calling his name, but no response ever came.

*

I did great on my English test, but I had no one to tell.