The Outlier II

ONE

Three weeks. 

That's exactly how long it's been since my gentleman caller broke up with me and I had seen no visible improvement in myself, but at least I didn't have hypothermia anymore. There was nothing more humiliating than my fragility. I hated seeming weak in front of people like my father. It was truly embarrassing. Even as Ash drove to school, the tacky banners and posters and streamers all in view, I still felt weak. And even weaker as I thought of the prospect of seeing Edward at school. 

"Are you okay?" Ashton asked from beside me as the took the key to the ignition. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," I shrugged. "Why?" 

"You don't look fine," Ashton noted, "though I'm not sure anyone would notice since you're trying you're best to cover it up."

"I'm fine, I assure you." 

"Alright," Ashton sighed, opening the door. 

The moment I stepped foot out of the car, I could feel a bone-chilling cold seep my skin, allowing a shudder to sneak its way out of my body. 

"I thought it was summer, why is it bloody freezing?" I said, shuddering. 

"It's not freezing. Here have my jumper," Ashton advised, handing me their cotton fleece jumper.

As I walked through the doors of Building Three, pulling the jumper over my head, the prom posters were— for the first time in weeks— the second thing I noticed. The first thing I noticed was the vile displays of affection that everyone had decided to don. 

"Is your school usually this disgusting?" Ash whispered. 

"No. But I suppose everyone will break out in hives and risk a stroke if they don't sing out about their love in the halls during prom season," I shrugged. 

"Have you ever been to prom?" Ashton asked. 

"W—" 

"You haven't," they answered on my behalf, knowing the answer quicker than I did. I nodded in agreement. 

"Well, whether or not I've been to a customary American school dance is hardly important. What's important is that we get you to the right classes and get you your schedule," I told Ashton. 

"Sure. And you're not pivoting at all." 

"Not at all." 

As Ashton retreated to the front office, I awkwardly waited by the door, staring at my hands like they were the most interesting thing known to man. Soon, I decided Ashton was taking far too long and I opened the door. As I opened the door, I could hear a soft voice aggravatedly partaking in a whisper-shouting match. 

"There has to be something else open?" he huffed to poor Mrs. Cope. 

"I'm sorry, you'll have to stay in English." 

"But you can't change my class, can you? It's the end of the year and I doubt we'll be getting into any test-worthy material this late in the year," the familiar boy argued. 

"I know, that's what makes this change very difficult," Mrs. Cope rebutted. "You're almost done, you might as well sit tight." 

The angry expression on the pretty boy's face must've made Mrs. Cope reconsider. Not before long, she leaned in and whispered. 

"But attendance reports have already been sent home and with an academic record like yours, I doubt they're going to do anything if you skip a couple of days," Mrs. Cope whispered. 

It was truly the worst advice I've ever heard a woman working in education give. 

"Thank you so very much for your help," Edward said, clearly struggling to get the pleasantries out of his mouth.