TW// Blood reference, Homophobic Slurs
i don't know, i've never really called myself a "sensitive" person. sure, it's how i've been labelled, but i never really conformed to how people think of me, you know? i grew up like any kid, running through fields of flowers, trying to find my place in a big school with a little bit too much sexual tension for pubescent teenagers. but starting at this new school, things feel uncomfortably different. too different. i've never liked change. as you've probably noticed, my writing is in all lowercase. i've been like that since i was little.
"hey nova, why aren't your letters capitalised?" my teachers would always ask me questions like that. and truth be told, i don't have any answers. i guess i just always craved consistency in my day-to-day. walking into river heights high school, i feel like an outcast almost immediately. sure, let's use some outdated cliches here. a sore thumb, wading through a current of normality. but the thumb is crudely shapen into a thumbs-up, saying to you,
"i'm still okay! i can make it through, can't i?" foolish thoughts for foolish times. just like the little cliche movie protagonist in my head, i have my paper in-hand, showing me my first-period chemistry class. sophomore year is quite possibly the worst time in human history to be moving to a new school. friendships and relationships have already been formed, not that i particularly care about them. i just want to graduate, maybe with honours in something, and make it back to oregon. my mom never should have brought me to nebraska in the first place. it's not like there's anything here other than the occasional school shooting and cornfield. sometimes the 2 overlap.
when the bell rings, i panic for a second in the halls before darting to the left, following a tall guy with blue hair down a hallway. miraculously, we both enter the same, correct (?) room, number 194. my teacher definitely looks like a mr. birkway, with round, wide-rimmed glasses and everything. he motions for me to sit down in 1 of 2 empty seats. the blue-haired kid sits in the only other available seat, directly next to me. well, that's red flag #1. birkway straightens his red and black tie, and starts to write on the board.
"my name," he says, writing quickly with a blue expo marker, "is mr. birkway," he finishes the "y" with a swoop and motions to the name with his finger, as if that helps our little eyes make contact with the board.
"i'll be your first-period chemistry teacher this year!" his enthusiasm is unparalleled, which i find especially annoying considering it's 7:15 on a monday morning in september. birkway makes his way over to his desk, stopping for a moment to loudly slurp from his "best teacher" coffee mug. red flag #2, who even makes loud slurping noises like that? he puts down the coffee cup with far too much force, spilling a little on the hardwood of the surface. with his now open hand, he picks up a stack of manila-colored papers.
"this is your syllabus for this year!" he says with an exclamation point firmly attached at the end yet again. he begins to pass out the papers between the whole class. as he does so, the blue-haired kid leans over to me and asks,
"hey, you're new here, right?" i was kind of flabbergasted at first. usually, people don't talk to me unless they want something from me. somewhere in the haze of confusion, i managed to answer,
"yeah, i am. i'm nova, what's your name?" they seem visually upset by the question, squirming a little in their seat. "hey, you alright?" i respond.
"yeah, definitely!" they respond, tugging a little at their collar. "uhm, uh, what are your pronouns?" well, that was unexpected. then again, they have that patented "i don't know my gender" style about them, with the collared button-up and too-tight sweater. so i answer truthfully,
"i go by they/them. what're yours?" they seem to go into a full-blown anxiety episode at that question. they seem to stammer over words that never touched the air. all at once, they respond,
