𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘, 𝐒𝐀𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑.
♥︎♥︎♥︎
Beverly experiences a flood of memories when she is under cryo. Every sensation from her past - touch, smell, tear, kiss, and emotion-resurfaces in exactly the same form. S...
High school is tough, especially when you're a girl. Just constantly trying to get through the day without some sleazy, entitled, and cocky idiot making a sexist comment. You can't even wear a long dress without them commenting on it. Honestly, I have to refrain from punching them in the face. It's not very lady-like, I've heard.
Even now, sitting in English class, and writing notes off the chalkboard, I can hear a few boys snickering at each other, looking at my outfit. I'm wearing tights, a checkered dress and a white cardigan. My boots are leather, thick and black. Big enough that If I kick one of them in the head, it would make a dent. But, I won't. Unfortunately.
A small piece of paper hits the back of my head, knocking my concentration. I rub the spot where it hit my hair, looking down at the floor to see a scrunch-up piece of paper. It's lined and clearly ripped out of a notebook, the edges jagged. I reach onto the floor, pick it up and collect a few pieces of a sharpened pencil, left over from lazy, disrespectful students. Unscrunching it, I see neat, inky handwriting.
I smile at the note, grab my pen and pull off the cap, pushing it against the paper, ready to write on the empty space below his message. I begin to write, seeing that my words aren't arising on the paper. I shake the pen a few times, but the ink still not coming out of the end. I look at the clear ink passage, seeing that it has run out. I put it down, turning behind me. I see Bucky facing me, waiting for my response. I nod my head at him, his reply a wide smile.
"Miss Stark, the chalkboard is this way. The answers aren't written on Mr Barnes' face." The teacher speaks up.
"Sorry," I mumble, turning back around.
The teacher continues writing on the chalkboard, speaking as she does. With her back turned to us, I spin in my chair, facing Bucky again. I glare at him, my lips forming a fine line. He chuckles behind his hand, covering his smile. I struggle to keep my laugh contained, smiling back at him.
"Okay, now that you have all the notes written down, I need you all to complete the tasks by yourselves." The teacher turns around, placing the chalk piece in the holder.
I take another pen out of my bag, throwing the other one at the bottom of the bag. Taking off the cap, I begin answering the questions of the board. The class goes silent, the only noise bouncing off the walls is the occasional cough or scribbling of pen on paper. At the noise, the teacher turns the nob on her radio, the crackling noise coming out before a recognisable voice booms through the speaker. The sound of the voice fizzles out in the background as I work, concentrating on every individual word.
"President Roosevelt predicts a second war in the later years to come." The radio presenter speaks, but his voice is shaky. "The Germans are slowly invading countries, starting with Poland. They believe that the USA will be a target for their ambushes in the years to come. President Roosevelt instructs citizens to stay alert and listen in to the reports on the invasions."
My head whips up, looking at the radio with my eyes wide. Any and all noise in the classroom halts, and everyone watches the radio. It's like we expect the presenter to crawl out of the box and reassure us that everything will be fine. But that's impossible, war brings hell.
I turn in my seat, facing Bucky. I look at him with a petrified expression, tears threatening to fall down my cheek. He was already facing me, his face stuck in a nervous look. We stare at each other, begging the other for some form of comfort. But, we can't find any, even with how hard we are searching for it. At the same time, we look over at the other end of the classroom, searching for Steve. He sits in his usual spot, now picking at his fingernails. Unlike everyone else, he isn't looking at the radio. Instead, he stares forward, his face frozen with fear. He looks worse than Bucky and I combined.
The teacher reaches over the desk, turns the knob and switches off the radio. Silence suffocates the room again, filling up everyone's lunges and freezing them on the spot. No one dares to speak, to interrupt the fear. I know she was trying to calm everyone down by turning it off, but instead, it left us all with unanswered questions. Questions that maybe we don't want the answers to, too scared to know them. I pick up my pen again, trying to push all the negative thoughts to the back of my mind. But, as hard as I try, I can't. Just the idea of war frightens me. The idea is that Bucky and Steve are old enough that if they were called to, they would need to go to fight. Howard too. They are all I have left. War is a dungeon full of death, tears, and blood. The unknown. Not knowing if you will be promised a future. And from what I just heard, we are stuck in just that.
