The Hair Tie

Chapter 1

"Hey, can I borrow a hair tie from you?"

I jolted up, realizing that someone was talking to me. I looked to my right, noticing that it was the girl who was assigned the seat next to me.

Looking at my wrist, I noted that I had two hair ties, so I nodded and gave one of them to her. She smiled and promised me that she'll give it back later. I quietly told her she could keep it, and she thanked me. She proceeded to tie her long blonde hair into a high ponytail, cascading down her back in a perfect line.

My hair tie didn't match her hair. I felt like it stood out too much, that it didn't belong. Not with her at least. She was pretty, my hair tie was plain.

I caught myself staring at her enviable hair and figure, and then quickly turned away, knowing full well that I probably looked creepy. I went back to playing with my hands on my lap.

"Okay, class," Mr. Blais, the English teacher, said. "Even though today is the first day of school, we're going to immediately start working." I stayed silent while the rest of the class responded with various groans and complaints, at which Mr. Blais smiled. "Ah, there it is. It happens every year. Now, we're going to be talking about your very first, and last, writing assignment. It will count for eight hundred points, two hundred of which will be put in as a grade for each quarter." The class was silent, probably already stressed about this huge paper.

This teacher was crazy.

He continued by explaining that he expected us to be working thoroughly on it, and at the end of each quarter, he will be checking up on our progress and grading what we had thus far. By the end of the year, he expected the paper to be at least eight pages long.

I mean, I guess it wasn't that bad; I had the whole school year to do it anyway.

"Can we know what the heck we're supposed to be writing about?" a boy from the back said.

Mr. Blais smiled once again. "As expected, you want to know what your paper should be about. Now, that's where I give you a bit of wiggle room. Really, the question is very broad and general, you can come up with many topics to write about."

Seriously, couldn't he just get to the point already?

As if reading my thoughts, he continued. "The question is: What is life?" The class was silent once again. "I want you to incorporate some sort of message in there, something you feel strongly about and you feel it can apply to life or be life itself. You can write a creative piece, a critical essay, a narrative, whatever. I leave that up to you."

This was English, not philosophy. Why was he making us do this?

He gave us the rest of the class period, which was about fifty minutes, to start brainstorming ideas. Of course, the majority of the class just spent the time talking to their friends. The teacher didn't really mind though. I guess he was expecting this to happen too.

I, however, didn't have anyone to talk to. So, I started thinking. Everyone knows thinking is bad for you.

Okay, maybe it isn't. But at that moment, it was for me. It led to sad memories, which in turn led to tears almost spilling out. I hurriedly wiped them away, cursing myself for thinking about it again.

I hoped no one noticed.

I pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil, ready to write down possible topics. However, I came out empty. So, being the focused person I obviously was, I started to doodle. Not really knowing what to draw, I let my hand freely guide the pencil around the paper. As the drawing started to come together, I realized what I was sketching and immediately froze.