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THE FOLLOWING DAY OF SCHOOL inched by at a pace that served to remind Amara of just how mundane everything about high school was. She was positive that she was one of the few people who actively participated in physics as most of her classmates devoured a pack of gum and gossiped about a party Theresa Logan was throwing while her parents were out of town for the weekend. English was no different, with their teacher monotonously reciting a poem by Walt Whitman while the bulk of the class dozed off. After Spanish Amara ate lunch alone in the alleyway again, selfishly looking forward to when Robin no longer had to prepare for her concert and they could have lunch together again in their little corner of the cafeteria.
The scent of weed and cigarettes permeated the atmosphere as Amara nibbled at her tuna sandwich, Fleetwood Mac's Dreams blasting from her walkman. She was long past her one-hour stint of pretending to be someone she wasn't at a party she didn't want to be at, but that didn't automatically mean she was ready to make her presence known. She was already one of few people who liked school because they enjoyed academics, not because of the parties and drama that resulted from swathes of insecure teenagers existing in the same setting, people still figuring out who they wanted to be compelled into situations that would make them popular and socially accepted but not happy.
But no matter the person she chose to be, Amara would never feel accepted. Because she was born the way she was.
History was Amara's final period before she was granted two days of solitude where she could indulge in the roughened pages of Neuromancer without trepidation that someone would stereotype her as a nerd, let alone deduce that she was diagnosed with what many believed to be schizophrenia. But until then, she had to undergo one more hour of chaos. Their teacher had departed school early in response to a medical issue and had left a message on the blackboard instructing the class to continue with their group projects, which when coupled with no substitute teacher was the perfect excuse for everyone to horse around for an hour.
Attempting to drown out the collective noise of her peers' voices, Amara fished out the guidelines for the assignment. Jonathan was absent again much to her frustration, but Amara decided to make good use of her time and chip away at it until he got back from wherever he was. She flipped through her notebook for history until she landed on her most recent notes pertaining to the stock market crash of 1929.
"Damn, is Byers not here again?"
It was rare for someone who didn't know Amara to acknowledge her other than excusing themselves or asking her to pass something to them, but she nevertheless looked to her left. The girl who had addressed her was a cheerleader, as evidenced by her green, white, and yellow uniform, with ebony strands secured in a half up/half down do with a periwinkle scrunchie and smooth sepia skin. She was polished and pristine, the epitome of what people envisioned a high school girl to be. Amara couldn't help but feel intimidated, but as someone who had been judged for being different her whole life, she was in no position to assume anything about this girl based on her outward appearance.
