lucent (adj); softly bright or radiant
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My brother's hand traces the cut on my right cheek for some minutes. I have no idea how a cut can be so interesting, but I won't judge a book by its cover.
He unexpectedly moves and places a he...
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I'm paralyzed.
I can't move my feet as the boys in the gym peer at me from their huddled groups smirking, some of them even chuckling low. I grip my school bag's straps even tighter than before.
All these boys in the room must be around my age, I think as I glance around the room, not daring to move still, except when a mope of dark curls gets my attention and my eyes are immediate drawn to the boy I met not too long ago.
Our eyes meet momentarily. Dark ones as the night and blue ones as the sky.
Until the gym teacher entering the room through a side door interrupts us. "Okay boys. Today we wi—" Glancing up from the notebook he's holding, he notices my presence standing by the door to the gym. "Oh well, do you need anything?" he questions, looking directly at me while approaching.
It takes me two seconds to respond, and when I actually do, is with a trembling voice. "No, sorry. I thought this was the A-Art class," I mutter a brief answer, not wanting to prolongue any longer my embarrassment.
Those girls had bad intentions, clearly. Nobody would be this mean on someone's first day of school.
The gym teacher cracks a smile. "Well as you can see this isn't the Art room." A few chuckles follow his comment. "You'll find it if you turn left and then left again and go down the hallway. After that you should turn right. It's the green door," he indicates.
Attempting at showing him a grateful smile, my lips begin to tremble, indicating that I'm probably about to have a small breakdown due to the embarrassment. "Thank you," I say quietly and close the door.
I begin walking down the hallway as the gym teacher mentioned but I start to feel tears brimming my eyes, and the usual anxiety crawling up my stomach, and I know I won't have the courage to enter the Art class fifteen minutes late, in front of all the other students. Even more being my first day of school. I wouldn't have made a good impression on the teacher impression honestly, so I look around for a bathroom sign and when I spot one at the other end of the hallway, I waste no time approaching it.
As soon as I enter the small bathroom I decide to wash my hands and spray some water on my face to refresh it and make the tears go away. When I'm done, I lock myself in the farthest cubicle from the door and breathe heavily.
I put a hand over my lower belly and start breathing like I did the other day when I had the anxiety attack right in front of my brother.
In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out.
My chest feels like it's on fire. There's a heavy pressure in it that unables me to breathe properly, so I keep up my breathing exercises.
