High

Chapter Eighteen-Anonymity

Anonymity. The condition of being anymous. The ability to slip in and out of places without people even acknowledging that you had, in fact, been there.I had always hated that word. I hated being affiliated with that word. I hated being the embodiment of that word.

And it wasn't easy when I decided to become best friends with someone who couldn't help but draw attention. Wherever he went. Attention surely followed, and as his reputation pranced like a cocky peacock in the spotlight. Mine was left coughing and sputtering in its wake.

I remember on my 11th birthday. I wished with all my might that one day, through some magical happenstance, that someone like me would finally get noticed. I wanted people to notice when I arrived and I had left. I wanted them to remember my name.

Oh, how times have changed.

I walked along the sidewalk with Zoe. Our hands were twitched in anticipation over the cup of coffees that we weren't gonna get that day.

I held onto my jacket as a cold, unrelenting breeze blew by us.

Zoe pulled out her portable mirror and scowled at her reflection. During the freezing weather fell upon us each year, Zoe's well-behaved hair would betray her and become the most unruly, disobedient hair she had ever seen. Which was quite odd only because her family had curly hair, but theirs would only become untamed when it was relentlessly hot out.

In passing, Zoe once told me that her dad ordered that a DNA test be taken. 

"I look like a f*cking reindeer," She snarled at her reflection, moving her neck to get more angles of her face on the small mirror, "And this hair, God, this hair. I look like a lion."

"I don't think people are gonna care that much," my teeth chattered against each other. My mouth struggled to let the words out.

"I don't care about what others think." She sighed, putting away her mirror, "I have a fight tonight, and if I turn up with my hair looking like Simba, then I'm gonna lose the fight. No doubt about it."

I inquired, genuinely curious, "Why can't you shower before you fight? Then, put your hair in braids. Simple."

She mulled it over but ultimately put it on the shelf, "It's a good idea, but the thing is someone else already fights with their hair already braided. I fight with my curls out without a hair tie."

"How long have you been doing this?" I asked, "Fighting like that."

Zoe's face mirrored one of thoughtfulness, "About four years."

"And you couldn't have thought to put your hair up when you first started?" I deadpanned.

"It's a brand. Ellie. A brand."

****
"And please look at your upcoming assignment that is due three weeks from now." Mr Midwest spoke, looking at his computer.

Everyone started to pack up their things when Mr. Midwest cleared his throat rather dramatically, which caused everyone to halt on their walk to freedom.

"Could this week's volunteers please see me now before running away. Thank you." His voice bounced around in the almost empty lecture hall.

I sighed as I packed up my notes. It's not like I took any notes given the fact that during the entire lecture, I'd felt and caught stray yet curious eyes, spending a little too much time on my face. Analyzing me. Scrutinizing my every breath.

I walked down slowly towrds Mr Midwest, where he was waiting expectedly. His brown hair was swept to the side, and I noticed that he had his long beard that he'd often braid was missing and replaced with a goatee.