behind the mask - scream 1996

chapter 2

The first day at Woodsboro High was a sensory overload. I stepped off the bus, a knot of nervous excitement coiling in my stomach as I glanced up at the sprawling brick building. It loomed above me, a monument to new beginnings and uncharted territories. My backpack felt heavier than usual, but it wasn't just the weight of books that burdened me—it was the looming presence of the unknown, the social labyrinth I had to navigate.

The hallways were a buzz of chatter and movement, a kaleidoscope of cliques and personalities blending into a sea of color and noise. I walked with purpose but without destination, my eyes flitting from one face to another, searching for a semblance of familiarity in the chaos. The walls, lined with lockers and bulletin boards, seemed to close in on me with every step.

Then, amidst the swirling throng, a voice cut through the din. "Hey! You must be new. I'm Lisa." She appeared like a beacon of neon in a monochrome world, her smile wide and her eyes sparkling with genuine curiosity. Lisa was the kind of girl who exuded effortless confidence. Her hair was a cascade of perfectly tousled waves, and her outfit—an eclectic mix of vintage tees and plaid skirts—screamed both independence and trend.

I mustered a smile, feeling the weight of my anxiety lift slightly. "Yeah, just moved here. I'm Mo."

"Nice to meet you, Mo!" Lisa's enthusiasm was infectious as she took my arm and guided me towards a cluster of students gathered near the lockers. "These are my friends. You're going to love it here."

Her friends greeted me with nods and half-hearted waves, their attention already divided between their own conversations. I noticed a few lingering glances—some admiring, some less kind. I was painfully aware of their eyes on me, noting my slightly too-thin frame. My control, my pride, my prison.

Lisa introduced me to the group, but I barely absorbed their names. I was preoccupied with the throbbing sensation in my stomach, a constant reminder of my daily battle. I'd traded a hearty breakfast for a single serving of Greek yogurt, an apple, and a handful of almonds. It was a calculated choice, my effort to maintain control in a world that felt wildly out of sync.

Lunch arrived with its usual barrage of sensory overload. I maneuvered my way through the cafeteria line, my gaze fixed on the counter as I picked out a low-calorie rice cake and a small container of black coffee. The options were plentiful, but my choices were deliberate. Around me, the cafeteria buzzed with the sounds of typical high school life: trays clattering, laughter, and the hum of idle chatter.

As I took my place at a corner table, Lisa and her friends soon joined me. Their trays were piled high with pizza, fries, and soda. They chattered about weekend plans and the latest gossip, their words blending into a background hum that I barely registered. My own lunch was a stark contrast—minimalistic and controlled, a reflection of my internal struggle.

"Is that all you're having?" Lisa asked, her tone light but edged with concern. She glanced at my meager portion, eyebrows furrowing slightly. "You sure you don't want something else? We've got plenty of extras."

I shook my head, a smirk touching my lips. "I'm good. This is enough for me." My voice was steady, though my insides twisted with a familiar discomfort.

Lisa seemed to accept my answer with a shrug, but I noticed a few sideways glances from her friends. It wasn't the first time I'd felt the sting of disapproval, though I pretended not to notice. Instead, I focused on the way I'd meticulously arranged my food, the way the rice cake fit perfectly into my hand, and the bitter, comforting bite of black coffee.

Throughout the day, I navigated the hallways with the same practiced ease, each step a testament to my self-discipline. Teachers offered comments about my appearance—"You're looking very thin, Mo. Are you feeling alright?"—but I brushed them off with a nonchalant smile. Thin was what I strived for, what I was proud of. It was a visible marker of my control, my ability to mold myself into the image I wanted. It was also a painful reminder of the lengths I went to, the constant ache of hunger that was my daily companion.