Colorless

Chapter 2

I entered first period fifteen minutes late thanks to Ryan and her "let me teach you the ways of color" antics. As if it was going to be any use to me anyway. Do you know how often a person finds their true soul mate? Hardly ever. My mother never did, neither did my father. Basically no one does. My sister got lucky, but she was born lucky. Me on the other hand? The most unlucky person you will ever cross paths with if you get the pleasure of doing so.

"Tyler! Late again I see," Mr. Lanson says as I take my usual seat. "Well, I'm glad we all get the pleasure of your company today." I roll my eyes and he squints hard at me.

"Anytime," I retort back sarcastically. He begins the lesson and I plug my headphones in and take out my notebook. I play my music as I sketch around my previous Pre-Cal notes. I have a possible C in this class and I honestly don't see the point in trying so hard to bring up my grade anymore. It's too late. We are almost done with our first semester. There is no turning back now. I doodle as the class lingers on; waiting desperately for the bell to ring. Just as I thought I had died and ended up in hell, the bell rang. One down, seven to go.

**

"Really Ty?" Izzy said as we took our seats in the cafeteria.

"I shit you not Izzy. She just showed up here, telling me that my outfit didn't match. Can you believe that?" Izzy let out a sigh and shook her head. "I just can't stand her. She always has to remind me that I'm below her somehow. I can't even begin to fathom what in her mind processed that it was okay to say that. Like does she feel the need to rub her True Sight in everyone's face?"

"Ty, calm down." Izzy stared at me and then smiled. I can tell even without words what is going to happen next.

"No Marsha," I said whined.

"Don't call me that! And come on Ty! It always works!" She screamed reaching into her backpack.

"That's your name! And it never works!" I say as I drop my celery stick and turn my body to face Izzy. I knew no matter how much I was against it, she would never drop it.

"Shut up and take the crayon. Marsha," she whispers to herself,  "I can't believe my mother would actually name me that." I smile as I take the crayon out of her hand. I didn't know what color it was, obviously, but I didn't care. I look up at Izzy as she takes one for herself. "Ready?" She asks eagerly.

"Always." Then in one swift movement, snap, the crayon was now in two pieces. Okay so it is a little weird, but I did feel a bit better. 

See, when Izzy and I first became friends we had so many problems with our color disability. It made us angry and felt like it took everything from us; kind of like it broke us in two. After a while, Izzy got sick of it and suggested that we only return the favor. Now every time we feel like color, or our lack of it, has set us back: we break a crayon. Just our way of getting a little payback.

"How you feeling now?" Izzy said as she shoved the broken pieces back into her backpack.

"Better." Izzy keeps her broken pieces; she says that one day she'll find her true soul mate and she'll want to look back on all she had to go through to get there. I throw mine out, I mean seriously? What am I going to do with pieces of broken crayons?

"Okay, well now that that's over with, can we get back to the more important matters at hand?"

"Yes Izzy," I say smiling and picking up a carrot stick. "Now which one is it this time? Oliver? Mark? Ben?"

"No!" She says, slapping my arm lightly. "His name is Jackson. I met him the day before yesterday."

"Izzy!"