Listen to me.

chapter 1

8:30 a.m

Alex's POV

One foot in front of the other, it shouldn't be this hard.

I, Alex Mclean am not ready for today.

The cold emptiness of the sidewalk sits unmoved as my shadow hides behind me. It would be  smart to hide, it's easier to burrow into a cave of my own company and let the fears of today blow over. My heartbeat seems to quicken with every step even though my pace stays the same . This isn't abnormal, everyday I'm forced to open my eyes and pretend everything is right in the world. The footsteps from my splotchy black converse echo through the wide sidewalk, sprinkled with red and orange leaves as I near the school. I've been attending Blaketon Public School since I could form a sentence that would make a teacher happy.       

You know you could just not go to school right?  You could just bail now and walk home.

Going home is definitely not an option right now , my parents aren't exactly on "good terms" with each other right now and besides, I'm already halfway to the school I am forced to like. I hate this school, that is true, but I feel a small sense of rebellion when I hate something so much that I actually start to like it. Start to like the way my "peers" or my "friends" find it amusing to point out the fact that " Your ribs stick out and your thighs are too small, you look like an Anorexia Magazine reject" or " For God's sake, eat a cheeseburger or something".

I honestly don't mind the teachers as much as the students, they are definitely more tolerant to stupidity and negativity than me, and I find this admirable. I am definitely  for opinion sharing and following what one believes in, that's what makes the world go round. But if the world were run by a bunch of high schoolers, I would gladly become a hermit.

I still don't know why you're going or making an effort today, it's not like anyone will care about you or you'll make any kind of impact on someone today.

The worn down cement steps leading me to my locker shine as the sun captures them at the right angle, distracting me from the droning buzz of the grades 9-12 heading to their classes. I count the steps I take, as my left hand swiftly guides me up the 10 flights of stairs to my grade 9 homeroom. The girl walking next to me won't stop babbling into her phone about her weekend and her plans to go to somewhere that I'm certain is completely fictional. Somewhere called Winston, apparently it's in California.

Are you kidding me? Could she walk any slower?  You should just push her off  the staircase .

After a few skipped steps to pass this girl and a couple strides to my locker, I'm now in the hallway collecting my books for the day and heading to my homeroom for exactly 9:10 a.m .Homeroom is definitely my favorite class even though the boys call me "ghosty" because my skin tone matches that of a dimly lit white room. I never really speak to them, they see me as invisible, as a ghost.

As soon I have settled into my usual seat in the second back row of the class, the pestering has begun. The most selfish and ignorant people in my class have decided to sit behind me. Those are the people who pride themselves on making people feel horrible and probably hate school even more. The group's ringleader is one of the school's most well known "jock" named Chad. I don't even think he's done any physical activity, he just wears expensive clothing and brags about the all the layups he can do and all the girlfriends he's had.

The second in command is Chad's best friend, or "bro" has he calls it, Jake. All Jake really does is laugh at Chad's inappropriate jokes and go along with Chad's stupid ideas. I do genuinely  believe that Jake is smart and has talent, I regularly see him leaving the AP math class while I am walking to my AP English class, even though he claims that "math is for losers".

The third member of the posse is whatever girl Chad has on his arm at the time. Today, I think her name is Chelsea. Last week her name was Amber. I feel bad for the girls Chad has been with because once he's lost interest with them , he pretends they don't exist and then spread rumors about them, it's honestly disgusting.

The group bugs me everyday , so badly  that the teacher sometimes has to send them out of the room or to the principal's office, and today is not an exception.

             "Hey ghosty, how does it feel to be the stupidest person in this entire school?" Chad asks in a hushed tone so the teacher won't hear him while he's poking me in the neck relentlessly. I've always hated the feeling. I try to think of a witty comeback that would silence him while him and Jake snicker.

They're right and you can't deny that.

"No Chad, I don't know how that feels. I think that you could answer that question the best." I say in the most confident sounding voice I can muster, a voice that doesn't  give away that fact I can my hands are shaking and my knuckles are turning white from balling them into fists.

What? You did NOT just say that, are you insane? They're going to kill you.

Silence. The group goes completely silent and I almost regret what I said.  After a few minutes my back relaxes and I start to lean back in my plastic chair. I turn my attention to the voice at the front of the class.

The teacher, Mr. Lester, is happily explaining pythagoras' theorem to those wanting to listen. It's amazing how he is alway happy and so positive and seems to look on the good side of things. "See, it's that easy!" he says with smile could light up an entire town and bright blue eyes full of knowledge. 

I feel a brush on my right shoulder and turn in the direction of the feeling to see Chelsea's face. Her brows knit in confusion and almost disappointed that she was asking someone, even worse me for help. 

What does SHE want?

"Hey, could you help me with the theorem thingy?" she asks.

I am reluctant to help her, because she could ask Mr. Lester to explain it to her but I decide against it.  "Okay," I agree, turning around to face her, I see a fist nearing my head and the next thing I can process is my temple colliding directly into Chad's calloused fist.