Ordinary Girl [MIKA Fanfiction]

6

The second I sat down in Maths, I knew I didn't belong. Not just because of the intimidating stares or the piercing silence that followed my entrance, but because everyone's desk was layered with stationary – pens, pencils, calculators, protractors, compasses and a lot more. I panicked and reached in my bag, hoping that I'd subconsciously packed all the equipment everyone else seemed to have. I weakly pulled out a single pen and sighed. I don't think I even own a ruler.
After waiting for people to lose interest in me, I studied the room. The walls were pasted in pale grey with some peeling posters advertising future courses in Maths. The entire place just screamed boredom. My eyes flicked to the front left corner of the room and, slumped behind a desk bulging with sheets and textbooks, was a greasy, sweaty man. Asleep.
It's not like I had a choice with what college I'd be sent to, but I read online that this one was supposed to be one of the most professional in all of London. Clearly, it was not. I decided I'd use it as an opportunity to fall asleep myself, I was dreading this lesson so I saw it as more of a blessing. I could have been at home. Or with Mica.
Suddenly, the door opposite me flung open before slamming behind the new arrival. The teacher was startled awake and looked confused as he rubbed his tired eyes. All eyes averted to the girl standing in front of my desired exit. I began to feel sorry for her, but quickly realised why I shouldn't.
She confidently scanned the rows of judgemental students and fired back an intimidating glare. Her clothes were all pink and all tight-fitting, her vibrant blonde hair swept into loose curls. "Move." She demanded, aiming at a boy with jeans so low he may as well have not worn any.
He chuckled to himself and slowly put his earphones in, blocking her existence. Was that real? At high school this would never have happened in a million years. It's as if the 'popular' people have no real dominance here. I had no idea what was happening but I had to admit it felt amazing.
Flicking her hair out of her ridiculously long, fake eyelashes, the girl scoffed and growled, "Fine." Then I realised, the only other seat in the room was the one next to me. Me. I swear, horrible, terrifying situations always find a way into my life.
I quickly tugged my bag off the chair and prayed that this lesson would be over fast. Without saying so much as a 'hello', the girl moodily sat down and smacked her stationary onto her half of the chipped desk. Great. Even she was prepared.
"You know the drill. Page 140 onwards. I'm going for a cigarette." Those were the last few words uttered by the man who claimed to be our teacher. Relieved, I relaxed a little and opened the textbook that had been handed to me.
I'm not good at asking for help; I've always been the type to keep to myself. I find it embarrassing to admit things aren't alright, so I pretend everything is. But if I wanted a shot at passing this year, I knew I had to learn how to accept that my dyslexia was causing problems that other people can help me with, rather than always assuming they're going to use it against me. As for now, in a lesson with no responsible adult to confide in, I had to manage without support.
Sighing noisily, the girl next to me pulled out some neon yellow nail varnish. Interesting choice. I decided I'd attempt to make friends, I would usually just stay silent but apathy was taking over. "Hi," I managed, "I'm Alex."
Confirming my fears, the only response I received was a pair of rolling eyes. "Hi," she sneered, mocking my voice, "Madison." Progress, at least. She looked at me warily through the corner of her eye before jabbing me hard in the ribs and squealing: "Oh!"
I hunched over in pain and felt bewildered as I struggled for breathe, "What?!"
"I know you from somewhere!" She exclaimed excitedly. I couldn't give her an answer because I'd honestly never seen her before in my life. I shrugged instead. Quickly losing interest, she went back to painting her immaculate nails and I straightened myself up. "Maybe... Yeah, you're in my music class." That explains why I hadn't seen her.
"Really? That's such a coincidence because I was looking for someone from it, I need to know abo-"
"You were sat with the freak." She scoffed, "I remember feeling sorry for you."
My heart jumped into my throat, "Mica?"
"That's the one."
"He's not a freak." I felt all my insides burning with anger. First the immature kids in art and now this?
Madison laughed louder this time, "Don't you know about his dyslexia?" I nodded. "It's so embarrassing!" I was too disgusted for words. Why was he being treated this way? Would the same thing happen to me if people found out I had it too? I couldn't let that happen, but it was going to come out sometime, I just knew it.
I felt sick. Madison's laughs still echoed around the room. "He's not a freak." I repeated, stronger this time.
"Oh, please. Don't tell me that hurt your feelings." She groaned, "It's just a joke."
"It's his life. He has to live with that." By that point, the majority of the class had shifted to face us, gawking at my unforeseen outburst.
Madison leaned back in her chair, "Some people wouldn't consider that a life."
"Some people are heartless, that's why." I couldn't stand to be near her anymore. She began to hysterically laugh as I shoved my pen in my bag, slung it over my shoulder and stormed out.
Trust me, this was completely out of character for me. I never get involved in things, I never make a scene, and I never purposely make enemies. But today, I did all three. The realisation of what I'd done rapidly kicked in and I ran in the opposite direction of Maths. There was nowhere to go, I was panicking so much that I wasn't focusing on anything but the butterflies filling my stomach. I didn't want any of them to find me.
It was too much, I broke. On my first day of college. I lowered myself to the soft carpet and gently held my head in my hands. I had ruined my fresh start. Something was different this time, though. I had a friend.
I rummaged for my phone and immediately felt the frustration radiate out of my body as I saw a text from an unknown number: 'Hey, it's Mica. :-)'.
Thank God. As a small smile spread across my face, the built-up tears in my eyes fell down my cheeks all at once. The warmth was comforting somehow, but I wiped them away because my sight was getting too foggy. I installed an app on my phone months ago that allows the background of my messages to be in green with spaced out characters. It was as if I didn't have dyslexia, I loved it.
I typed: 'Hi, are you home?' I thought it was a long-shot that he'd still be at college but I clung to the little hope I had.
Seconds later, I received, 'No, actually. I'm still waiting at the bus stop. How is Maths?' My heart sped up, I sprung to my feet and tried to think where the bus stop would be from the campus.
'Not good. I left early.' I didn't want to burden him with my problems but I also didn't want to lie more than I had to. I felt like I was betraying him enough by making him feel alone with his dyslexia.
As if he had read my mind, his next message sparked a huge amount of happiness entwined with anxiety inside of me – 'I'm at the London Bridge bus station. Come to me.'