Choices

The girl in the dark brown wig

Three weeks later . . .

Fang adjusted his backpack on his lap and sighed out the window of the bus. Absentmindedly, he circled his wrist with his middle finger and thumb as he thought about another dreaded day of school.

He hated the kids who sneered and taunted him in the corridors. He hated when the teachers pulled him back after class to discuss his grades dropping at an alarming rate and asking if everything was alright at home.

But most of all, he hated the looks that people gave him. Pitying, almost fearful, empathic. Glad that no matter how bad their lives may seem, at least they weren't as messed up as Fang. Sympathetic, afraid. Almost as if to ask the silent question running through everyone's mind:

"What happened to you? What have you become?"

Some people looked at him as if to say, "I know what you're going through. Don't worry; it gets better."

But how could they possibly know what he was going through when he didn't even know himself.

He was jolted from his thoughts when the bus screeched to a stop outside hell, a.k.a high school.

Sighing, he mentally braced himself for yet another day at school, slung his backpack onto his shoulder and slouched out of the bus, taking his time in order to not arrive at school any sooner than need be.

Kids pushed past him along the bus aisle, laughing, gossiping, joking around him as if he were invisible. I might as well be, he thought dryly to himself, maybe then people would miss me.

***

14 . . . 27 . . . 3

With a click, Fang's locker opened. He dumped his bag in and started gathering his books. He quickly glanced at his timetable.

Biology.

Great. Another class sitting alone at the back of the room, having to pair up with the teacher because no one wanted to be his partner dissecting various animals.

He slammed his locker shut and started to head off towards class - BANG.

Suddenly he was slammed into his locker side on, his books toppling to the ground. His shoulder began to ache dully.

Rubbing it, he turned around to see a tall burly boy with dark curls and piercing blue eyes sneer spitefully at him. Ethan.

"What's wrong, Francesca?" he spat, "Can't take a playful shove like a real man, huh? No wonder Nate dumped you - you're such a pussy skinny-ass girl!"

He slapped the strawberry-blond boy by his side on the back.

"Um, yeah. Right." Nate muttered, looking away.

Fang glared at Ethan. "Just fuck off, alright?" he snarled. "I don't wanna see your ugly face anymore."

"Me? Ugly?" Ethan scoffed. "Have you looked in the mirror lately? You're one to talk."

He turned to Nate. "Come on, Nate. Let's leave this dick to sulk in the girls' bathrooms." He started to walk away.

"Later, douche bag." He called over his shoulder.

Nate looked pityingly at Fang for a moment and opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but quickly closed it and hurried off to catch up with Ethan.

Sometimes Fang wished that Nate would just taunt him and shove him around like Ethan did - it would be so much easier to hate him. But this - the silence and the pitying looks and all the apologies and arguments left unsaid - well, this was so much worse.