DOE

S C H O O L T I M E

I rush through Cortburg in the pale light, for it's 5:00 AM. I'm running as fast as I can.

I can fly if I want to, but I don't, because it aches my muscles and hurts my brain. Don't listen to that bullcrap in fairytales which portray flying in such a way that people think of it as redeeming and light. Heck no. Flying HURTS, though it is faster. Maybe it will be different when I get wings. I will get wings. Big feathery ones when I become an angel, or leathery red ones if I become a devil. I shudder. I'd prefer the former. I want to be an angel. And the only way to do that is to get you back to normal.

Of course, I love you, and that's why I'm doing this for you. I am not using you as a ticket to Heaven. Heaven or no, I would still do this for you.

I reach Jasmine's house hurriedly. Nobody's awake in the wee hours of the morning, so no one noticed the keys clacking in the lock and the door swinging open, even though no one was turning the key, or pushing the door open. No one visible, anyway.

Jasmine's still knocked out. She won't be, in 3 seconds. And so, I perform my Possession routine again. In exactly two seconds, my eyes flutter open.

I rush to the closet.

I pull on Dragon Green high-top sneakers, J-Brand dark skinny jeans, a white tank top with a fragile tulip painted on it and tie a checkered shirt around my waist.

I look in the mirror before I leave, swinging Jasmine's black and gold metallic backpack on my shoulder.

I haven't noticed this before, but Jasmine is pretty. No, not pretty, but beautiful. She is more beautiful than you, even. Her eyes are so heavily lashed, and her face is elfin and her purple hair flows around her face like a halo. Her lips are full, and her cheeks are rosy. But mostly, there's a twinkle in her eye. It makes you want to be her friend, to know her.

I stop looking at the reflection. The unicorn in the corner glares at me. I rub my eyes and turn away from the inanimate statue.

When I reach Cortburg High, I wince. Standing in the familiar hallways brings in a torrent of memories I'd rather not recollect. It's 6:00.

I have 30 minutes to kill till home room, so I head to the bathroom. I stop just outside of it. The locker right next to the bathroom is mine. Well, it used to be. Now it belongs to someone called...

I squint at the label. Forresta Roberts.

Whoever that is.

I push open the door. It makes a loud creaky noise. I plonk my bag on the table and look at Jasmine's face in the mirror. It makes me feel guilty. It's her first day, and here I am, ruining it by taking her place. 

A flush. One of the stall doors open, and a tall, willowy girl stares at me. I recognize her. She's the girl who was glaring at me at Dance Night the other day.

Her eyes are orbs of amber-grey, and her hair is long and blonde. Like, Golden-Retriever blonde. Her face is round and her eyes are big. Her lashes are long, but not as long as Jasmine's.

But what catches my eye is her hair. It's too long. It reaches till her knees. I can't imagine the weight of that hair. But she doesn't have horrible posture, like she should, with that hair of hers. Instead, her back is straight, and her nose in the air.

And she's still staring at me.

Oh, I apologize. She's actually glaring at me. With the hatred and heat of a thousand fiery suns. I can almost see the steam coming out of her ears. Her face has gone an awful shade of beetroot-pink. The strength of her glare doesn't waver.

"Jasmine!"

It takes a few seconds for me to realize that she's talking to me.

I stare at her. "Hi, um..."

"Grasse." She hisses, making her way to me.

"Grasse. Yup. Um, nice name. Your parents must have been drunk when they named you." Great. Where did that come from?

She grabs my wrist with an iron grip.

"Jasmine. Tell me. Tell me you're sorry, you little mutt."