Snowflakes

December 2nd

2nd

"Popularity is not an indication of quality."  - Vanna Bonta.

The tea scolds slightly as it slides down my throat. As my left hand holds the mug, painted by a seven-year-old me in a wild array of completely clashing rainbow colours, the other grips a blue Biro. To my dismay, it appears the pen only fulfils its use half the time, choosing to suddenly stop working every other sentence. I groan, scribbling furiously on the adjacent page of my exercise book in an attempt to bring some life back into it.

"Feeling chipper this morning, I see," my brother comments from behind me, his voice laced with sarcasm. Although I have my back to him, I can feel him smirking.

"Shut up, Jay," I mutter as I give up not only on the Biro - I throw it onto the floor and watching with a venomous stare as it skids across the tiles - but on my RE homework all together.

Who cares about immortality, anyway?

Jay just laughs, walking around the island in the centre of the kitchen so that I could see him. He's still grinning as he sits down opposite me, taking a bite of his toast.

"Hey," he begins, glancing to the closed exercise book then back to me. "When I was in your year I never even did my homework, so just chill."

I raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah, and where did that get you?" I reply starkly, setting my mug down on the table.

"Um... detention."

"Then where?" Judging by the way I act towards him, you wouldn't think Jay is two and a half years older - not to mention about five inches taller - than me.

"Man, Scarlett, you have to bring up the whole exclusion thing like ten times a day, don't you?" He sighs heavily, but his amusement is clear from his voice and his eyes are as bright as they can be at this ungodly hour in the morning.

❄

"Hurry up! This is why I don't normally give you a lift; you always make me late." Jay calls, leaning precariously far out the window of his car.

"Coming!" I exclaim, tucking a few flyaway strands of mousey brown hair behind my ear as I pull the door shut behind me, bag slung hastily over my shoulder.

Once sitting, relatively calmly, in the passenger seat of my brother's Ford, I sigh. Then, upon catching my reflection in the wing mirror, I sigh harder. No amount of concealer had been able to hide the dark bags under my eyes; results of lying awake until the early hours, mind racing because of a letter from a certain unknown someone.

❄

Jay is right. We're late.

My head bowed, I push open the door and sneak into my form room, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. Just as I collapse heavily into a seat at the back, dumping my bag on the floor, my teacher, Mrs Bird, looks up. Despite my failed attempt to hide behind a curtain of hair, she still manages to meet my eyes.

"Scarlett Moore. Can you please explain to me and all of your peers why you thought it would be okay to just waltz in late to registration?" Mrs Bird snaps, glaring daggers at me. 

I sink lower into my chair. Sure enough, the whole class turns around to look at me; a few pointing and whispering, but most just staring. My cheeks burn. I hate having all the attention on me and, by the look of the smug smile on Mrs Bird's face, she knows that too.

"Uh, well, there was... traffic so I was late but, uh, I shouldn't have just walked in. Sorry Miss," I mumble my explanation/apology, barely audible. Still, it satisfies my class mates as, with bored expressions on their faces, they turn back around to face the front, talking amongst each other.