Footsteps. Noises. People talking. I try to keep my head down. I try not to touch anyone.
I get to my locker and wish I could open it soundlessly, invisible to all the people around me. I grab a few things and then close and lock it, walking towards my next class. There’s so many people. A few bump into me and I try to stay calm. But I know that if it happens one more time… But luckily it doesn’t. I get into class unscathed. I’m a little early and there are only a few more people in the classroom, although not for long. Around fifteen other people filter in and take their places. Class begins and ends in a matter of time, and my whole routine of trying to make it around the school without being touched starts again.
I have a few more classes and then lunch, when I retreat to the library, the only place in the school that is free of prying eyes.
A few flies buzz around in the sunlight around the windows, and one keeps coming to my face again and again. Eventually the fly leaves me alone and I sit in a chair by the window, taking in the warmth of the sun.
I read through a book for History class for a while and when the lunch period is over I make my way to my next class, math.
The day is boring and I’m glad when the bell rings and I collect my stuff to go home. On the way out, though, a girl knocks into me. “Oh, I’m sorry.” she says. I mumble something saying it’s okay, and almost start walking again when she asks me my name. I get ready to tell her to mind her own business, but some small part of my brain reminds me that this girl hasn’t done anything to deserve that. I swallow and say aloud, “Zoe. My name’s Zoe.” she nods and extends her hand. “I’m Claire.” I take her hand tentatively, trying to keep myself in control. “Uh, nice-- nice to meet you.” She smiles brightly and I try to return it with a weak grin of my own. “Are you new here?” She asks. I shake my head. “Uh, no. I’ve been going here since freshman year.” “Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I’ve never seen you around.” I nod. “yeah.” I try to resist the urge to play with my hair, a nervous habit of mine. “Actually, I think I have seen you before.” She says. I study her face for a brief second, trying to figure out if the same was true from this end. “Yeah, you’re in my Chemistry with me, right?” I nod, even though I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before. “Well that’s cool.” She smiles again. “Well, I’ve actually gotta go, sorry,” I say quietly, “But it was nice to meet you, so I guess I’ll see you on Monday in Chem.” She nods and says “nice to meet you too!” Then we go our separate ways.
The walk home takes at least fifteen minutes, and I go right upstairs. My mother is who-knows-where, and my brother is up at college, and won’t be coming down for the weekend.
I change into my work clothes and study my un-finished painting on the wall.
It’s a dusk scene of a girl in a meadow, reaching out her hand, and the wind taking form of her lover. I’m pretty happy with the way it’s turning out and the way it looks with the bunch of other paintings i’ve made.
I finish dressing for work and I put my mess of golden, red-brown hair in a loose braid. I sigh and head downstairs. I run out the front door and don’t stop running until i’m five minutes away from my neighbourhood.
The reason I get so far away is because I basically live in the ghetto. I’m not kidding. The grungy houses are homes to ex-gang members and their families. There are fights and drug dealings going on around every corner, and being a teenage girl, especially my mom’s daughter, is a dangerous occupation. I learned that early in my teenage years and am reminded of it more often than necessary.
