Why I'm Emmanuela Swiss

The First Day

Yoy don't think you'd have survived to school if it wasn't for Richard. 

He's that person on the bus, who, when you're sitting alone, will come up and talk to you. Just like that. When you'd seen a student, sitting on their own, you'd always feel awkward and at a loss for words. You'd talk to them anyway, but they wouldn't talk to you.

No more friends for Swiss?

Well, Richard did, and he did help (sort of!).

"Hey?" He asked, grabbing your shoulder. You were thinking of Louisiana (you were always thinking about Louisiana!) and how much you wanted Pizza Artista. "Are you, like, deaf or something?" He asked. "Or just dumb? You're the Lousiana girl, right?"

How did this guy know about you? If Nadia'd told him, you'd kill her... No, you wouldn't. You liked her far too much, and she was too cool, somehow. "How do you know?" You asked. He raised his eyebrow (he had a unibrow)

"Before asking my bloody name!" He said, all Brit-like, before laughing. But, being perfectly honest, you'd expected him to be more uptight and I-call-dinner-tea like. Was it lunch? What's the difference? He didn't care, maybe.

"We had a discussion about you." He explained, and you felt a weird urge to walk up and punch somebody. Why, oh why, did they have to do that? Like you needed help to feel like you didn't belong here. "What did they say?" You ask.

He rubbed his forehead. That's better, and far more familiar, you think. "Oooh. He said, well, that you smelled like an ass- I'm joking!" It took you a second to realise that ass meant donkey. "But he said you were in the floods, that you were new, and that we should be nice to you."

How did he recognise you, then? That was a question you didn't form until much later, so didn't ask them. You were too busy hating the professors.

"Assholes." He frowned, and you realized that he wasn't used to your cursing. So you apologize even though you didn't feel particularly sorry. "But seriously?" He said. "I know, it was a bit extreme. But, badassery aside, you seem fairly normal."

He thought you were badass! You flushed at the thought, but kept yourself under control. "You Brits are the only people who would use the word badassery!" You said instead, hoping your cheeks weren't red.

"And you're the only one who starts sentences with you Brits all the time, so I guess we're quits. My name's Richard," He said, and it took you a second to realise that you should probably tell him your name. 

"I'm Emma Swiss, well, Emmanuela Swiss. But actually it's not Swiss but everybody calls you Swiss so it's cool, but, yeah, it's a long story. So, well, not that it matters, but it can be either way, Swiss or not, but Emma Swiss doesn't sound good. Yeah, I know I said it, but.. I guess it doesn't matter. Emma-Emmanuela Swiss." You stammer. Get yourself together, Emma!

He raises his eyebrow again. You love writing that sentence. "Oh, so. May I call you Emmanuela, or should it be Emmanuela Swiss each time, like some royalty?" You flush again. "Oh-well-yeah Emma Sw- Emmanuela Swiss's fine. Oh, I mean Emmanuela. Yeah."

He winks. "Okay, Emmanuela Swiss."

"I told you, you can call me Emmanuela!"

"Okay, Emmanuela Swiss!"

His presence almost made it okay that you came late to whatever room you needed to be in, and that you went inside the wrong one twice. Maybe you're not a coward, but you're not THAT brave, anyhow. Shit. In England, too. 

Each teacher stared at you, and you're sure students, who'll be older than you, won't forget your name anytime soon. But they won't be eager to be best friends, either. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.

Shippers.

You laughed and entered the right class, where a lightblonde teacher with hair in a bun stared at you. Then smiled. Then turned to her keyboard. Slowly, slowly, slowly. "So you must be..." She scrolled your name and eventually found it.

Just go with it, Emma! Is what you'd scream if you were there. But you weren't, so you had to point it out. "Swiss. Emmanuela Swiss. It's a funny story, 'cause I was always brave, I'm not bragging! But I did a lot of cool dares and stuff, and nobody could pronounce my name anyways, so I became Swiss. Like a Swiss Army Knife."

The teacher raised her eyebrows. "Well, we go by our real names in this class. Sit down, Emmanuela Swiss."

This carried on throughout your subjects, on and on, until you had Creative Arts: Appearantly, you were supposed to go to a museum or whatever, and a bus was waiting. So, duh, you ran ran ran toward the buses, sprinting until your legs felt like they'd fall apart.

Literally. Whatever air your short-sleeved top gave ("You look like...cuerpomatico!" Your mother had said morning, which made zero grammarical sense. Yes, you corrected somebody on that. just cuz.) was destroyed by you star-printed leggings worn for the purpose of being hilarious.

You checked every single bus until you came to the painful conclusion that you'd missed it. So, what did you do? Something reasonable? Of course not! Instead, you threw yourself on the floor and started crying. 

You don't remember exactly what you thought, but if you had to guess it would sound something like this: FuckthisfuckthisIwanttobeinAmericaIdontwantthefloodsIwantawattpadcharacternoproblemsjustlovelifeIdontwantmyonlybookstobeindramaoractionbecausethisactuallyhappenedIdontgiveafuckifIwasthatshallowbecauseIdontwanttodothisfuckfuckfuckIhatethisthisisawfulwhyamIhereandIshouldstopcryingpeoplehavedecidedImcrazyIhatethisIhatethisIhatethisIWANTPIZZAARTISTA!!!!

"Are you okay?" A girl with red hair, like in those wattpad fics you thought of who looked suspiciously like your old friend Lyra, came over. Why do those guys have red hair? You don't know. Well, wattpad story congratulations. "No!" You snapped. "Clearly not. I just missed my creative arts stuff."

She just nodded. "That's okay, I missed it too. You're the new girl, right? Johanna? Sorry, I'm terrible with names." You tell her the Swissified version of your name (yeah, Richard, you can make words up too!) and she just nods. "Emmanuela. You'd think I'd remember a name like that. I'm Gunilla. C'mon, I'll show you the assignment. Our show's coming up, so start by writing something for that: You're going to sing it in public, in front of your parents, so be careful! No love or sex, okay?"

You nod, and walk over to a cafe, where you get out wattpad and start typing. 

Waterproof.

Done. She orders two frappochinos, and you insist that you pay for them. And, you start typing: Not for the mark's sake. That you couldn't give a flying fuck about. But so maybe Shirin can hear you sing this. So she know's she's not alone.

When her friends join you, you don't care. You barely introduce yourself as Emmanuela Swiss.

Instead, you start type-type-typing, and don't stop until you realise you're ten minutes late for statistics.