Masks on Us

Sai 1

"Cold," I whispered as I let out a puff of iridescent smoke. Rubbing my hands together to create heat. I brushed my bare, pink-tipped fingers against my mask when I passed an elderly couple, tugging on it slightly to make sure it was secured.

It was mid-December and Christmas was just around the corner. Families would be getting together to celebrate who's child is the smartest or the prettiest or the most successful; couples would be going on bank-emptying dates; friends would exchange gifts that clearly reflected their wealth and status. It's that superficial time of year.

I stopped at the four-way intersection, staring blankly ahead at the path I would walk to get to St. Eve Academia. Someone bumped into me and muttered freak not so subtly. I heard snickers from the people surrounding me, but I paid no mind to them. This was normal. They just didn't understand.

Red. Red. Red. Green.

I began to walk forward; heavy footsteps fell all around me. Busy businessmen and women, rowdy children, sleep-deprived university professors. The same group of students went out of their way to jostle me with each of their crossings. I pressed tightly onto my mask, smoothing my fingers over it's golden, metallic edges.

A bone-piercing wind blew through me, weaving through my layered clothing like water through a mesh basket. Hunching and digging my hands deeper into the wool-lined pockets of my winter jacket, I jogged the remaining part of the crosswalk.

For the rest of the way, I focused on putting one foot in front of the other instead of thinking about the numbness of my ears. I crossed the threshold seconds before the Academia's gates shut firmly. I had two minutes before the bell rang, so I sped up slightly to make it to my first period on time.

Surprise, surprise. Even when I stepped into the classroom the second the bell rang, I was marked tardy. Following daily routine, I took my seat in the middle of the front row, aware of the multitude of eyes and sneers on my back.

Halfway into the class, the loudspeaker came to life. A raspy, voice from years of smoking, rang overhead.

"SAI RIVEAREND REPORT TO THE MAIN OFFICE FOR EARLY DISMISSAL"

A collection of oohs and she's in trouuuble swarmed around the room. I heard snickers and quiet giggling behind me. I gathered my things calmly, as if this was a normal occurrence, and left the room to meet my doom.

Halfway to the main office, I saw a man clad in dark grey and a grim expression that softened perfectly when I approached. He reached into his breast pocket and brought out a single-fold wallet.

"Good Morning Miss Rivearend, my name is Agent McKollins. Please follow me outside. We have a few things to discuss," He held out the opened wallet to reveal a badge with the marking F.B.I. on it.

His tone was even and his countenance never shifted. Clearly, this was a man trained in the art of social interactions. Nonetheless, it would be just too simple for some serial killer to waltz in here, claim he's an F.B.I. agent, kidnap me, and sell me off on some black market.

As if I had spoken my thoughts aloud, McKollins stepped back and smoothly replaced his badge with a single file with my name marked on the tab.

"I do not intend to hurt you, Miss Rivearend. However, it is imperative you come with me. I understand that, in modern times, forging a badge and stealing an identity is as unremarkable as purchasing a T-shirt from Amazon. But I assure you, I am a legitimate agent," He swiftly handed me the package and stepped back just as fast.

"If you really are who you claim to be," I uttered, looking at the folder. I opened it and ambled though the pages, peering at him from behind the file. "Then why would you reveal your identity to a seventeen-year-old so nonchalantly?" He made no immediate answer, so I looked back down at the contents. Immediately something caught my eye. On the third page, a list of all my personal information displayed itself. All the way at the bottom, under the section headed Notes included !!!!

I snapped my neck up and narrowed my eyes at Agent McKollins, taking up a defensive stance. If he was truly an F.B.I. agent, I wouldn't put up much of a fight. Either way, I'm not going to roll over and accept the way things are.

"Were did you get this?" I demanded tensely. I clenched the folder, denting its formerly smooth and crisp exterior. "How do you know this?" I raised my voice slightly. The air around us felt suffocating, but I didn't notice. I was furious.

He only smiled and turned away, heading towards the student parking lot. He paused to look at me, as if challenging me to follow, and left.

I followed.