Winterflame

Chp 4 : School

School

I walk through the halls of what they call a school. It is bleak and plain. Students linger at the sides of the hallway. I can hear their voices. I can hear what they are whispering to each other. My brain is not in overdrive anymore, I have learnt to control it. I don’t focus and analyse random things anymore unless I want to. My strength is under control, unless my emotions overwhelm me. My hearing however, it refuses to be controlled. I don’t want to hear them. They speak of terrible things.

“Why is her hair white?” My hair could not be dyed a ‘normal’ colour. I don’t know why.

“Freak.” I hate this word they call me.

“Is she anorexic?” I was starved since I was a baby. What do you expect?

“Why is she in long sleeves? I bet she has scars.” My scars have faded, but they are still obvious. I don’t have the courage to expose my arms.

I can’t take it anymore. It has only been a few minutes and I’m already losing it. I push past random students to get to my locker. I sigh at the sight of its plainness. I have learnt colours and they are beautiful. My school supplies are all colourful, contrasting to the boring silver of the lockers. 

I stuff books and a file in my bag for my classes today. The file of my documents are still in my locker. Every single one of them fake. All the forms and the paperwork. Fake. I don’t know how Professor Blake created them. He handled my registration. All I was to do was show up at school. Luckily I was assigned a ‘buddy’ to help me through the first few weeks.

I am not a freshman, as they would call it. I was registered as a 10th grade student. A fifteen year old. I don’t know how old I truly am. I am considered a new student and a social outcast because I appeared in the middle of the semester. I have studied at Professor Blake’s home, I don’t dare call it my own. Being at school is a completely different experience compared to learning with the professor. I am fortunate to have my ‘buddy’, Tristan. I feel him approaching me.

“Hey Claire. Are you ready for school today?” 

“Good morning Tristan.” I smile and turn to face him. I can hear his heartbeat quicken if I focus. Is he nervous to see me? Something else seems off about his heartbeat, but I'm unsure what it is. “I’m nervous, but ready.” I barely speak up. I am still not used to my voice.

“You shouldn’t be nervous. It’ll be just another good day today. Trust me.” And I do. Every single day. I trust him when he says it will be a good one. 

“I hope so, Tristan.” 

He smiles at me. “It will be.”

The bell rings. He gives me a quick thumbs up and runs off. He mumbles something to himself, but he is far before I could comprehend it. I watch his dark hair disappear into a class. I sigh. He might be the only person that doesn’t judge me or mock me in whispers that people don’t know I am able to hear. He is the closest thing I have to a friend, even though it is awkward between us.

I sit down in class. I have English for my first period. I can still hear the whispers.

“Who is that?”

“What a freak.”

“Hasn’t she heard of hair dye?”

I don’t want to hear them. I want to shut them out. But I can’t. I can’t. I am unable to. Instead, I press my hands to my ears. I wish Professor Blake was here. His words in the morning is still buzzing in my ear.

“Whatever you hear, whatever they say about you. Don’t listen. Don’t care about them. There is no use in listening to anything but the truth, and believe me that whatever they say about you is not the truth. You are beautiful. Believe me Claire.” The sound of his voice comforts me. I don’t know why.

I still don’t trust him, but as he hugs me before school, I find myself hugging back. I find myself feeling safe. Every single day I am outside or at school, I long to go back to Professor Blake’s home. I feel safe there. I am wanted. I am loved. I am not judged. The only person who makes me feel better at school is Tristan. He is not like the rest. At least I hope he’s not.

A few days ago, my first day, was terrifying. I had to introduce myself in front of every class. I had no problems with vocabulary. I had learnt with Professor Blake. What I had problems with was my voice and introducing myself in general. Professor Blake has told me what to say, or should I say, what to lie. I remember it word for word, yet when I am to speak in class, I stutter. I am nervous. My stomach knots itself. I don’t like lying. I don’t like talking. Most tell me not to be nervous, but with their eyes focused right on me, they don’t help.

In class I am shy and rarely participate. I don’t speak. I don’t raise my hand. I don’t have any friends. The teacher’s treat me nicely because I am new, but teacher’s are not friends, they are educators. If there is to be a group or pair work, I am either the last to be chosen or I’m not chosen at all. I am a social outcast. I have never felt so alone.

At the cafeteria, I sit alone. Tristan has his group of friends. He smiles at me from across the cafeteria, but I don’t sit with him. I don’t belong there. I don’t belong anywhere. I want to escape. Life in the facility was a hundred times worse than this, but at the facility they did not judge. I am not mocked in whispers. The name C47 is not judged. It is simply another name in the system. Here, I am Claire Anne Blake. A person. A student. I am no longer C47. I am someone who is expected to do sports and study and be ‘normal’. That is the problem. I have never been a person until these past few months. I have never had feelings. I have never interacted with my peers. I have never done anything and I certainly have never been ‘normal’. I doubt I ever will be.