VOLUME 1: TEENAGE DREAMS

Entry #1: The Skeleton in Our Closet

THE SKELETON IN OUR CLOSET

"You are precisely thirty minutes late."

These six toxic, venom-like words greeted me as soon as my black Jimmy Choo shoes touched the floor of the classroom owned by none other than Mrs. Phoebe Garagan, my strict Introduction to Philosophy of the Human Person teacher. The whole class spared a glance at me, their eyes shooting sympathy on me, because I'm now included in Phoebe Garagan's blacklist. I looked at my classmates without blinking, my eyes bearing a blank demeanor.

"I'm sorry." I said with a smile, effectively making my teacher's face contort in annoyance. "I didn't want to come."

Leaving my teacher with a flabbergasted expression, I took the chance to make my way towards my seat at the last row, their eyes are still glued on me-looking for a distinct flaw, an obvious mistake, or a humiliating imperfection-which is a total waste of time because I'm perfect. My classmates only stopped tailing me with their gazes when I've already taken my seat.

The discussion continued as if the untimely fiasco did not happen in the first place. It was tedious; the way Mrs. Garagan teaches her lessons. Moreover, her voice is as soft as a pillow and as smooth as silk-which sounds excessively phony for my own liking. Not to mention that the almost the majority in our class consider the lectures as bedtime story-and an effective one at that-because 90% of my classmates fall asleep. As a seventeen year old Grade 12 girl whose life revolves around smartphone and laptop until midnight, I've been exerting much premium effort to stay awake. I have both of my hands used as a pillow as I make an effort to keep my eyes wide open and listen to Mrs. Garagan's explanation about a particular idea I don't even know. Even though I'm blatantly in a straining sleeping position which is making me even sleepier than I am, the teacher didn't notice because of my far and secluded location. I stayed like that until the bell rang. On reflex, I grabbed my bag and strolled out of the room with poise and grace. It's one of the basic skills a teenage girl must adapt.

"Sasha Ramirez!" I heard Mrs. Garagan's voice echoes through the hall. I stopped walking but I didn't look back. She's not worth my time. My sharp ears can hear her speedy footsteps towards me.

"Can you distribute these flyers? The Philosophy club is in need of members. I trust that you'll be able to encourage them to join the club." Mrs. Garagan says with the hint of kindness, just like a loving mother. Kindness, my ass. Her voice is as faux as press-on nails.

I turned around to face her. Her plain peach dress emphasizes her slim waist and her blessed breast. She reeks of cigarettes and her hair smells like a particular hotel's shampoo. Not to mention, she's been wearing said dress for two days in a row. So that's her little secret, I thought to myself.

"Of course, I can." I replied without enthusiasm. She handed the flyers to me and smiled as she proceeds back to her room. Mrs. Garagan was a feet away from me when I decided to say something that'll freak her wits.

"Is the forbidden sex more than satisfying? You've been wearing that dress yesterday." I asked in a casual tone, making my Philosophy teacher stop in her tracks.

"See me after the break in my room." I can sense the panic in her voice as she continued to walk towards her room. I can't help but guffaw mentally. That's what you get when you piss me off.

I looked at the flyers and disposed them to the nearest trash bin. Distributing those lame flyers is an absolute waste of effort. No one is interested to join, anyway.

I make my way to the cafeteria. All of the students stare at my direction per usual. They stare at me with uttermost respect and admiration enough to make them blush with pure happiness-to the point that it annoys the hell out of me. Some of them look at me like I'm a bad entity-in which I truly enjoy because they still dedicate their time to look at me even though they hate me. I can't help it. I'm aesthetically sophisticated to perfection, in both physical and mental aspect. As I walk, I heard two girls talking while eating their cheap lunch set.