Strength.

1

        As I slid open the door to my homeroom class, I strode in, aware of my peers' lingering, burning gazes, but paying no mind to them. The whispers swirled around the classroom, seeming to echo across the entire school. "L/n Y/n," they called, eating away at my sanity. I had arrived to school during lunch, not bothering with setting an alarm to wake me up on time. I always aced my exams, and came out on top of the class. Yes, I am intelligent, but being so smart came with its downsides. I never got along with anyone, even people older than me sometimes. I can't stand their eyes boring into my soul, always putting me on a pedestal. Intelligence is linked to a good memory. If you have that, you basically have life in the bag. That's all it takes.

As the bell tolled, signalling the beginning of the next class, I lie my head on my blazer, that I had taken off to be more comfortable. I was sleeping soundly, having nice dreams, until I felt a whack on my head. The teacher hit me over the head with her book, telling me to answer her question. Without standing up, I groggily looked at the board, seeing a line from a book I had read a few years prior to now, but she had a translated copy she used to teach students English.
"You want me to translate?" I asked, still laying my head on your arms, only glancing to her from the corner of your eyes. She, who had become frustrated with your lack of interest, and probably respect, had crossed her arms, and closed her eyes, before she snapped at me. "Yes, L/N, translate the sentence into English for the class please, and when school is over, please see me in the workroom!"

My eyes focused back on the board, and I yawned before reading the sentence fluidly. "Although love makes us weak, death may do us part," I read aloud. The teacher seemed satisfied, and was going to continue the course, but I kept recalling the paragraph, since it was my favorite from the book. "Only then can you see the truth that lies behind the lines, and the unending dishonor represented best by the heart-- these feeling we call love. Some are successful, others are left behind. The only person who can determine how you interpret your own lies is yourself. So stop being a fool and find your own truths." 

Your teacher hadn't been surprised, I was known to do things like this quite a lot. Every time I was asked to answer a question, or had an exam, it was passed with flying colors. The students in my class were baffled; Most of them only understood several phrases from the paragraph I recited. The bell rang shortly after she had explained the homework, which was an essay written in English about who they look up to. It was due at the end of the semester, which was convenient for me, because I hated having a short assignment every day.

I dragged yourself out of your seat and headed to the next class, which was meant to be the last of the day. It was your least favorite-- Geometry.

I was smart enough to take trigonometry by now, but the teachers thought it was unfair to the third years if I shared a class with them in my first year. I took your time striding down the hall, and entered the classroom. This was the only class that required the students to move. Every other class the teachers came to the homeroom.

I sat in the middle, by my seat partner, Hisoka, Rui. He was a shrimpy guy with shaggy black hair and thick framed glasses. He was annoying to listen to, so I opted to not pay attention to him.

I put your blazer on the desk and lie on it like a pillow, once again. When the teacher came in, he didn't say anything. He knew that I'd get the homework done, and pass my exams, so he let me sleep. I didn't sleep, but I daydreamed about a different life, barely taking mental notes from the teacher's lecture.

The next thing I know, I'm being shaken by Rui, who was standing at my table-side while people were clearing out of the classroom.

"Get up, y/n, you'll be late to clubs," he said, sounding as annoying as ever. I glared at him, not being a very friendly person when shaken. Or much at all, really, despite my attempts at conversation. "Yes, mom," I said, getting up, and slinging my bag over my right shoulder.