Burned and Scarred

Chapter 3

I jot down the highlights of Mr. Allen's lecture on the Gettysburg Address, trying to focus more on paying attention than the bizarre injury of the new girl, or rather the severity of it. Even though I may already know the information or even if it isn't relevant to everyday life, I prefer to stay focused on schoolwork rather than my own thoughts; ironic because that's all I seem to do these days.

I used to love school. When I was younger, in elementary and middle school, I was excited to go to school. Even if school wasn't always great, I loved that I was learning something new everyday, and I loved to see my friends at school every day. My perspective was changed every day, and I would pride myself on doing well.

Now, it's almost the opposite. I get good grades so I won't be a burden, and so my Aunt won't be even more disappointed in me than she is, and not have a reason to dislike me anymore. School drags on, and everyday I can't wait to get out, so I can be alone in my thoughts. I'm outcasted and ignored. The loving life I had six months ago is gone, with nothing to prove that it was real, it all a forgotten memory now.

It might as well been a dream. Memories were replaced by scars, loving friends and family replaced by cold and distant people who are acquaintances at best. My feelings of excitement have turned to dread. I don't pursue many of my hobbies I used to. I'm depressed and guilty. I rarely smile anymore. I'm a shell of the person I used to be.

If I think about who I am today, and who I was before the incident, I'm sure I wouldn't recognize myself if my past self were to look at me now. My eyes, once kind and joyful, have turned dull and cold. I rarely ever smile now. I used to love to draw; I did it all the time. I stopped. I used to express myself. I used believe that life was good and I used to think that happiness was more than an idea, a myth. I lost myself in that fire; I died with my parents.

If my parents were to look down on me, or if they are, I'm sure they would be disappointed. They would be ashamed at the person I became. But, then again, they didn't know who I really was when they were still alive. Sure, I was happier, but I wouldn't say that I didn't or don't have any regrets. I did things that I shouldn't have done some of the things that I did. Some of it is understandable; some of it completely irrational.

"Now, for the next week you will be working in pairs," everyone gave "the look" to their friends. "To make a presentation on either the analysis of The Emancipation Proclamation, or on who and where it would most likely effect, which is more complicated than you might think," Mr. Allen says. "I have already chosen your partners." Groans fill the class and some start to complain.

"Quiet everyone. Yes, I know, it's tragic. Now, after I read the pairs, the two of you need to pick which option you want, and then come up to me to get your rubric. You have the rest of class today, tomorrow, and Wednesday, to work on it. If you need more time, I suggest you work after school. It's due Friday. You will be presenting Friday and next Monday."

I sigh. Another thing I have to worry about. I've never really been comfortable with presenting. I used to have really bad social anxiety, but I've somewhat gotten past it; enough to function properly, even if I am still anxious. I remember one time in ninth grade when I had a panic attack in the middle of a french presentation. To say it was embarrassing would be an understatement.

"Curtis and Jace, Katrina and Doran, Sharron and Brittany, Robin and Cole, Theo and Ryan, Morgan and Julia, Michael and Aiden, Caroline and..." Wait, what? Me and Michael, seriously? I'm not in the mood to deal with his shit right now. I sigh.

"... Now, get to work!"

I gather up my notes, and pull out my history folder, and put them in, before putting the folder back into my backpack and zipping it up and standing up, making my way, once again, to Michael. He looks even more displeased than me, and I have to resist the urge to laugh at the look on his face. I swear if he always looks like that if I'm even in the same room as him, his face might freeze like that.