The Marked

The First Day Of School Pt. 3

Ryan was introduced to his three new friends through an email that the principal of the school had sent him, saying that he wanted him to talk to three new students during the summer so that they would know someone when they started school in August. They started talking the second day that Ryan had left for Vermont to visit relatives with his parents, and he had gotten them all into a group chat on Snapchat, which was why he wanted me to make an account so bad. When I kept refusing, Ryan had decided to let it be a surprise when he introduced his new friends to me.

To make sure that they wouldn't be offended by my attitude towards them, he explained how I was self-conscious of my eyes, and that people made me extremely uncomfortable until I got to know them. And even once I knew you, it would take some time before I willingly met your eyes when I spoke to you. They had all seemed to understand and accept this, as none of them seemed put off by my silence while Ryan told me all of this in our first hour class while we waited on the teacher to come in and the bell to ring so that class could begin.

I had chosen a seat in the back left corner of the room, far away from the teacher's desk for two reasons. One: so that Ryan wouldn't get in too much trouble for fidgeting and whispering to me, and two: so that I could better fade into the background. Ryan sat across from me on my right, Shea in front of me, Tom in front of Ryan, and Mike in front of Shea. They were all talking quietly and laughing about something Ryan had said, while I scanned the room and paid attention to how everyone was acting. 

I had already found out who would be the most likely to bully me in this class, and was mentally planning on how to avoid him. Being bullied keeps you out of the background. Trust me, I would know. Thinking back to that time two years ago. . . I shuddered involuntarily and looked down at my clenched fists on the desk. A moment later, a small hand with light pink nails rested on my own. Glancing up, I saw that the hand belonged to Shea, and she was looking at me with. . . concern?

Ryan didn't tell them about what happened back then, did he? Choosing to look back down rather than face her, I mumbled "I'm fine." I generally hated lying to people, but I wasn't sure how to explain my situation to her, either. I doubted that Ryan had told them, but I would make sure later. 

After a few seconds, Shea took her hand off of mine, and I relaxed. As a general rule I didn't like people touching me, even if they were cute girls. It made my skin crawl, but with Shea it felt a little. . . subdued. I suppose it was because everything about her seemed to imply that she was safe, from her cute looks and small appearance to her obvious concern for me.

It was strange to be the object of worry for someone else, as it seemed I was for her, and I wasn't sure how I felt about it. I was saved from trying to dissect my own emotions, however, as the teacher walked in and sat at her desk. Conversations died down, and I focused my attention on our first hour teacher, who would be instructing us on English One. 

She had dark brown hair that seemed to float around her shoulders, and rich coffee colored eyes. She was wearing a bright green blouse, white slacks, and a pair of tan pumps. She seemed to be in her mid twenties, and had a well defined hourglass figure. 

So this must be the teacher that person was talking about earlier this morning. . . Not hard to imagine what they were saying about her. Already, several boys were stealing glances at one another and making shocked expressions. Looking at her left hand, I didn't see a wedding ring, nor a tan line that indicated she was married.

This is going to be an extremely awkward year. I know that half of the guys in this class won't be able to hit on her,  and just thinking about it makes me cringe. She stood up from her desk and walked towards the front of the room then, turning to the dry erase board on the wall to write out her name. "Ms. Stents" it read, and while she was occupied doing that, several guys were occupied ogling at her. Shaking my head slowly as I scanned the room, I felt like someone was watching me.