Solitude

Six

I have to spend the last class of the day alone in chemistry class as Cece has literature.

The teacher is a rather annoying Hispanic woman with auburn hair and a petite physique. Her face is pinched as brown eyes glare at me through rounded spectacles.

I'll admit I deserve the hate she's passing my way as I may or may not have successfully glued her lips together last year. She's certain I did it, but there is no proof.

While I don't quite regret my actions, I now know that I went a bit too far, but one would think that losing my mom would earn me sympathy points from my teacher whose literal job is to guide me.

She drones on and I allow my mind to wander to my mom; her soft smile, the way she always smelled like freshly baked goods, the way she would brush my hair every night while listening to me filling her up on my teenage drama. She was more than my mother. She was my best friend in the world.

"Martha!"

I jerk out of my memory to the reality of my teacher staring right into my soul, a mischievous glint in her eyes. I raise a brow at her, not knowing why I have her full attention and she shakes her head in disappointment.

"I just asked you to tell me a chemical property of ethanoic acid."

I almost roll my eyes at the question that even a dumb baby could easily answer.

It's really amusing how my detox from social media has helped me boost my grades. There's no question she could throw at me that I'm not prepared for.

With the confidence of someone who knows what they're doing, I get up and head to her table where a marker is resting idly on her desk. Much to my surprise, she picks it up before I can get to it.

Her lips are upturned in a nasty smile and I just know that I'm going to loathe the next words to come out of her mouth.

"I believe I asked you to tell me. I don't recall saying you should write on the board."

There's a hundred things I want to tell her. Bleached blonde isn't her colour. Moreover, the person who did the dye job either hates her guts or got their hairdressing licence at a back alley in a rundown town. Maybe I could tell her that I don't need a phone to hear the rumours that have been flying around. One too many students have had her reported for bullying, homophobia and as weird as it sounds to be, flat out racism.

I thought being part of the minority would make her understand the brutal impacts of racism. I was wrong. Turns out her bleaching her skin and hair has made her think she's earned the rights to look down on anyone who isn't as deathly pale as myself.

The principal has had enough and I'll be surprised if she makes it till the end of this term. Rumour has it a replacement is already being interviewed.

She continues to smile what I can only assume to be a pathetic attempt at a wicked smile and if looks could kill, she'd be incinerated by the glare I'm sending her way.