Two Truths and a Liar

III • The Unwanted

Harley

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Light filtered through the fingerprint-stained windows that edged the left wall of the classroom, hazily turning the cold air greyish in the late afternoon sun. I was lucky enough to have a seat next to the window, the perfect place where if the light hit just right, and I leaned over close enough against the wall, the sun hit the teacher's eyes if they looked directly at where my desk was. It was an almost hidden area, where I wouldn't be called on, wouldn't be paid attention to. Where I could be alone in a room full of people.

The light was just bright enough to make me uncomfortable, preventing me from focusing on anything, the page of doodles so sunlit they could have been glowing and the teacher's voice sounding miles away. My eyelids burned when I closed my eyes. The gentle clicking of the flimsy cheap clock tacked to the wall reminded the whole class we were free to go to lunch in just minutes. I buried my face in my sweatshirt sleeves, arms crossed over my desk. The barely audible disturbance of shuffling and zippers closing and pencils scratching against paper all blended together with the teacher's voice in a low hum. I tuned it all out, eyes closed, lulled by the lazy air of the classroom...

"Hey, wake up,"

I didn't recognize the voice but that wasn't a surprise. I felt the light a little dimmed, and with a twinge of disappointment realized I'd missed lunch. It was the third day in a row this week. I looked up and yawned. She was tall and serious and wore an orange turtle neck that hurt to look at. Brown hair tousled and tied back, black eyes peering out.

"Thanks,"

As I got up, sliding books into my backpack and shouldering it, she nodded and began to leave with a brisk occupied sort of step. "Don't mention it," she said, the classroom door closing behind her. I didn't see her again.

By now I was used to it, other classmates acknowledging my existence but never sticking around. It was my own fault since day one of highschool, a quiet fourteen year old who couldn't seem to hold a conversation, bored at everything, blessed with a resting face that made the other kids uncomfortable. It wasn't as if I had much of a likeable personality either, and it worsened the more I went it alone in this huge, suffocating school building.

When I was new things had been okay, I'd had a few friends who came and went over the past couple years, if you could call a few kids who hung around to chat for a spare second after class. But they'd gotten bored of me just as I'd gotten used to them, and again I was alone. I didn't mind it so much, I had a tendency to be a loner and that was the way it had always been. They took it the wrong way. Rumors spread, and more and more I wasn't just distancing myself, but others were beginning to distance themselves from me too. We were two worlds that I never thought would cross. Why should we? I wasn't like them. They weren't like me.

Shoving through the buzzing flooded hallway, I glared at the ground and thought about how tired I was. Chatter erupted all around and trailed behind me as I turned and pushed open the next door to a half-filled room, other students filtering in after me. I sat down in the back of class and did the same thing I'd done every time, pulled out my books, stared out the window, and tried to ignore it all.

Closer to the front of the room, a group of jocks took up a row of desks, laughing and jolting me out of my head. I didn't know them, but everyone in Deadwood high knew who they were. At least a few of them. The football team who made it into all the school fundraisers, events, anything that might have their pictures saying they were there and an important part of the school. Their voices carried all the way over even through the din of the room, voices piercing my quiet.