Dares, Stares And Underwear

Hot Pink Hair And Empty Chairs

Mathematics. My first class of the day. I'd always liked math. There was a reason for everything. With math it was either black or white, right or wrong. There is no in-between.
Silently we file into the math classroom. Diagrams of triangles, difficult algebra problems and equivilant fractions circle me, covering the wall like a collage of schoolwork that no one really takes anytime to appreciate.
When I am walking in, the teacher stops me. She puts one cold hand on my shoulder and, with her firm grip, roots me to the ground. I freeze. She wouldn't, would she? I gaze in horror as all the back seats are taken. No one even attempts to sit at the front or near the teacher's desk unless it's a last resort. The class settles until everyone is looking at, wondering who I am and why I'm here, why I'm starting school in the afternoon. I see the girl who poked me in the back snicker. She nudges the girl sitting next to her and whispers in her ear. She looked like a chipmunk in a tiara. They both did.
"Good afternoon, class," the teacher smiles.
"Good afternoon, Miss Lochole." There voices are monotone and emotionless. They see nothing good in the afternoon; this is just a practise, a routine, that's apparently necessary.
"Today, class, we have a new student. This is ..." She trails of at the end, coming to terms with the fact that she know nothing about me. I force a smile onto my face.
"Jordan. I'm called Jordan and I've been homeschooled all my life ... Up until now."
With a start I realise he is there, sitting second row back, with all his friends behind him, and directly in front if me. There is no one sitting next to him. Not yet.
"Jordan, you can sit next to Cayla," announced Miss Lochole, pointing one slender finger towards a girl right next to her desk, ten miles away from the board and five miles away from him. He turns his head towards me and smiles a gleaming, dazzling, blinding smile and I am in such a state of shock that I can not say anything.
Cayla chats all throughout the lesson. Constantly. Non-stop. She chats about what diet she's on, what hair dye brand she's experimenting with, what magazine she bought yesterday, the second hand foundation she got for Christmas, the puppy she got for her birthday, what she thinks of animal poaching, her love of curry and her new baby brother. Of course, I never respond, but that didn't seem to bother or falter Cayla.
Thinking about it, maybe I should have gossiped and talked and conversed with Cayla. I mean, she seems harmless enough. And I could really use a friend. I now resolve to look out for her.
She isn't exactly hair to miss. She has a spiky pixie cut dyed hot pink and olive skin. Her lips, too, are painted a bright pink colour as are her cheeks. Her eyes are like green marble. They aren't cold or hard or anything, but green marble is the exact shade of her eyes. Her clothes are plain, noticeably plain, yet trendy. A loose, white, strapless top, a pair of too tight, black skinny jeans, worn trainers that looked really comfortable and a rainbow headband just to be different. My clothes are plain and too new. My converse squeak across the floor, my Hollister top is too baggy and my Pineapple school bag is too clean. My hair has split ends and isn't layered so I wear it in a plait over my shoulder.
I should give up now, give up trying to fit in, but I don't. Deep down somewhere inside of me there is a girl with ambition, determination and strength. It's just my job to find her.