Girl Unnoticed

Girl Unnoticed [3]

Three

My parents had left the next morning before I had woken up. Neither one of them bothered to say goodbye or to have a nice day, they simply left without any cares. I quickly put on a long sleeved shirt with jeans, and let my auburn hair loose to cover my face. It was all the protection I had at the moment and I wasn’t going to misuse it. My stomach growled in hunger but I was too nervous to eat anything so I just left the house and began my walk to school.

It was a twenty-minute walk that left my feet hurting by the time I reached the dreaded building. The majority of the students were outside in the parking lot, resting against their cars and chatting with their friends. I kept my head low and avoided bumping into anyone as I walked into the building. The second floor seemed so far away when I was hiding from the people who would make my life here a living hell that I almost backed out and ran back home. Sighing, I managed to get through the throng of people and up the stairs to where my locker was.

When I opened the locker, a slip of paper fell onto the floor and I bent over to pick it up. Unfolding it, the note read ‘Welcome to hell’ and nothing more. I walked to homeroom as carefully as I could, trying to avoid the mysterious tormentors. My steps to the farthest desk in the row were precisely calculated, until a foot came out of nowhere and obstructed my path, making me tumble down on the floor and all my books disperse about. I held back the painful tears and went on to pick up my belongings from the ground. I wasn’t expecting for anyone to help me so it didn’t come as a surprise when no one made a move to come to my aid.

The knee on my jean had ripped, showing off the skin of my leg. The palms of my hands were scathed from trying to break my fall but weren’t too tender. As the homeroom teacher strolled into the room, everyone took their seats and pretended that nothing out of the ordinary had happened in his absence. Even in my former school I never had the courage to stand up for myself or go to an adult to report the mistreating. No, I simply kept my lips shut and carried on with my day.

The classes passed by in a blur, as I didn’t pay any attention to the teachers’ monologues and instead concentrated on the blank piece of notebook paper and doodled on it mindlessly. It was comforting when I could dive into my own little world where nothing or no one mattered. The teachers wouldn’t dare talk me out of my stupor because they knew it would be to no avail, even if they didn’t know me.

During lunchtime, I went outside to the patio and sat on top of the empty table and rested my feet on the steel seat. The nearest tree to it gave off some shade from the burning sun, which I sat under gratefully. I had thought it would be safer when I went outside to eat since the majority of the students remained inside the cafeteria. It was nice having more than a half hour to myself and to eat in peace. That was until a somber figure stepped in front of me, glaring through gray eyes. It was the same guy from the park, the one that had stepped into my comfort zone and scared the living life out of me. He had his arms crossed in a deafening manner and raised a brow.

“What do you think you’re doing in my bench?” he asked in a husky, yet threatening voice.

My eyes lowered, the hands that held the rest of what was left of my sandwich sat limp on my lap. As much as I wanted to answer him I couldn’t because for one he scared me and second I wasn’t comfortable speaking to anyone lately. Even my mother had picked up on my muteness but decided not to pry. Her motherly skills were failing her greatly and so she decided to step back.

He grabbed my arm and forcefully pulled me up from the bench. I kept my head lowered, figuring he would leave me alone at some point. I was proved wrong when his eyes narrowed on whatever was on my back. His calloused fingers grazed the back of my shirt and I could hear him taking a paper in his hand. When he turned it upwards, the tears were threatening to spill again. Across the yellow sticky note was written in bold letters the word HARLOT. Kayla had always called me that since my name unfortunately rhymed with the hideous word. Every guy associated me with a prostitute and would mock me and ask for ‘favors’. Casey had to be behind it because only Kayla was the one to think of it.