All the Wrong Reasons

Miserable Monday

Chapter 2: Miserable Monday

Sunday went by in a blur and Monday morning arrived far too soon for my liking. My sister’s sonorous knocks yanked me from a dreamless sleep way too early in the morning and I opened my eyes to a bleak, grey day. A light drizzle was falling from the sky and splattering against my window.  

My first impulse was to pull the duvet over my head and stay there was a very, very long time, but I had to face the real world one day or another, so I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom. A brief, cold shower was all it took to finish waking me up, but nothing in the world could have dispelled the gloom hanging over my head like a stinking, black cloud.

Today was going to be trying, very trying, and I dressed accordingly: sturdy white cotton underwear, jeans, sweatshirt, thick white socks and trainers. I pulled my hair into a ponytail and applied minimal makeup. I didn’t look as bad as I feared. The cut along my left cheekbone wasn’t much more than a scratch today, the swelling in my cheek had gone down, and the bruising around my eye was dealt with thanks to a little concealer.   

I tramped downstairs to the kitchen. I never used to bother with breakfast, but since Jennifer arrived to take control of our lives, we all ate breakfast, just like we all eat five fruit and vegetables a day and we all fold the towels in the bathroom. What Jennifer wants, Jennifer gets. 

Jennifer was holding court in the kitchen, somehow managing to cook porridge, press oranges and butter toast at the same time. Mum and Ruby, my eight old sister, were already seated at the table.

“Morning Annie” Mum said as I slid into my chair.

“Morning” I mumbled, picking up a piece of toast and nibbling at a corner.

“How are you feeling this morning?”

“Fine”

“Can’t you be ready in ten minutes?” Jennifer asked, placing a bowl of porridge in front of me “I’ll take you to school on the way to work.”

For once, I didn’t protest against Jennifer’s bossiness. Normally I would have objected to her trying to boos me around, and told her in a snotty voice “I am quite capable of catching the bus to school, thank you. I do not need to be driven there like a kid”. Today I just nodded meekly. Probably an effect of the bump on the head I had received on Saturday. Or maybe I knew that today would be difficult enough without adding yet another argument with my sister.

“I can be ready” I said, pushing my plate away and standing up.

Jennifer dropped me off in front of the school and sped off to do important things in her office. I stood at the bottom of the steps for a while, ignoring the flow of people going past on either side, and looked up at the big, ugly grey building. Just the idea of climbing those steps and going through those doors made me feel slightly nauseous.

You can do this, I told myself, as I wrenched one foot off the ground and placed it on the bottom step. You can do this, I chanted again as I placed the other foot on the next step. You are seventeen years old. You are not going to be frightened of going to school.

There are six steps between the street and the main entrance to my school, but that Monday morning, it felt like sixty. I eventually reached the top, mentally wrung off and paused to gather myself again. My stomach clenched as I pushed the door open and threw myself into the crowd.

Nobody paid any attention to me as I walked down the corridor. It was Monday morning, cold and wet, and they were caught in their own problems. They didn’t care about mine. They streamed past me, heading to their various classrooms, calling out to friends, talking on their mobile phones. No-one even glanced in my direction.