August 14th, 2017
7:34 AM
Breathe Jared. Just freaking breathe. I look up at the tar-black sky, gray clouds surrounding the empty void.
Crystalline drops splatter onto the smooth white pavement, causing it to darken.
Clinging onto the small stack of textbooks in my arms, I continue to run.
Why didn’t you put them into your bag?
The frigid wind stings, blowing tauntingly across my face, viciously tearing into my skin.
Why didn’t you put up your hood?
Butterflies fly out of my stomach and crawl up my throat as the grayed red bricked building comes into my view. I rummage through my pocket, my hand brushing against the smooth rectangular card.
A bolt of lightning flashes through the sky, seeming to light up the old weather beaten school.
My hands shake as I step closer, reaching my arm out towards the long silver handle.
I shiver as my skin makes contact with the metal, I take a breath and push the handle down, successfully opening the door.
I step through the school’s entryway, swiping my student ID card to open the second door.
As I walk in I hear the secretary talking to a teacher. Both of them begin to laugh.
I feel my body tense up.
They’re laughing at you.
What could I have done wrong? I just walked in.
“Yes,” a woman chuckled. “Such great weather for the first day back.”
I enter the hallway, trying to draw the least amount of attention to myself as possible.This plan immediately fails as my wet shoe makes one of those annoying squeaking sounds.
Picking up my pace, I feel the butterflies flying around in my stomach, begging to be released.
The newly recruited freshmen are all packed next to the lockers, gossiping about things that have happened in the summer. It’s nothing of my concern.
I glue my eyes to the floor, hoping that nobody is looking at me.
As I approach the familiar hallway bathroom, I finally look up. I lean against the heavy door, pushing it open. Normally no one uses the hallway bathroom, but today is just my luck.
The bathroom is full. People everywhere.
My hands begin to twitch, but I ignore it, mustering up the courage to walk up to the sinks. I silently look at my reflection through the fingerprinted glass. It’s part of my normal routine to do an appearance check before every class.
It’s better to know if something is wrong with you first, then to have someone point it out in front of everyone later. I’ve been doing so many apperence checks lately, and with every new one I get even more and more unattractive. If that was even possible.
My face is an extremely pale color that makes me look like I’m constantly sick. It makes my freckles pop out a lot more as well, and I have way too many freckles. Like it’s so bad that it could probably trigger someone’s trypophobia.
My hair is drenched with icy cold water, turning my normally auburn hair into a greasy black color. The scalp is incredibly visible, showing every individual how thin my hair is. Messily hanging in front of my eyes are my bangs, which are dripping from the rain. Mom used to be a hairdresser and always tells me to get the hair out of my eyes. Even if I try it always returns to that same spot.
Next up is my mouth. Ew. My lips are very dry and you can see my bite marks. Biting my lips is a horrible habit of mine- Speaking of teeth however.. Mine are disgustingly crooked, and I was also blessed with a huge overbite. Thank you, God, really appreciate it.
Mom refuses to let me get braces, telling me that I don’t need them even though the dentist said otherwise. But that’s just how mom is. She says things like braces and glasses are just reminders of a person’s imperfections.
Height is the thing that most people point out. Being exactly 5 feet tall, I am quite the lady’s man. My experience with girls is completely nonexistent. No girl wants to be with a guy who’s shorter than her, it’s just common knowledge. So I’m destined to die alone. Such a fantastic feeling. It really sucks being premature.
A repeated banging sound from behind followed by a loud thundering voice pulls me back into the real world. “Oi! Who’s in there?” Anyone in the entire school could recognize that voice. Leif Falla. You either hated or loved him, there's no in-between.
He continues the charade, still striking the stall door with his fist, amusement pictured on his lengthy face. I take back what I said. There is an in-between because I still can’t figure out how I feel about him. Envy is one way to put it, I would do anything to have his jawline, his facial structure, his muscles … I’d do anything to be him.
Leif transferred to our school in the seventh grade from Norway. He has a little brother as well, Kovu, who I believe is now an eighth-grader. His thick accent makes his voice sound almost melodic, which is very soothing to listen to. He is part of the more well-known students compared to the rest of us juniors, along with his girlfriend.
Monica Mantrell is her name. She is very athletic, is extremely attractive, and has decent grades, which fits all of the requirements for popularity. I only hold one of those three traits. Their relationship goes off and on. One day they would be fighting in the cafeteria, and the next, they would be making out … in the cafeteria … in front of everyone.
Oh, to have that sort of confidence. I have no idea what I’d look like while kissing someone, it's not like I have any experience with it either. With how things are going now, it is almost destined that it will never happen. I’ve learned to accept it.
His dark brown eyes are now focused on me, it takes me too long to realize that I have been staring. Get out, you idiot, get out. Get out. Get out. Get out.. Shifting my eyes to the floor, I make my escape. Speed walking through the hallway, I eventually look up at the clock that sits upon one of the pillars by the entrance. I have more than enough time to make it to homeroom, but being early won’t hurt.
Loud footsteps bounce off the walls, echoing my exact movements. Too close. Too close. Too close. Too close. The mystery person behind me steps onto the back of my shoe, causing me to stumble. My front teeth tear into my bottom lip, breaking the already damaged skin. The salty metallic taste of blood fills my mouth and seeps into my gums.
Trying to calm myself down so I don’t have an embarrassing breakdown in the middle of the halls, I recall the exercises that my therapist had taught me. Granted, I’ve never used them because they seem stupid, but this seems like a good time to test them out.
Five things I can see. Floor tile, the ends of my bangs, shoes. I lift my head up just enough to see in front of me. Book club poster. My eyes scan the hallway. Does the wall count? Wall. Good enough. The next exercise is four things I can feel physically.
My disgustingly sweaty hands are one. I reach down to my thigh, wiping my hands onto my sweatpants. Pants. Moving my hand higher, I feel the softness of my sweatshirt. Hoodie. And finally, hair, I brush my bangs out of my eyes even though they return to the same spot.
This is … actually working. Three things I can hear are next. The obnoxiously loud footsteps that are way too close to me, the sound of students conversing. Walking past a classroom, I finish my list of three, the typing of a keyboard.
Two things I can smell, my sweat and someone’s perfume. It smells like baby powder. And finally, the one thing I can taste is blood.
My calm demeanor evaporates as I walk into homeroom.
The kids in there don’t even bother to notice my arrival. Their faces are glued to their phones, chatting about something that has apparently gone viral.
My usual seat is where it normally is. It is the one thing I can keep in my control.
I make my way to the spare table in the corner of the room, it is me and my fellow loners' territory.
These said loners were Alfred Graves, Violet Sharp, and Emily Narrow. Nothing really special about them, they just tend to keep to themselves instead of getting involved in things like the other kids did.
My bangs block my field of vision as I sit in a chair away from the trio. Emily is currently screaming at Alfred, who appeared to be losing in some sort of online game, while Violet simply watched them, laughing at their stupidity. Why can’t I have a friend group like theirs? My throat grows dry and my legs begin to bounce up and down.
Robin Ibarra, one of the “popular” kids, walks up to our table, I feel my leg begin to shake more. Great. My knee bangs the bottom of the table, he doesn't seem to notice. He sets a pair of rectangular items onto the table and slides them towards me, doing the same to the other three.
A picture of me stares back when I look at the objects. These were the new lunch and keycards for the year, meaning the school pictures were updated. Somehow the photo makes me look even uglier. I can’t do this.
Standing up, I shove the cards into my hoodie pocket and make my way back towards the door. I heard the teacher, Mrs. O’connor, question where I was going, but it was too late, my decision was already made.
A familiar door appears in my path as I make my way through the empty hallway. It is my sanctuary. “Michael Loust- School Counselor” is printed in small white letters next to it.
He looks up from his computer screen as I walk in, sitting in the swivel chair that I have spent almost my whole high school years in. He greets me with a comforting smile.
“It’s nice to see you again, Jared.” Mr. Loust says, shutting his laptop and giving me his full attention. “How have you been?”
-
My hands cling to the squared paper as I walk out of Mr. Loust’s office. I speed walk towards my next class, wanting to be by the classroom door before the bell rings and the hallway becomes a stampede.
Mr. Loust always ends our sessions a couple of minutes early because he knows how I am in the hallways. I appreciate it.
I lean my back against the poster-filled drywall, taking a better look at the paper Mr. Loust had given me.
He had explained that his wife, Mrs. Loust, was starting a new group for students who have been struggling with anxiety. It had originally planned to just be a girls group, but somehow Mr. Loust convinced her that some of the male students should join. Lucky me, being with a group of people who I don’t know.
The paper shows a schedule of what days we have meetings and what groups we were in. There are 2 groups and I happen to be in group 1. I look down the list of names and feel my body become tense again.
Anti Anxiety Group Schedule
Group 1- Monday (8:50-9:35) Thursday (12:42-1:25)
Group 2- Tuesday (9:40-10:26) Friday (12:42-1:25)
Group 1: Group 2:
Kylie Abigail Zeke Cantrell
Hazel Bloomingfield Dakota Davey
Chase Ellis Joseph Dun
Zane Mccoy Layla Marrow
Rose Newmen Scarlet Reyns
Jared Patsin Katelyn Walters
Jen Robertson Axel Wheeler
Isabella Swift Simi Woods
Veronica Yong
I don’t know a single person in my group.
I scan the second group, also not recognizing a single name. My palms grow sweaty, causing me to wipe them onto my hoodie. Why did this have to happen? The bell rings, causing me to jump slightly. The sound causes me to come back into reality, but it also causes my sheet to relocate onto the tile floor.
The sounds of doors opening, footsteps, and mindless chatter fill my ears and soak into my brain. I bend down, grabbing my now unclean paper. As I return up, someone's leg hits the back of my head.
“Sorry!” A girl says, glancing at me before returning her attention to the other girls she was walking with. I recognize one of the girls as they turn the corner.
Ah, Courtney Melendez, my childhood crush, such a sight for sore eyes. Back in second grade, she was this extremely skinny, blonde-haired girl who had the brightest, most beautiful smile. She has perfectly straight teeth and it's probably why I liked her. Opposites attract I guess, except the whole thing was one-sided, she doesn't even know who I am.
High school has completely changed her, she has been in a huge gothic phase since last year. Her long blonde hair that I fell in love with is now shoulder-length and dyed black with a few indigo streaks to finish the look.
She wears a bunch of makeup now as well, it looks good on her though. Dark purple lipstick, blush, and thick eyeliner. She isn’t as skinny as she was before but that's expected because of puberty and whatever. Her black sweater hugs her curves, she’s still really attractive.
The butterflies delicately flutter around my stomach. More people pass by me, taking me out of my thoughts. I walk into the classroom hoping I can get through this class without a complete breakdown.
-Allitini
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