My latest ‘scribbling’ as people seem to call them ^^
(In case anyone is wondering, this isn’t based on real life. I may be forever alone and all that, but I have friends; I’m not that bad x3)
I’d love love love to hear your opinions and comments on this ^^
I inhale deeply, and walk into the classroom.
As I push open the heavy, old wooden door I am assaulted by a blast of noise and heat. The air is filled with the sound of chattering and laughter, like the hum of a crowd on a Saturday afternoon. Girls giggle and gossip, sharing lip gloss and catching up with their friends. Guys laugh and show each other new apps on their snazzy high-tech phones. People crowd around a loud voice to hear a dramatic tale from the holidays, pass folded notes across desks, rest their feet on the tables.
School has started.
No one notices me quietly entering the room and clicking the door shut almost silently behind me. No heads turn, no one gets up, no one greets me. I am invisible.
I inhale again. Only six weeks, I think. Only six weeks in hell.
I tiptoe, almost gymnast-like as I manoeuvre expertly over sprawled legs and dumped bags, to the back of the classroom. It’s slightly darker here, as the curtains are never up and no sunlight streams into my corner as it does the rest of the room. Although I sit alone, there is a chair next to mine, its seat decorated with a film of old dust. That tells you pretty much everything about my social life, I guess.
My companions here, at the back of the class, are rolled up posters and unmarked books, black spiders on dusty webs and the doorways to store cupboards which are never opened.
I place my books, folders and pencils on the table, adjust my glasses, and proceed to start my morning doodle, pen poised, when the door suddenly opens. As if by magic, the classroom transforms faster than Cinderella at midnight. Legs lift up from seats and chairs scrape across the floor, bags and phones shoved out of sight, teenagers arranged in neat little rows at their desks like dark words on lined paper.
We have a new form tutor, and his glassy black eyes scan the class like a hawk seeking out prey.
A few people mumble an incoherent, unenthusiastic greeting in reply. He narrows his eyes slightly, as if to say, So, that’s how you want to play this?
“My name is Mr Greenford, and I’ll be your form tutor this year. First and foremost, I have arranged a seating plan for you all.”
There is an outburst of moans and complaints, but a single glare from his hawk eyes and the class is silent. They begrudgingly drag themselves over to the new seats arranged for them on the whiteboard, saying goodbye to friends as if they’re going off to war and will never see them again.
With horror I realise I am sat right at the front, and worst still beside… people. Two people! My heart sinking faster than the titanic, I find my seat. My new companions – real, living people – are Ruby Delore and Josh Kinsel. I don’t know much about Ruby except that she’s some kind of an emo-goth-punk type person, but I know Josh as the incredibly loud, attention seeking, boorish guy that some people call ‘popular’. I have no idea why, because everyone either hates him or pretends to love him but hates him anyway.
As they sit next to me, I feel incredibly self-conscious and want to hide beneath my long black hair, but Mr Greenwood has already informed us that hair concealing all or part of your face impairs learning and will not be tolerated.
Face burning, I try instead to concentrate on Mr Greenwood laying down the ‘form rules’. I hear snippets of things like ladies skirts must not reach heights of more than twelve inches and detentions will be administered if homework is not to a sufficient standard.
I glance cautiously to my left. Ruby glares intimidatingly at me and turns away with her i-pod, choosing a song – woe, depression or self-hatred?
I thought all my school years were bad, but this one is going to be the icing on the rotten cupcake.