Those Things Beautiful.

The school was freezing. It was like walking from a sauna into a meat locker; a chill ran along my skin, and I could almost feel it moving and grazing and making the hairs on my arms stand on end. My spine shook.

Everything felt porcelain and breakable, and falsely construed to be something it wasn’t. The school just seemed to be very clean and well-kept and tidy and spotless. And everyone there had these painted-on smiles slapped on their faces like someone had taken a paintbrush and smeared the bristles on their suntanned cheeks.

I felt like I was the only one who didn’t fit.

The slip of green paper was crumpled up in my pocket, the paper that had my homeroom and locker numbers printed out on it. I slipped a hand into my pocket and felt around for it, and as I pulled it out of my pocket, realized that I had stopped walking. So I was just standing there, right in the middle of the hallway, serving as nothing more than something in the way of so many people walking.

There were so many people. Like a beehive, where the bees were kids, all wearing different variations of each other. And they all sort of looked the same. And they were everywhere.

Somebody ran into me. I glanced up to apologize, but realized that I would have absolutely no way of knowing who it was unless they looked back, too.

But they didn’t.

I felt even more awkward than I had in such a long time. I felt out-of-place among a concentrated student body, which felt so much worse than the entire state of California. Because they were all so critical there, and I knew that the way I was getting looked at wasn’t a compliment. All they did was remind me that I wasn’t cut out for California. Or, school, for that matter.

And then, as I looked up from my piece of paper, my mind was buzzing like a hornet nest. And there was honey clogging my sight. My eyes were foggy. I felt like such an idiot.

What made me feel even worse was the fact that I didn’t know where the hell to go for homeroom. I didn’t have long to get there, and I really wanted to avoid contact with anyone if possible. So I probably just stared at my map of the school for a good two and a half minutes before I even knew where I was in relation to where I had to get to.

Shit.

The minute bell rang.

My class is halfway across the school.

I swear I felt like just giving up and taking the long way there because I was pretty sure right then that I wasn’t going to make it to class.

“What he fuck!” I shouted. And I don’t even swear that much. I was so aggravated and pissed off at myself and alone and tired of being in that shitty school where I had to try and fit in just to make friends. I just wanted to grovel and sit down on the ground and refuse to go to class because I didn’t want to meet new people.

I wanted to go back to Detroit and see my old friends.

Somebody tapped me on the shoulder. I didn’t want to even look at them, but somehow I felt myself turning around to meet them in a stare that was colder than I’ve ever given anyone.

But I immediately regretted it.

It was that guy. He was taller than me by just a little, but he still looked more scared than I would have ever expected someone to be. I usually couldn’t get myself looking ferocious, even if I wanted to. I must have been really, really mad.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he said, “you just about gave me a heart attack just then!”

There wasn’t a thing I’d have liked better to say than to kindly kiss off, because I didn’t need anything from anyone right then. I honestly didn’t.

But I couldn’t get one word to leave my mouth. It just sort of dropped open, and I lost all feeling in my face. I couldn’t look angry, or peeved, or helpless, or even happy (although I definitely wasn’t anywhere close to being happy). I just stood there limply like some emotionless new kid that didn’t know what to do or say or act to make everything okay.

He didn’t say anything at first, though, either.

Then he held out his hand and kept his face in check, and I swear to God that I’m always going to remember the first thing he ever said to me. I swear.

“I’m Zack.”