Sequel: I Dream You Wont Leave ›
Status: Done.
Philophobia
One
First days are a bitch.
Not to mention when in a small town; population 300 people. It’s a drag to be uprooted by your workaholic parents who feel the need to ‘start somewhere new’ whenever they get bored, completely ignoring my feelings or wants.
They’re so considerate.
So here I stand, in front of a new school, filled with a bunch of hicks and snotty children, who probably don’t give a damn about anything else besides parties and popularity. And if you expected some sort of cheesy introduction into my boring life, I will spare you the pain and just say my name is Aara. (Pronounced Are-ah)
I pushed open the heavy rusted door open; feeling the gush of air hit me. Right as I took my first inside the school, I could already smell that strong scent of disgusting cafeteria food and the sickly clean smell of Lysol.
How attractive.
I instantly felt the hundreds pairs of eyes just stare at me, taking in my appearance to see if I was worthy enough to be even talked to. I had gotten used to the stares, when you move around so much, it’s almost numbing.
I quickly shuffled my way through the thick crowd of teenagers, feeling the gazes of everyone peering down at me. It always felt like I was suffocating whenever I in a crowd. I wasn’t much a people person if you hadn’t already guessed.
I managed to scramble my way through the sea of people and into the main office. It was definitely quieter then the hallway. There were adults running around the office with big folders and other paperwork I officially didn’t a crap about. I heard a grunt and fixed my eyes on the middle-aged woman sitting behind the front desk. Her hair was a shade of washed out red, skin ghostly pale, caked with thick vibrant makeup. I wonder if someone just slapped her with a granny’s makeup bag. She had wrinkles around the corners of her eyes and mouth, making her more unattractive by the second. I don’t even think Quagmire from Family Guy would tap that.
“Name.” She stated more then asked while she typed furiously into the computer.
“Aara Lee Moore.” I rolled my eyes, knowing she misspelled my first name, like everyone did.
“Spell it.” She spat, letting a few drops of spit rocket out of her mouth and onto the desk.
“A-A-R-A” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, praying to God that I would leave this place quickly. It’s only been 3 minutes and I swear I’m considering becoming a suicide bomber.
“Here’s your schedule. Now go.” She didn’t look at me as she threw the papers and continued on typing. I gave her the evils before smoothly entering the flood of people. I peered at my schedule to find I had Math’s first period. Fucking perfect.
It didn’t take me long to find the math room. I mean, how couldn’t you find it? There’s clearly a huge poster with the word MATH on the door. I knocked softly and waited for someone to open the door. When it creaked open, I calmly walked in and gave the teacher my note and picked my seta at the back of the class. I was glad this teacher decided not to be a prick and make me introduce myself.
The class droned on and on about mindless things I already knew. I would get the occasional stares and glances; it was nothing too special or different. I paid attention to who (clique-wise) was in the class. Most of the girls were a bit prepish, but nothing too over the top, then you had your usual jocks, ‘scene’ and band of dumb asses in the class.
There was one that sparked my interest. From what I could see he had chestnut colored hair that was styled in mess. He wore a gray sweater; skinny jeans that seemed to decrease his sperm count by the second and brown sandals. From the angle I was in, I could see he has a tattoo of something on his foot.
“Christofer! Can you please answer the question that is on the board?” The teacher asked. He put down his pencil and looked up at the board, and then at the teacher.
“Nope, not really.” He spoke. He had a bit of a boyish voice, sort of tender like a little kids.
“Well then stop writing in your notebook and pay more attention.” The teacher huffed and faced the board, writing the rest of the formula before this so called ‘Christofer’ crumpled up a piece of paper and threw it at the teachers head. Everyone, but me, busted into fits of giggles. Christofer looked behind him and swiftly gave the kid behind him a high five before his eyes locked on my face. All I could think at that point was.
This kid looks like a fucking mouse.
Not to mention when in a small town; population 300 people. It’s a drag to be uprooted by your workaholic parents who feel the need to ‘start somewhere new’ whenever they get bored, completely ignoring my feelings or wants.
They’re so considerate.
So here I stand, in front of a new school, filled with a bunch of hicks and snotty children, who probably don’t give a damn about anything else besides parties and popularity. And if you expected some sort of cheesy introduction into my boring life, I will spare you the pain and just say my name is Aara. (Pronounced Are-ah)
I pushed open the heavy rusted door open; feeling the gush of air hit me. Right as I took my first inside the school, I could already smell that strong scent of disgusting cafeteria food and the sickly clean smell of Lysol.
How attractive.
I instantly felt the hundreds pairs of eyes just stare at me, taking in my appearance to see if I was worthy enough to be even talked to. I had gotten used to the stares, when you move around so much, it’s almost numbing.
I quickly shuffled my way through the thick crowd of teenagers, feeling the gazes of everyone peering down at me. It always felt like I was suffocating whenever I in a crowd. I wasn’t much a people person if you hadn’t already guessed.
I managed to scramble my way through the sea of people and into the main office. It was definitely quieter then the hallway. There were adults running around the office with big folders and other paperwork I officially didn’t a crap about. I heard a grunt and fixed my eyes on the middle-aged woman sitting behind the front desk. Her hair was a shade of washed out red, skin ghostly pale, caked with thick vibrant makeup. I wonder if someone just slapped her with a granny’s makeup bag. She had wrinkles around the corners of her eyes and mouth, making her more unattractive by the second. I don’t even think Quagmire from Family Guy would tap that.
“Name.” She stated more then asked while she typed furiously into the computer.
“Aara Lee Moore.” I rolled my eyes, knowing she misspelled my first name, like everyone did.
“Spell it.” She spat, letting a few drops of spit rocket out of her mouth and onto the desk.
“A-A-R-A” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, praying to God that I would leave this place quickly. It’s only been 3 minutes and I swear I’m considering becoming a suicide bomber.
“Here’s your schedule. Now go.” She didn’t look at me as she threw the papers and continued on typing. I gave her the evils before smoothly entering the flood of people. I peered at my schedule to find I had Math’s first period. Fucking perfect.
It didn’t take me long to find the math room. I mean, how couldn’t you find it? There’s clearly a huge poster with the word MATH on the door. I knocked softly and waited for someone to open the door. When it creaked open, I calmly walked in and gave the teacher my note and picked my seta at the back of the class. I was glad this teacher decided not to be a prick and make me introduce myself.
The class droned on and on about mindless things I already knew. I would get the occasional stares and glances; it was nothing too special or different. I paid attention to who (clique-wise) was in the class. Most of the girls were a bit prepish, but nothing too over the top, then you had your usual jocks, ‘scene’ and band of dumb asses in the class.
There was one that sparked my interest. From what I could see he had chestnut colored hair that was styled in mess. He wore a gray sweater; skinny jeans that seemed to decrease his sperm count by the second and brown sandals. From the angle I was in, I could see he has a tattoo of something on his foot.
“Christofer! Can you please answer the question that is on the board?” The teacher asked. He put down his pencil and looked up at the board, and then at the teacher.
“Nope, not really.” He spoke. He had a bit of a boyish voice, sort of tender like a little kids.
“Well then stop writing in your notebook and pay more attention.” The teacher huffed and faced the board, writing the rest of the formula before this so called ‘Christofer’ crumpled up a piece of paper and threw it at the teachers head. Everyone, but me, busted into fits of giggles. Christofer looked behind him and swiftly gave the kid behind him a high five before his eyes locked on my face. All I could think at that point was.
This kid looks like a fucking mouse.
