White-Washed Lies

"Ms. Kinnerson, he's doing it again!" a student in the far right corner called out. I turned around in my seat to face him, four rows of students between us.
"Answer this, Alexander," I demanded without emotion in my voice nor on my face, "What exactly am I doing and how?" The student seated beside Alexander rose his eyebrow at my behavior; he's new and doesn't understand that something so minor takes place daily. People just don't understand the complexities of my mind.
"You breathe, and that's bad enough, Alice."
"Alice Cooper, nice choice. Although, personally I would have chosen Marilyn; as in, Manson. He's seen more murderous in societies eyes because of his Satanic lifestyle and the misunderstanding of such beliefs. Hollywood really has ruined such a beautiful way of life," I replied with a sigh.
"You look more like a 'Norma' to me," an unfamiliar voice spoke out with an amused undertone. My eyes shifted to the new student, a bemused smirk adoring his makeup coated lips.
"Norma Jean, great choice. She truly was beautiful." Glancing back toward Alexander I all but smirked at the confusion etched in every feature of his handsome face. "Something the matter, Alexander? Haven't a clue whom she might be?" Alexander's glare can be something fierce, but not enough to ever make me back down. He may be twice my size, but I choose not to let him--or any other (forgetting my father)--push me around.
"Shut it, Addy." The venom he'd put in speaking the nickname given to me because of my girlish figure made the girl behind me cringe. I merely rolled my eyes before agitating him more.
"Do you truly wish me female that much? I knew you wanted me, Alexander, but this is going to extremes." His face fell into a look of beautiful disgust only to please me all the more with the outcome of this mornings little spat.
"Mr. Ashlin, could you please turn around?" Ms. Kinnerson asked. I nodded, doing as I'm told. Interlocking my fingers, I set them atop my assigned desk before turning my full attention to the woman paid to teach Mathematics.
"You let it go on longer today than usual." Ms. Kinnerson sighed with a quick nod of her head, pointing to a problem on the board for me to answer.
"I've given up." A simple answer that I knew would come in time. It's only mid-October and already a new set of teachers have stopped coming between Alexander and I. "Please answer the problem, Atticus."
"Aye, Miss." My attention diverted to the chalk-y problem written across the blackboard: 21-11x=7y+3x Solve for y. "Y equals three plus two X," I gave my answer with a bored tone as simple Mathematics give no amusement to me. Ms. Kinnerson nodded, moving on with the lesson knowing full well I understand this more than anyone.

After another set of chimes from the school bell the halls emptied out of students, filling into their next class before they’re marked tardy. My feet scuffed across the tiled floor, keeping up with a slow pace until my destination came into view. Thoughts swarmed around in my mind of different images for my next work, and the different mediums to be used in new ways.
Making my way into the enchanted room (also known as the Art room), I quickly hurried to the far off corner I had claimed as mine. It serves many uses to me; helping along with the creative process. Setting a newly gesso’d canvas up on the easel before setting up the different colors to be used in my newest work. The image shinning in my mind, holding tight to allow the masterpiece to slowly unfold onto the canvas; starting with simple lines and shapes of color before adding shades and depth. I allowed myself to get lost in the different brush strokes, not paying any mind to my surroundings.
“-disturbing and, like, extremely crazy.” Losing focus on the painting before me for a moment, only to listen to the words of a wannabe speaking her thoughts about me. Taking a quick glance at the painting I have just started I couldn’t help but to wonder what it is that started to make the town believe I’m clinically insane.
“Why?” I asked without turning around. I could feel her eyes on me, tearing into my back with disgust.
“Why what, freak?”
“Why am I disturbing and ‘like, extremely crazy?’” I asked, mimicking her toward the end. She scuffed causing me to turn around. As I assumed she towered over my short figure, a perfectly manicured hand places on her hip in annoyance.
“Have you, like, looked in the mirror lately?” Taking a quick glance at my attire I found nothing wrong with my steel-toed Doc Martin boots, black skinny-fit jeans, or white and gray stripped ‘Toxic Waste of Space’ tee.
“Actually, no. Is there something you find wrong with my attire?” She rolled her eyes, and pursed her pink lips.
“Ugh, can’t you just, like, disappear or something?” I raised an eyebrow at her, trying to see what offense she assumes I’d take from that.
“You can leave.” Her mouth fell open as I turned around to continue work on my painting, allowing the colors and strokes to overtake my person once more.