We're Ghosts in a Hail of Bullets

The next day came by very suddenly. I blinked a few times after laying down and before I knew it the sun was up. After the third time or so I didn't bother staying asleep because it was already five-thirty in the morning. My dad would wake me up somewhere around six so I watched the sun rise and lit a few candles. My room smelled of Pomegranate Cider and Vanilla Lime, or at least those are what their labels said. Either way my room smelled good. The old stench of a broken home was gone. Through the bare windows, the sun shown through. I could feel the heat press again the right side of my face as I sat with my knees to my chest. I rested my chin on one knee, thinking of yesterday. The way my mistake stayed on my mind made me feel more pathetic by the minute. I fell into a short-lived rut of depression and unnecessary sadness. It didn't take me long to realize that my sadness was pointless. I watched the sunrise and it calmed me down. Soon the sun got too bright though and I had to look away. As I did my dad stepped into my room, knocking a few times before entering. He smiled, seeing that I was already up and that he wouldn't have to fight me out of bed.

"Are you excited?" He asked. I wanted to say yes, but I thought it would be weird so I only shrugged. I just realized that I have yet to introduce my father. His name is Manuel Edward Ramsey. He was born and raised in Burlington like my mother, brother, and I. He's fifty-something year old. His name shifts from fifty-three to fifty-six to fifty-five every year. He's a short man, around five foot six. After years of drinking he's grown a beer-gut but he wears it proud. Back in Burlington he worked in factory producing car parts for GM. He found a better opportunity here working the same job but better hours, better pay, and he gets to be his own boss. He trains some of the rookies. He's worked with the same company for almost forty years if my math is right. For the first thirty years they used old school machines. They were loud, messy, oily, and dangerous. My use to fix them whenever they would break. He's lost two nails and the tip of his right ring finger, he has numerous scars that slash up and down both arms, he still has some cuts, and his hands are worn down and look broken. Now that the company installed electronic machines, he has less cuts and wounds. My dad and I look almost nothing a like except that we're short. He has dark brown eyes and dark brown hair that laid on his shoulders. He kept it a tight ponytail to make himself look Italian, but he wasn't Italian. He's a small pudgy Irish man with a little bit of Blackfoot Native American. For as long as I can remember my dad has looked the same. He's worn the same go-tee for sixteen years. Maybe even before that. The only difference that I can see is that it's graying. My father is a humble man. He works hard and earns everything that he has. He's full of love and compassion which was always his best attribute. I've never seen him yell or get too upset. I will always be daddy's little girl. He would hold me when I would cry and keep me safe if I was scared. I absolutely love my dad. Today was his first day at the new plant. I wonder if we shared the same enthusiasm, but I wouldn't ask. I don't think anyone is ever excited to go to work unless you're a rock star or porn star.

"Are you okay?" He asked me, sitting on the side of my bed. He was still in pajamas and his hair was a mess. His eyes were half shut, showing how tired he was. It amazed me that he still had time to care for me even if he was tired.

"I'm fine, Dad," I said, showing him a mild smirk, "I just didn't get that much sleep," He patted the top of my head and then kissed it before heading back out of my door, shuffling his feet. He looked up at the chalkboard, tilting his head in confusion.

"Who the hell is Tate?" Dad asked, chuckling a little bit. I took a deep breath, thinking as I did. I could easily tell him that he was the neighbor's son but then we would break off into a big discussion that I didn't want.

"A guy from this band," I lied. I didn't lie this much. I loved honesty, but if I told my dad that Tate was a boy from across the street then he would ask me a million questions and I just couldn't be bothered. My cup of patience hadn't been filled yet. I couldn't bare a long conversation at that moment. Dad shook his head as if I were crazy and then left my room, quietly shutting the door as he did. I rested my head on the metal bars of my bed's head board, thinking to myself that everything would be okay. Tate would forgive for whatever I did and that I shouldn't worry myself with such stupid things. This helped me get out of bed and into some clothes. I wanted to make an impression for Halloween, so, I dug into a few boxes, picking out some Victorian looking skirts and tu-tus that I bought from Hot Topic back in Vermont. I had the corsets to match. I always had a thing for Hot Topic but I could never wear it everyday. I did enjoy dressing up though. I laid out three outfits that all looked the same. They were all black tu-tus and corsets with some metallic type of fabric over it but they were different colors. One was dark blue, another was red, and the last one was green. Each had some sort of lace or ribbon or chain on it and I had stockings to match. In the spirit of Halloween, I picked the green one because I wanted to look like a witch. I had this ankle high granny boots with black lace through the lace holes. They were cute and witch-looking. I began to take off my pajama's, feeling the cold of the house against my skin. I shivered furiously, trying my hardest to unbutton all of the tiny little hooks on the corset. When I finally got that done, I searched for a black bra and put the rest of my clothes on.
I stood in the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror. I was never a fan of make-up because it never looked good on me, but today Halloween and perhaps a little bit of eyeliner would add to the costume. After I was done brushing my teeth and straightening all of my curls, I applied a small amount of black eyeliner. I tried to keep it as thin as possible. I took a second look at myself and tried to think of all the thinks I could hear today. Would people like my outfit? Would they like me? Would they even notice I was there? My only fear was falling into the background. I wanted to be noticed and meet new people, but I knew that I wouldn't talk to anybody. People would have to approach me, but as I found out in my first hour, no one would. The first class room teacher that I met was a large woman named Mrs. McClellan. She taught Foods One. It was a classroom full of Freshmen and I'm a Junior. She attempted to introduce me to them, but their showed their disinterest. They didn't care who I was. Half of them had their heads down and were asleep. The other half were girls who looked at me as fresh meat to pick off and devour. Of course, Mrs. M as she liked to be called, sat me down at a table full of hungry young girls. My positive attitude unfortunately left my body once I set my backpack down. They all stared at me. I never got a name from any of them. They would only give cold, dark, and deadly stares that told me, "We don't know, but we don't like you,". I sank in my seat a notebook resting on my knees. I found comfort in writing as I sat in the back with these four vicious girls. Mrs. M talked about measuring and portions. I quickly checked out mentally.

Something smart inside of my brain died and a something stupid took it's place. Let's call it courage. I leaned over my notebook, looking up at the four girls who just sat their texting and twirling their hair as they chewed bubblegum, very stereotypically. "Excuse me," I said quietly. They all looked at me with intense hatred. Their eight eyes all pierced into mine and caused my heart to drop. "What time does this class let out?" I found myself stuttering in complete fear. One of them, a light colored brunette with striking green eyes, simply pointed to a poster on the wall that was taped next to me. It showed all the different hours and what time they started and ended. "Thank you," I whispered in defeat. I didn't dare talk to them again. When the bell rang, I grabbed my backpack and ran out of that room.
The hallways were weird at Westfield. There were so many turns and signs. My second hour was a Physics class but I couldn't find the room. All the students intimidated me for the fact that my first hour set their impression. I did find a guidance counselor that pointed me in the right direction and I ended up finding the classroom. The class practically shunned me for being late, like they were so great. The teacher, a man named Mr. Hejka, greeted me with a smiling.

"A fresh new face must mean that you're the new student," He said. The class sat up straight to get a good look at me and the laid their heads back down, obviously not impressed. A few people whispered among each other. "Annalee Ramsey?" He questioned, glancing at a clipboard.

"Yeah," I answered. I couldn't look anybody in the eye so I looked at my granny boots and the dirty tiled floor. Hejka handed me a purple Physics book and pointed me to an empty seat in the second vertical row. I sat next to two boys who ignored me. They were both jocks, obviously from their gray and blue letter men's jackets. They would talk to each other with me in the middle. Sometimes I would look at one of them, thinking they were talking to me, but their dumbfounded looks told me that they were. I sank back into my seat, praying that the next hour would be better. It was. It was an English class. I was actually good at English and the subject being Composition, which was writing, made it even better. I almost sighed with relief when I walked in. This teacher didn't make me stand up and then introduce myself. Instead she showed me to a seat on the left side of the room and told me her name was Mrs. Weber. She was kind lady with short, bright blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. Her cheery nature had to come naturally because her first name was Sunshine. A person in that class actually talked to me too. It was nice. Her name was Jessica Borleno. She was short like I was and just as dorky. She wore straight black jeans with a black, graphic t-shirt that was one size too big. Her hair was long, curly, frizzy, and brown. Her eyes were brown as well. When she smiled she showed a mouth full of braces.

"I like you gauges," She said to me. It was the first thing she said. I had double zero sized gauges in each ear lobe, but I made sure my hair covered them. I was surprised that she noticed, but I took the compliment.

"I have my tongue pierced too," I said, sticking out my tongue to show her. She smiled nice and wide in approval.

"I'm Jessica," she told me, extending her arm. I took her hand and shook it, telling her my name was Anna. "Welcome to Westfield," she said. We didn't talk the rest of the hour but that was fine. Our small conversation was enough for me. I could walk into my fourth hour with a smile and a slight hint of confidence. Fourth hour was a Math class. Algebra Two to be exact. The teacher was Mrs. Schlack. She looked like a soccer mom but with a good sense of humor. She had frizzy, dirty, blonde hair and gray eyes. She could only be about forty. She told the class my name, after sitting me down and handing me the book. "You're from..." she began but not knowing my actual state of origin.

"Vermont," I said for her. Schlack nodded and smiled. No one cared. The class stayed to themselves, besides one boy who just went as Prater (Pray-ter). At first he wouldn't tell me his first name. He had long, flippy, light brown hair that covered his eyes. I could only catch glimpses whenever he would flip his hair. He asked me where Vermont was located.

"By the east cost, under New Hampshire," I answered. He was a skater punk. Everything he wore had a Volcon symbol on it besides his shoes which were DC's.

"So you from way the fuck over there," He said, waving his arm. I smiled and nodded.

"I'm a long way from home," I said almost sadly. Prater simply nodded and then turned back around. In the middle of class the bell rang, telling us all that it was lunch. We had B lunch. There were three lunches. A, B, and C. A began before fourth hour, B began in the middle, and C was towards the end. I heard that A was the best lunch because the food was fresh, but I didn't complete. I didn't eat anyways. My dad gave five dollars to spend but the line was too long and I didn't want to waste my time. I knew no one in that lunch so far so I sat outside in the large courtyard. There was a memorial tree that stood tall and proud in the middle with it's own little plaque. Everyone seemed to crowd around so I avoided it and sat at a loner table in a corner. I sat there on the stone bench, tapping a pen against the stone table, waiting for lunch to be over. No one bothered to talk me. They all had little groups that they probably formed back in Elementary school. Everyone looked the same from my view. The girls were all tall and pretty with beautiful shiny hair and mobs of friends. The boys looked like jocks or preps with clusters of desperate girls, fighting for their attention. One girl caught my eye. She kept flipping her god damn hair like she was making a statement and she giggled constantly. It scratched at my brain like nails. I didn't know her name and I didn't want to. She was a popular girl, obviously. She had a group of friends that looked like house maids, catering to her every whim. She had long, straight, brown hair and she was too far away to see her eyes. I could see pounds of make up spread across her face and her light pink lip-gloss shined on her lips. I didn't like her face and there for I didn't like her. I know that sounds so high school, but I'm in high school. There were girls that made me feel like that.
I sat in my lonesome for what felt like an hour. There was no clock in the courtyard so I went by my phone which told me that it had only been ten minutes. I was so disappointed, but I almost burst with happiness when I saw that someone actually sat down at the same table as me. When I looked up to see who my visitor was, you could imagine my surprise when I saw shaggy blonde hair, deep dark eyes like midnight fire and that familiar grin.

"You don't go here," I said in my confusion. Tate sat across from me looking better than he did when he left yesterday.

"I wanted to see you on your first day," he smiled, "I like the witch outfit. It looks really cute on you," I blushed a bit, but looked down so he wouldn't see. I didn't want to say to him after yesterday and I think he could tell due to the awkward silence between us. He bit his top lip and sighed, "I'm sorry," he said quietly. He said it so sadly but I knew he said a lot more with those two words.

"You're forgiven," I replied, looking up but twisting my lips. His smile came back which caused mine to come back in a lovely chain reaction.

He looked around and then leaned over saying, "Don't let anyone here get to you,". I was a bit puzzled. It came out of nowhere but I took the warning since he went here before me. Tate knew better than I did. "So," he began, "make any new friends yet?"

"No. Two people have talked to me in the past four hours," I answered.

"Who?" he asked.

"Uh...Jessica Borleno and some guy named Prater," I replied trying to think back. Their names didn't come as quickly as I thought they would.

"Don't know them," Tate said quicker then looked around the courtyard. He peered around at his surroundings like a birds before finding my face again. He set his hands on the tables and twiddled his fingers. "Do you mind if I get closer?" he asked. I nodded slightly. Within a second he swung himself around the table and sat right neck to me. Our shoulders were touching and it sent the familiar shivers down my spine. I felt even more pathetic. I wanted to tell myself to stop it. It was only Tate. It's not like he was some amazing, romantic, whimsical character from a teenage love story. It was just Tate. My next door neighbor. What was he though? A friend? Yeah. Sure. Why not?
"Any one mess with you?" he asked. I shook my head and then looked around the courtyard. I pointed to the girl with the annoying laugh.

"Do you know her?" I asked. Tate shook his head and bit the corner of his bottom lip.

"She looks like a total stuck up bitch though," he said and then chuckled. I smiled with him.

"This school seems to be full of them. These girls in my first hour practically ripped my face off when I asked them what time the class ended," I said as I shook my head and twirled my hair. Tate's expression went completely serious as he turned to me.

"What are their names?" he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders and said, "No idea." He looked so mad as he looked back out to the courtyard. He seemed to be searching for them without a description.

"If they fuck with you tomorrow will you tell me?" he questioned. He began to fidget with his hair as a nervous habit. I had them too. I only nodded and laid myself on his shoulder. I don't know why I did. I had a feeling it was because I was tired and I wanted this day to pass by. Tate was the closest thing to a pillow that I had, but of course the bell had to ring. I hated the fact that I could sit here for twenty five minutes and it would feel like hours, but the moment Tate entered this boring moment and made it fun, the twenty five minutes passed in seconds. We both stood up and gave the other a tight hug. I felt him kiss the top of my head before departing with me. My heart began to beat out of my chest when his lips touched my head. Imagine how I could react if he actually kiss me. I would probably melt. I would hope not though. I liked my body in solid form. It sucked watching him leave. He jogged away from the school, trying not to get caught by guards or teachers.
Besides Tate showing up to school, I only had one other, somewhat, exciting moment in school. It was more scary than exciting actually. In my American Government class with Mr. Diponio, I had to stand up and inform the class of five things that I enjoy. Mr. Diponio served in the U.S. Marines for some time so he didn't care about humiliating students.

"Well, I like writing and drawing. I can't live without music. I like my parents," I began, "I've become pretty fond of oxygen," I said as a smart ass answer.

"Where are you from?" Diponio asked as I was about to sit back down.

"Burlington, Vermont," I answered. I began to crouch back down to sit, but he had more questions.

"Favorite U.S. President?" He asked.

"Ugh...I don't know. Roosevelt?" I tried to replied. He asked me six more pointless questions before I was allowed to sit down. He asked me my favorite color, American ally, country, subject, and what I thought of the United States military. I told him that the military was doing a fine job. I would've told him anything to sit down. After that class was Choir. I was in Chorus, which was nice. Most girls had to start in Cantando, which was full of Freshmen so I was thankful to have Chorus. No one talked to me again which was annoying. Choir was always my strong suit back in Vermont. I loved to sing and I was pretty good at it, but no one noticed. I fell into the background so I sat there in the fetal position.