2. Mad World

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"All around me are familiar faces, worn out places, worn out faces . . ."

"Pencils down, papers up!"

Mrs. Stowers begins to walk through the aisles in-between the desks, collecting the papers. I look down at my essay. It's a full page and a half, probably the most I've written in a long time. I don't quite know how it happened, I guess I just sort of said what I've been wanting to say for a few years now.

When I look back up, Mrs. Stowers is looking down at me expectantly. My eyes trail down from her face to her arm, and all the way to her bony hand. It's extended out towards me, palm facing upward. I hesitate for a moment. Do I really want her to read this?

"Ms. Reese?" she asks. Instantly I feel everyone's eyes on me, and I would do anything to get rid of the feeling. I comply, handing my paper over. She skims the lines of the notebook paper before glancing back at me. "Thank you," she says. I slide down into my seat.

After she's done picking up all of the papers, she walks over to her desk and shuffles them into a stack. I watch her sit down before picking a paper out of the stack and reading it. There's no doubt it's mine, even from this distance I can still make out the crease in the top right corner of my paper.

What will she think about what I had to say? Will my father find out?

I silently curse myself for ever putting those words down onto paper. I had kept them in my head for all of these years, and now they were on display for everyone to see.

Suddenly the bell rings, marking the end of first period. The bodies around me begin to move, the sound of chair legs screeching against tile filling the room. I slowly stand up and gather my things before walking towards the door. I pass Mrs. Stowers' desk, and I can feel her eyes on me as I do. I expect her to say something, but she doesn't.

The hallway is crowded when I leave the classroom. Bodies pour out of the classrooms like fish in a stream, joining the sea of people just outside their doors. Familiar faces pass me by as I push my way through the bodies, receiving glares and a few choice words in response but I just ignore them.

When I reach my locker, I feel like I can breathe for the first time in a long time. Walking along beside people that you go to school with, spend almost all day with, can feel very liberating to some. Maybe it's just me, but there's something suffocating about the whole ordeal. I don't know, I just don't feel secure being amongst my peers. I don't feel like I belong.

I hate how everyone sees me. I'm Lyza Reese, daughter of the beloved town's very own Chief of Police. I'm the quiet-until-you-get-to-know-her type of girl, one with perfect grades and thick, curly hair that seems much too big for her petite frame. I have somehow accumulated numerous friends over the years, despite my shy, introverted nature, and oh, how lucky they are to have gotten the quiet girl to open up and speak.

Although I don't like to look at myself that way, I guess I'd be lying if I said that I don't recognize bits and pieces to the puzzle everyone has made of me. I'll admit, I am the shy girl sitting in the back of the classroom, always keeping quiet to herself. I have always been good in school, but I have to study just like everyone else.

Quickly, I gather the necessary materials for my next class. I sigh to myself as I rush down the hall. It seems that I'm always late nowadays.

The day passes at an agonizingly slow pace. I end up spending half of it trying to stay awake, and the other half trying not to rip my hair out at something someone did or said. I've always hated the public school system— the school itself and the teachers and students that fill their corridors are things that I can do without.

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