A close call to midnight

Belle

I grimace as I walk past the movie poster for tonight. There is no way I would go see that. The bullies have enough moments to bully me during the day; I won't give them extra at night.

 I automatically walk to the library, which is actually already closed, but I got the key from Amelia, an older woman with a gray bun. She is one of the librarians from there. 

"This place never has to be closed for you." 

She had whispered that sweetly in my ear. It was almost a year ago now. Back then, I already loved that place.

 I gently turn the key in the lock and push the large wooden door from the library open with a squeak. I walk all the way to the back, then use a match to light a candle in the window frame. I could just turn on the lights, but that would ruin the area's atmosphere and, above all, the mystery.

 I go sit down in a comfortable big red armchair. I want to bend over to grab The Waste Land from my bag when I remember giving it to Finn.

 I guess I will have to read something else then. Maybe change is a good thing; I could already dream that whole poem anyway. 

I get up thoughtfully and walk to the cupboard with poetry books. Ava, the other library lady, let me take as many books from here as I wanted; I didn't even officially borrow them anymore.

 I close my eyes, and on a blind guess, I pick one book from the cupboard. I happily open it after seeing which one I got. Shakespeare's sonnets! I love Shakespeare's sonnets, especially Sonnet 18. 

When I walk back to the sofa, I first turn on the radio very quietly. I prefer reading with music. 

I don't know why I love poems so much. They just touch me in a way nothing else can... 

What I enjoy most is trying to understand what a poem is about; no poet has ever written something without meaning.

 I start reading, and soon, I am entirely in my own world. I hum softly along to the words from the music while sometimes underlining things in the book with a pencil; this book is, of course, not mine, so I must be able to erase my notes again. 

I am many years ahead of my age in the literature I read. I am aware of that. All the teachers here admire me.

 I feel a stab in my heart. If only the children at this school would admire me like that for once. 

As always, when I'm sad, I roll up my sleeve. I look at my cuts. You would expect me to feel something while looking at them, but It does nothing to me; I feel nothing - only emptiness.

 I want to grab my pocket knife and make another cut when I remember my library boycott. I'm not allowed to cut myself in this place; the library is too beautiful for that. I pull my sleeve down again and read on. 

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day," I whisper. 

Sighing, I close the book. I'm not really in the mood for Shakespeare today. I take Ulysses out of my bag.

 Mrs. Thompson, the English teacher, says I am eligible for a scholarship already. 

"Maybe even Yale or Harvard," she said with a smile during our last conversation.

 Younger me would have jumped for joy hearing something like that; now it just makes me mad. I really don't see myself making it to a college-going age. 

At half past 11, I start to get tired, and I decide to lock the library and head back to my room. I am carrying Shakespeare's Sonnets in my bag, though; maybe tomorrow, I will be in the mood for them again.

 I walk back to my room, it is dark in the hallways. I stop for a moment in front of the canteen. The door is open, and the movie is still running. I hesitate for a moment and then go inside. The back row with chairs is empty. 

After a few minutes, I find it boring, so I get up. A few children look up because I push my chair back with some noise. I feel my face turning red. 

Coming in here was a mistake. I wait for a mean comment from someone, but everyone is already facing the screen again. I think the dark saves me; no one can see who I am. I walk silently out of the canteen as fast as I can.

 Back in my room, I put on my pajamas, put my hair in a bun, and brush my teeth. When I want to lie down in bed, a cold gust of wind catches my attention. I always leave my window slightly open, but I am a little chilly right now, so I decide to close it. 

I think all my roommates are still at movie night. I saw nobody in our dorm. 

 People sometimes think it is my fault that I have no friends, like my parents, they say: you never attend any social activities. But they don't get it; everyone there has friends at those activities. You won't find anyone without friends, and squeezing yourself between an already established group is not doable, especially at our age. Teenagers are mean. 

Does it bother me that I have no friends? Yes and no. It is, of course, a bit of a rhetorical question.

Everyone wants at least one person they can always turn to, a person they can share their feelings with and have a laugh with. But do I mind that I don't have that person? No, I can do without it, but yeah, it hurts a little sometimes.

 It is not even the point that I don't have friends; I understand that no one likes me, but why do they have to bully me. That is the problem. Just leave me alone. I can manage to be alone; I have my weird books. I will be fine. But don't bully me. Just leave me be. 

I can't help it that I'm not good enough for you guys, can I? 

Maybe I can... 

Yes, of course, I can do something about it: 

Don't be so nerdy; do things that normal teenagers do, like partying, playing games, and not memorizing Shakespeare's sonnets. 

But why should I pretend to be something other than who I really am? It hurts that I don't have any friends, but at least I am myself.. 

I fall asleep with that thought playing over and over again in my head. 

At least I am myself...