ᴰᴿᴵᴺᴷ ᴹᴼᴿᴱ ᵂᴬᵀᴱᴿ

ᵖºᵘʳ ˢᵃˡᵗ ᵃˡˡ ºᵛᵉʳ ᵘˢ

        The air's fresh. The pine and oak trees surrounding us adds a serene mood to the car while we speed down the road. The trees reeked of the upcoming autumn and the clouds in sky merged and melded into each other, getting ready to pour salt all over us. But, the air's still this warm, loving mother and the road, our tour guide.

        Eliott's speeding down the road, with the currents whipping his hair all over his face. His eyes are squinted, and his irises are now a vibrant green, matching some of the leaves his car's trampling. The beating of his heart's louder than the winds itself, matching every bump we hit. 

        The trees start to get more and more nonexistent and the houses pop up in multiples, proving that the road was leading us to academic hell.  The air rots quickly, with children and adults crowding the sidewalks, making nature choke. I run my hands down my face in agony, and my backpack becomes too heavy. Everyone's yelling. Everyone's meeting up with friends. Everyone's on the grass. Everyone's in front of the building.

        Everyone's everywhere. Eliott swerves in front of the school, almost running over a few spatially unaware cunts. He stops the gas and he touches my shoulder, probably trying to give me strength. I stare out at the sign, Marlboro Heights High School. The green grass is too green clearly cut and painted over to appear more friendly. The main building is beige and massive, and connected to two other massive buildings. This may be the type of school that people call certain places "wings" because there isn't one floor for English classes or one floor for History classes. The people aren't that diverse. I see a sea of 80% white, 20% beige. My brother chuckles and I look at him.

"Senior year isn't easy, bud. Good luck."

"Thanks, but I think I'll survive in this sort of place."  

"If you just find two or three guys and a girl to have, you'll be sane."

        I climb out of the car and slam the door shut. I give him one last salute and he speeds away, almost hitting another teenage on the road. He honks at the poor kid and rolls down the window just to flip him off. no blood on the expensive car, you knitwit. 

        By walking down the walkway to the blue double doors, I get stares from basically everyone sitting and standing on the plastic grass. I guess this is one of those small neighborhoods where everyone knows if you're pregnant or not. Or one of those close knit communities where an incest cult scandals comes out of. No matter what this place is, I'm sweating in my sweatshirt. 

        A lanky teacher with huge frames greets me at the doors and opens one for me. He looks like fresh meat. I flash a quick smile and walk past him into people vomit. There are teens at their lockers, getting them open and already stuffing tons of supplies in them. There are mirrors, mini cabinets, pencil holders flooding through the whole highway. Teachers are patrolling up and down the hallway while introducing themselves to students or telling them putting shaving razors in their lockers are against the rules. 

        I navigate through the crowd, pushing against jerseys and kilts and blazers. A sign comes within my line of vision and I push through to the front office. The office is massive, a hospital's waiting room replica. There are parents and kids sitting at some of the seats, while an adult, presumably a teacher, giggles up the receptionist.

        Once he's done sucking face with the receptionist, I approach her with my nicest smile on. She's middle-aged with grounded cinnamon skin and hazel eyes peeping out from vintage frames. Her blouse and skirt suggests this is a job she does just to be serving society. the photos on the bulletin  board behind her depict an easy life with a well-to-do husband. She taps away at her computer while smiling back at me.