Angelic

Angelic: Chapter 3

Mia walks me to every single one of my classes, narrating everything she possibly can.  When we pass someone in the hallway, she tells me their name and who their friends are, if she’s pointed them out to me already.  She gives me a full run down on each teacher.  What their pet peeves are and how to get on their good side. 

Throughout the rest of the day, I’m given the oddest stairs.  It’s not the ‘who is that kid’ look, its more of a mystified look, given to both Mia and I.  Maybe Mia doesn’t usually hang out with new kids.  The strangest part is that they’re staring at me more.  How could they possibly stare at me when she’s standing right there, practically glowing? 

I’m shocked that I even notice.  Mostly, I have to concentrate on not concentrating on Mia.  I’m starting to freak myself out, with all sorts of questions that have no good answers.

Lunch is…different.  I follow Mia diligently to a round table with a cluster of average looking girls.  They all pause to look up at her, but then get back to whatever they were doing.  Apparently, they’ve all developed immunity to her.  At least it’s possible.

“Sari, this is Ella,” Mia says, smiling adoringly at a relatively short girl with brown hair cut barely past her chin.  She has a severe, sharp type of face, the type that reminds me of a bird. 

I haven’t the slightest ideas why she introduced me to Ella, and not the rest of her friends.  Ella sits next to Mia the entire time, hanging onto her every word, almost as under her spell as I was.  It’s nice to have some time when the girl isn’t just watching me.  Almost.  Still, every thirty seconds she flashes me a look out of the corner of her eye, or suddenly says something to me like we never stopped talking.

I decide, with Mia occupied elsewhere, I should at least try to meet some new people.  I mean, I can be nice.

I turn to the girl sitting a few feet away, but still next to me.  “Hey, I’m Sarionah.  What’s your name?”

She turns from her friend, with whom she had been trading grapes for a granola bar.  Her moss green eyes are cautious, and they flash quickly to Mia’s face before she responds, “Genevieve,” and abruptly turns away.

            Weird.  I know I’m the ‘new kid’ but I can’t have a bad reputation already.  There’s nothing wrong with me, is there?  I look just like any other kid here.  Brown hair, blue eyes, average weight and, perhaps abnormally tall, but not so much that they would treat me differently. 

            Maybe it’s just this Genevieve girl.  She’s probably just some stuck up snob.  I try her friend, who seems to have a bright smile that’s almost as white as her hair.

            “Hey,” I say, leaning around Genevieve.  When she doesn’t respond, I add, “I’m Sarionah.  What’s your name?”

            “Anne,” she breathes, automatically leaning in closer to me, her smile awestruck.

            “That’s a pretty name,” I comment, glad her reaction is so different from Genevieve’s.

            Then, suddenly, her eyes whiz to Mia, back to my face.  She snaps, “Plain, more like it,” before she catches herself and turns away from me to talk to someone else.

            Weird.  Brooke didn’t seem to have any aversion to me earlier today, and neither did the secretary or the kids in the hall earlier.  Mum didn’t say anything about me growing a third foot or anything.

            I quietly eat my food, examining everyone at the table.  They all seem very careful, too careful, to not look my way.  When they do, and they catch me seeing, they immediately start talking animatedly to a neighbor.

            I’ll talk to Brooke the next time I see her, I convince myself.  If she doesn’t shy away from me, then maybe nothing has changed.

            “Don’t worry about them,” Mia suddenly says, her lips quivering barely an inch from my ear, gently brushing the hair.  My eyebrows automatically scrunch up.  Have I really been that apparent at my confusion in their automatic disliking with me?  Maybe that was why none of them seemed keen to talk to me.  Mia breathes in my ear again when I don’t respond, “They just don’t understand people like us.”

            People like us?  What was ‘us’?  Maybe people didn’t understand people like her, what, with her overwhelming beauty and all, but me?  I’ve always been an open book.  I tell people how I feel.  I’m really not all that secretive.  I’m nothing from the ordinary.  Just another blue eyed girl with average grades and average boy troubles.  People understand me all right.  The first time they meet me, they dub me ‘bold’ or ‘thoughtful’ or ‘rude’, and they’re usually correct.

            My eyebrows must be so close together by now that they’ve turned to one long mass of hair.  “Us?” I ask, not bothering to lower my voice.

            “You’ll see, soon enough,” she says with a dazzling smile as she pats my shoulder.  Again, her touch is warm.  This time, it doesn’t send currents through my veins.  It feels like the touch of a family member, a sister; something deeper than merely friends.