Pencils & Polaroids

01: fuchsia pink locker

"I hate school with every bone in my body." And that's how badly the tables have turned. 

I scrutinize the word 'MELLONCHOLY' sharpied across my now fuchsia pink locker. An awful attempt at my doodle is taped on the handle of my locker door. My dark blonde hair is depicted in bubblegum pink, my brown eyes with a spotting magenta, and my skin colored in taffy. 

Before I get a closer look at the creativity of my doodle outfit, Samantha wrenches the paper, crumbles it into a ball, and tosses it to the nearest trash bin. She misses the aim but because she's the only living human on my team, I refrain from making fun of her aim. 

Despite the powerful urge. 

"Jobless bullies." She mutters, watching my crumbled doodle with distaste. I wait for the stare-off between her and the ball of paper to end when a very similar Mystic Falls scene settles in the back of my mind. 

I flatten my palm on her shoulder, trying to calm her down. "Easy there, Bonnie Bennet. Witchcraft is the last thing we need right now." 

Her eye roll reaches me seconds before her groan. "You seriously cannot be okay with this. There was absolutely no reason for him to spoil our first day of Senior year." 

The way she says 'our first day' even though her locker is completely fine and doodle-free makes me appreciate my platonic best friend's loyalty to a greater extent. She found me in grade seven right after I won the debate competition. After a number of ice cream dates, sleepovers, and teaming up against the worst kids at school, we became inseparable. 

Everything's not the same after five years though. Our girly bikes have been replaced with cars that we alternate every week to give each other lifts to school, our sleepovers are destined once a month because of all the internships and workshops we've taken up, and even though we don't talk every day, we've reached a stage in our friendship where we won't hesitate to kill for each other. 

For instance, the way she's looking at the crumbled paper ball tells me the gun inside her head is loaded and she's going to pull the trigger any time soon. 

Jokes and praises apart, she was right. 

The sight of my locker makes me sick. "Of course, I'm not okay with this. It's pink." Then, I glance at the remaining never-ending rows of lockers all matching the decent and original blue metal. "If there is one thing I've made clear to this world, it is my disliking towards Rainer Dog Barcross and the color pink." 

Sam continuously nods, supporting my venting with her mouth opening and closing in intervals. She finally decides to blurt it out. "Not the color, Park. I think you should be having a problem with his act of painting one out of five thousand lockers as a prank. He might be the headmistress's son but he cannot," she inhaled, "should not be allowed to cause this level of nuisance. Rules have been broken and he should pay." 

My eyes remain fixated on the uneven fuchsia-pink brush strokes. "I don't care about the rules. It's pink! My locker is pink and he is going to pay." I hold my hand out, "Sharpie.' 

Sam hesitates but she fetches out the black marker pen and places it in my palm. "I think you should report it rather than--"

"Nope. Revenge it is." I shake my head and stomp my way to the other side of the wall. 

Ignoring the crowd I've gathered, I uncap the marker and recheck the locker to ensure it belongs to the school's golden boy. Without lifting the marker even once, I draw a big small penis (if you know what I mean) with BARK written on the small body of the sketched cock. 

I'm not the same person anymore. My retortion isn't sugarcoated at all. Frankly, a lot has changed over the last five years—the fake nerd glasses I wore to look smart are gone once one of Rainer's puppets called me Mellon Khalifa, I lost my teddy bear bracelet three years ago and since then, luck hasn't been a friend. My father and I became distant (literally), I came second the whole of last year and let Rainer top the Star Student chart and take home the Student Of The Term award (just once, but still). I was in a thirteen-day-relationship with a senior narc, I discerned that my best friend sucks at being a bitch so I have to fill the spite for both of us, and I may have developed little trust issues along with a list of other coping mechanisms—but hey, despite all of the changes, one fortunate ascent is my rivalry with Rainer Barcross elevating to sheer hatred.