Lost In The Fray

One

Nia

I don't pay attention as I follow the receptionist through the empty corridors of the buzzing school, struggling to hear her over the pounding in my ears. She might as well be shouting at me through a brick wall. The list of rooms she thinks I'll need are accompanied by the flick of her wrist, her pointer finger extended. Canteen; common room; great hall; library; the shiny new sports centre the school uses as its selling point. I lose interest, aiming to avoid these rooms this year.

Three different buildings tower over a large courtyard, trapping me like a caged animal. Even without students swarming through the space, I'm suffocated by the vastness of this school. More space means one thing – more eyes to follow the new kid as she gets lost between her classes.

Was it too much to ask for art, humanities, and languages to be in the same building?

I pause, encapsulated by silence. A thick, awkward silence wrapping around me like a fog.

I turn to Linda, trying beyond hope to figure out why she's staring at me with her eyebrows lifted behind her fringe.
"Sorry," I mutter, shame distorting my single word.

"I know it's overwhelming, love." Short, dyed-blonde hair frames an aged face of old smiles and days spent in the sun. "I asked if there was anything else."
She smiles at me sweetly, and my stomach churns. The upturn of her lips is too forced. The gentleness in her eyes isn't natural. Sympathy. Pity. The stares of people who know about my disease. I want to look away, to hide beneath my hood and my hair, but Dad's gentle reminder to be polite today circles my mind. And so, I smile.

"Mr Pickford's office." I pray, tensing every morsel of my body, this wasn't one of the rooms she pointed out already. I'm not ready for that level of humiliation.

"Down there, lovely." She points behind me to a gloomy corridor with a low ceiling, more suffocating than the rest of the school. "Last door on the right."

I thank her and turn to begin my descent.

"If you need anything else, you know where I am."

I thank her, yet again, over my shoulder and step beyond the threshold. I expect she's watching me leave, checking I won't collapse. How much of this do I need to endure? How many teachers will treat me differently? How long before the students find out too?

The thoughts force the walls close in around me, a band tightening across my chest.

I refuse to stumble or turn. Refuse to let Linda see any ounce of weakness she thinks of me.

Doors line the hallway, some open some not, and I keep my gaze on my boots to ensure I don't make eye contact with anyone.

My knock on the closed door goes unanswered, and I turn in a swirl of disappointment to the lone, plastic chair beside me. I shake off my rain-soaked coat and wipe hair off my neck before I sit.

The effects of worrying all night instead of sleeping weigh my body like being buried in sand. Music doesn't pierce the veil of dread like it usually does, so I press the video call button beside my best friend's name, wishing I wasn't starting a new school year without her for the first time in seven years.

Listening to the ringtone through my headphones, I stare at my multiple chins on the screen too long for her to pick up. When she does, I jump.

"Nia? What's wrong?" There's a hint of concern in her grumbled question. Not enough for her to switch on a light, happy to leave me staring at the black screen.

"I hate it," I whisper.

"Wha?" Lauren flaps around. Light appears, illuminating her face framed by the abundance of purple hair spread across her pillow. "Why are you calling so early?" She blinks frantically against the glow, recoiling into her duvet.