𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐨𝐧

𝟸𝟼 | 𝙻𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑

"ᴘʟᴀʏꞮɴɢ: - Drown - The Smashing Pumpkins"
1:05 ───⊙─────── 3:35
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'Yesterday the sky was you, And I still feel the same'

•—•—•—•—•—•—•

February 4, 1983

You know that feeling when you know the whole world is against you? Like it's watching your every move and judging you if you make a small mistake?

Well that's how I feel, the world finally decided be had enough good stuff going on, so it made a change in direction.

Nobody in school talks to me, including my ex-friends, even when we get partnered up - or pass each other in the halls.

It's like middle school all over again, alone. Eating lunch in the bathroom stalls, nobody to talk to but your brother (except he actually talked to me) constantly stared at.

Well, I know (I hope) nobody is staring at me, it's just that my mind filters it to where I think everyone is looking at me, judging me every second of the day.

I've just kept to myself, doing exactly what I did in middle school, minus the eating in the bathroom because that's gross.

Me and Simon are okay, we aren't like how we used to be, but we aren't not on talking terms, like we'd talk if we had to. And to add onto that we live together so we kinda have to (ish, it depends)

Sometimes I wish it weren't right now, walking through the halls with my head down and a huge hoodie on. I look like trash, I wouldn't be surprised if people were looking.

I shift my gaze to my classroom door, gulping before reaching my hand out and placing it in the door handle.

It was cold, leaving a slight stinging sensation on my hand. I quickly twist it and step forward into the classroom. I feel everyone will look back, like normal, but nobody does.

I sigh in relief, clutching my bag straps and sitting down in the back. Some could say I'm doing this to myself, making me sad by keeping it all to me, crawling up into a ball of emotions.

But trust me, you don't get it. I should be used to this, being friendless, just like middle school.

There is one thing I like to say to myself right now: If I got through this in middle school, I'll get through it again. But still, I should really talk to new people, but I don't have the motivation.

The teacher walks in, she adjusts her glasses and holds a piece of paper in front of her, the attendance sheet.

She hums, looking up from the paper then back down, her hand clutches the paper, making it wrinkled "Let's see..Melissa?" She calls out.

"Here" She answers, raising her hand slightly, putting it down when she nods.

"Finn?" She says, keeping her eyes on the paper, only looking up when he responds "Michael?" She says, grabbing my attention.

I forgot he was in this class. Oh well. Nobody answers, so the teacher calls again, still no response. Mike probably skipped.

"Okay, no Michael. Is Brenda here?" She sighs, sitting down on the desk, crossing her legs. I don't pay attention, instead, I draw on the table.

"Present" She says quietly, her words come out in a muffled tone, since she's in of the quiet kids. Nobody talks to her.

Kind of reminds me of me right now, alone, quiet, friendless. Well at least she didn't have all her friends ditch her, including her crush.

Your being selfish. Oh great, here they come. Always in middle school I'd get these voices telling me stuff that isn't true, but still they messed with me, making me believe it.

That's the goal of it though, to try and mess with my mind.

"Okay, today we will be doing something called journalism, you may have already done this in your 8th grade ELA class, but this'll be a review of what you know," She says "try making it as good as your poem essay, remember those?"

I don't understand why teachers expect us to remember everything from Middle School, heck even elementary. Like it's so far away, how can our brains hold all this.

She passes out papers for everyone, sitting down in her chair after she finishes. Suddenly the door squeaks open.

Everyone's heads turn to the direction of the noise, only to reveal Mike. Maybe he got caught. You always assume the worst of him.

"And why are you late, young man?" She says in a stern tone, I try my best not to hold in my laughter at her saying young man. She sounds like my grandma when she gets mad at Simon.

"Sorry teach, got in trouble" He informs her, Rolling his eyes and moving towards the open seat, next to me.

It doesn't really bother me, okay, it does, but it shouldn't. He wouldn't talk to me anyways. I wish he would, maybe I should make a lie to get him to?

Even if you do he still won't. Shut up. Anyways, the teacher starts to tell us about the project "So you'll be getting assigned topics, look at the little piece of paper in your desk, that'll have a event going on in the world right now," She starts.

"For example, Michael Jackson's new album that released in 1982, you might have that. So you'll write about what you know, and if you don't know just ask me"

"Begin" She tells us, flipping a page in her book, with her small reading glasses. She looks weird, like someone who thinks their so cool. That's you.

I look at my topic. A smile tugs on my lips, my luck. I got Michael Jackson's album, that's weird but not.

Good thing I love that album, so I know what to write. I get my pencil out and start writing the article.

~

After school, I'm walking home with Simon right now, and I need to ask him a question or two.

"Simon?" I break the awkward silence we were sharing. I hope he'll answer, I really wanna know what I did wrong, and what I can do to apologize.

"Yeah?" He responds, blowing his bangs out of his face. He actually responded, maybe he doesn't hate me after all.

"Can I know why Mike hates me? Like what did I do?" I ask, crossing my arms and looking over at him.

"That's easy, he told me you we're being dry and rude, like you weren't yourself," He informs me, looking at me then back at the ground. "He's worried about you, but he's mad, I guess."

"How? I was not!" I snap, looking at him in a shocked face.

"You kind of were, You should really apologize" He sighs, unlocking the front door and stepping inside.

"Alright, but he won't talk to me"

"then make him"

. . .
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