Tritone

Chapter 7: Marcato

Monday morning comes with a loud alarm and suspicion to follow. I change into my average clothing for school--black dress pants and a button down, per the dress code, with my rainbow bracelet and a nice necklace--and wander to the kitchen like every day. However, I halt in front of the bathroom when a thought hits me: how will I cover up any evidence that I cut myself?
I enter the bathroom and turn on the light, inspecting the wound for any conceivable notion that it may not be anything suspicious.
Perhaps I was just scratched by the neighbor's dog. Yeah, that'll do.
I simply skip breakfast and brush my teeth for the morning.
I sigh and saunter out to the living room, simply wasting time until I can go to the bus stop.
I eventually waste enough time to leave for the bus stop, so I take three trips around the small house to check if I have all I need for the day. Then, I lock the front door behind me as I leave for the bus.
As I approach, however, shivering from the sudden cold before I put on my jacket, a girl at the stop asks me, "Elise, what happened to your arm?"
"My neighbor's dog scratched me," i respond, waving it away carelessly.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I lie, "I'm fine."
I shove my headphones in my ear and hope nobody will speak to me. That's quite enough interaction for the day.
However, as I board the bus, another junior looks at me and gapes with an air of humor, "What did you do?"
"I was scratched by a dog," I shrug, taking a seat.
"Are you okay?"
"I'll be fine."
He takes a seat and shrugs it away. While I hope that I got away with it, hope can only go so far.

The cold becomes more unbearable as winter closes in on us. It becomes necessary to carry a flashlight and wear a coat as the cold, heavy darkness shuts us in for months.
Many seem more fortunate than others, but others also choose to bury themselves in the snow, debating whether they'll freeze or starve first.
However, we are told to keep our heat low and windows open, not because it shows solidarity for the lesser fortunate but rather make a comparable situation of pity. Many need that pity for reasons I don't understand; perhaps it gives others comfort when they believe they finally have a right to complain over their situation.
Many of these people, who allow the wind and snow to freeze their homes, don't understand the concept of suffering. Many of us have heat. Many of us have warm blankets. Others are simply... warm. Meanwhile, many have given away their blankets. Many have buried themselves until they freeze to death. Others have never had heat to begin with.
However, we all bear the cold of winter. We all slip on the ice. We all miss the sun, blinding as it is.
I often lose hope for a mild winter. Even still I shiver under my blankets and lose feelings in my fingers.
Perhaps freezing might not feel any different.
As I walk into fourth period, with these thoughts on my mind, I notice a majority of the small class wearing sweaters. One leaps up as I take my seat, asking how I'm managing to stay warm when it's so cold.
"I don't... feel cold," I mutter as he feels my hand.
"You're freezing," he comments.
"I feel fine," I shrug.
But I suddenly want to scream. I want to shout to the world until my face turns red. I feel like I'm an inch from hypothermia.
"You should probably go to the nurse," states another student, "you're freezing. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
I nod, thanking them for their concern, and return to my homework.
Below my surface, though, my blood boils, and I begin shaking. My toes curl in my sneakers. I want to be left alone, but goddammit, do they ever take a hint?
I retreat into my work, scribbling a short story into a notebook. The narrative is arbitrary; it consists of a girl facing constant struggle and attempts to overcome the problems in her life. I'm not sure how to end it, though; killing the protagonist may be more entertaining to me.
By the time I'm halfway done, the bell rings through the building, an A and a semitone dominating our ears. The other kids scramble out to their next class, leaving me there alone besides the teacher, who reads a story behind his desk. Do I say anything to him? Be courteous and wish him a good day?
I simply dash out of the room on the impulse of decision, definitely implying I'll be late for a class right across the hall. I'm not always too cunning when it comes to planning my escape.
As I cross the hall, an upperclassmen steps on me, my shoe falling off within a moment. She apologizes like a madman, and I simply forgive it as I lift my shoe off of the floor. No reason to waste time putting this back on in the hallway.
When I enter fifth period, hobbling with the small height difference in my sneakers, the teacher sarcastically gapes at me and questions, "Why aren't you wearing your shoe?"
I feel as if he means well, yet has no idea what "well" means.
"Fight me," I kid, yet my utter infuriation keeps building as the seconds drag on.
I take a seat and shove my sneaker back on, my toes protected from the freezing cold of the tile floors.
History class is horrific to me. All I do is sit in a rocking desk and listen to an ignorant woman blab about Eurocentric wars and violence. How is that world history when it covers the second-smallest continent on the planet?
German class then drags past, lunch rushes by, and precalculus approaches.
By that time, I want to leap through a second story window. The noise of students becomes too much, my head pulsating with every scream.
I scramble into the classroom at the very corner of the building. Emotions overcoming me. However, I stifle all of my feelings and take a seat.
"Today's a work day," states the teacher just after the bell rings, "Your two worksheets are due Wednesday."
Not even a moment after he finishes speaking, a group of four nearby classmates approach and ask for my help on the material.
After just a moment, I simply snap, snarling, "Okay, okay. Please, for like five minutes, just please leave me alone."
They all hesitate and slowly return to their seats. One of them mumbles, "Well, no need to be so mean about it."
I lean over the desk, barely a shred of light illuminating my homework. How far do I have to go to be left alone for once?