The Stories of Misfits

Flowers

It’s because you’re so insecure.

Derek flips the car into a parking space a few minutes later. Marie screams profanities without actually saying any curse words, my sister laughs, and I grip the door in some attempt not to fall over. Everything goes flying and, somehow, my long blonde  hair gets twisted around the head rest.

“No such thing as unicorns? More like no such thing as Derek’s common sense,” I mutter as I untangle my hair. Marie hits Derek while he grins triumphantly.

Rose smiles as she elegantly steps out of the vehicle. “Derek, you aren’t in Fast and Furious, so don’t drive like it,” she says. Seconds later she waves at all of us. The backpack, a flowery one she selected at the same time I chose my bulky green one, gets flung over one shoulder as she then saunters over to her cheerleading friends.

Inane, superficial, oblivious, and self-obsessed. Oh, and freakishly thin. That’s all the cheerleaders are. Each one of them is the cliché Rose; not entirely like my sister, but enough to where I can’t help but group them together. My sister is the only true Rose in our group; the rest of us are definite Violets. To be honest, none of us really belong anywhere, but we’re all outsiders and outsiders tend to band together like their own island of misfit toys.

If you were honest with yourself, you’d realize you’re the only one that doesn’t belong.

I uncurl my legs and shove the car door open. Marie and Derek are already talking to Shamshad as he, obviously frazzled, does as much homework as possible before school. This little idiosyncrasy, a stark contrast from his practical, almost pedantic self, makes my heart thump in my chest and my face turn embarrassing shades of the first and last colors on the rainbow. It’s not because I like him, not at all; it’s because it’s so ironic.

My sister never blushes, ever; the only time she isn’t completely composed is around us. She is a Rose, though, so she has a reputation to uphold at school. I do too, I guess. No one really pays attention to me or any other Violet like me, though, so it isn’t really the same. We’re the invisible people.

Do your friends even notice you?

Marie claps once in front of my face and I step back, surprised. “Did I do the thing again?” I ask blearily. I’m not sure how I got here, but I’m currently standing with my friends.

“Yeah, you went off into Vi-vi world,” Derek says. The stupid grin is still on his face.

I scowl at him. “Don’t call me that,” I mumble.

 “Sucks, Vi-vi.”

For a second I debate responding, but when the bell rings a few seconds later, I decide against it and instead hitch my backpack higher onto my shoulder. The couple walks away, off in their own world.

Shamshad, his stuff still all over the place, groans and quickly begins to shove everything into one small multicolored folder. Without thinking, I begin to help and he sends me a look of gratitude once we finish. My heart thumps loudly.

“Ready?” I say, my voice steady, and he nods.

We walk side by side to our homeroom classes. Conversation starters begin to flip through my brain at lightning speed but none of them seem suitable. Everything we have in common seems to have shot straight out of my brain for the moment. I scrunch my shirt nervously.

My sister would know how to talk to him. She always knows exactly how to get people to like her because a Rose always knows what to say. A Rose seems perfect to everyone around them.

Unlike your messy, anxious self.

I look down at my flowery shirt when we get to my classroom. “Well, um, see you at lunch?” he says and I nod, my eyes fixated on a dark purple flower.