(two years ago)
She sat on the edge of the pavement,empty street's aura giving her a homely feel,as though it represented her deserted heart.
Cigarette held between her lips,pulling the smoke,the pain-only to let it go once again.
Daya,Daya,Daya.
Hair the color of sunlight,and eyes of the color of the sea and the grass,thick leather jacket and ripped little jeans.
Her eyes filled with makeup,the remainder of last night's party lay all over Mark Falle's lawn,and all over his elder brother's bedroom where she and Donna Eaton had gotten a little frisky with Robert Green.
Donna was good looking with brown doe eyes and sunkissed hair,but Daya was striking.
Daya was more confident,anyway.Donna was insecure,from the way her butt was a little flat,but Daya's was rounded and her lips were thinner-and she was second.Daya never forgot to remind her every damn day picking at her insecurities like a scab she wouldn't let heal.
It gave her this sick joy.Watching people slowly,surely crumble into shells of people they once were and it drove her insane.
There were alot of things that drove Daya insane.
For instance,her name.
There are 7 Billion people in this world-and about 5,000 of us share the same name.
It all depends on how common your name is.Daya hated that,she hated how she could've been a Victoria,or a Shana,but instead was a Daya.
Daya,meant Mercy or compassion in her adoptive mother's language-Hindi.
An old Indian language,it affiliates with warm,loving motherlike feelings that Daya in no way possessed.
Daya knew she was good,though.
She knew she was the best,but yet she was never going to be enough.
And that was enough to drive her insane.
---------
Daya noticed little things.
She noticed the way her English teacher Mr.Lee always said the word um before each line,as though he was unsure about everything and each word needed to be processed in his mind before being uttered lest he made a mistake.
He was five foot five,with greasy,thinning black hair and thin wire rimmed glasses.
He had called her to inform her,that her grades were dropping-she needed to catch up on her work.
She noticed.She noticed the brown paper bag crumpled at the bottom of the sheets he'd been grading,and she noticed the way his eyebrows furrowed whenever he asked a question.
You'd think she was interested,intruiged by him.
But she merely noticed.
----
She used to wake up every morning,play the same music,and imagine scenarios that would never occur in reality no matter how hard she'd envision them.
Daya said life would be so different for us if it had a soundtrack. We'd all be different people if we always had music.
She loved music. She said it calmed her,or it aggravated her. She said music was the thing that never let her forget that she was insane,but at the same time it was the only keeping her back from ripping her heart out of it's cage.
Public Speaking.
A room filled with sweaty palms and caffeine filled professors,with teenagers overworked by their own personal problems come to talk about some more all around the world.
But not for Daya. Daya would walk in with her hips shaking,and her heart clenching,but her mouth full of words and emotions.
She said there was a rush.Right before speaking,when you're on the stage-she felt a rush.Just one second. That's all it took.
For everything she'd prepared to leave her memory,and then return.
She hated that,she said.
But Daya hated alot of things,herself being one of them.
She fumbled with the strap of her bag,and she walked-annoyed,as usual.
Sierra Ryder and her best friend Cass had just dyed their hair blue,and they stood out turning heads in school.
Daya hated that.
But she knew she made heads turn too,without the aid of funky hair or revealing clothing and that somehow made her satisfied.
There was always this sick creature inside her,begging to be let out.She hid it with a glazed look and sheltered anger,but no one knew that she enjoyed the look on Faye Jone's face when she'd called her fat,knowing she had an eating disorder and she loved the heightened sense of importance it gave her.
She hated it.
But of course Daya was Daya,
and Daya hated alot of things-
Herself being one of them.
Daya sat in her room,and stayed motionless.She had moments like that sometimes,where she'd just sit.
There was no reason,really. She just had times when she wanted to sit alone and pretend she was the only one alive.
But then reality would always hit her like a bullet in the back and force her to stumble.
It was morning,early morning and she knew that she had to go to school-she had to dress appropriately-or else she'd be forced to.
Sitting there,for an hour-hiding her flaws with an expensive foundation,enhancing her eyes and plumping her lips.
But of course bad days are bad days,and Daya found that the outfit she'd laid out to wear the night before had a little stain beneath it's collar.
She's wiped her make-up off,knowing most of her clothes were soaked in the laundry bag,and she stumbled because all she wore was a cotton blue dress. She was late,so she couldn't put on her make-up again,and so she decided it was a bad day as she got into her car.
---
Their school had a policy.
Whether you were thirty minutes or thirty seconds late,you'd have to go to the administration office and fetch yourself a late pass. Daya didn't mind missing class,but she did find that whole situation dumb.
She fumbled with the strap of her bag,which was covered in little scribbles made by her friends in eighth grade,and she thought about the bag,which was made of black snakeskin from Vienna. She didn't care,though.
A loud crash resonated all through the deserted hallway,and Daya turned to direction of the source of disturbance.
He was tall,almost six foot four-but so was Daya who was five foot eleven.
