Blind Love

Blind Love II

DYLAN POV

My dad was driving brutally, screeching forward and slamming the brakes each second. I lean with my arm out the window, feeling a cool rain on my arms. I smile briefly, enjoying the sensation of the moist droplets splattering on my arm.
"Roll up the damn window, will you?" Dad groans. I sigh and fumble for the traditional hand-crank to close my window. Our car is old; so old that it's no longer considered "vintage," it's considered "junk." My dad bought it off some sketchy car dealer after he sold our convertible to save cash. I was having a bit of trouble getting used to the way our new/old car worked, all the handles and buttons and doors and windows. My dad sighs as we pull up to Clearview High. "Damn, Dylan, I wish you could drive," he says. I roll my eyes. He always says that.
"Dad, don't wish to change that which you cannot," I say, my tone rich with arrogance.
"Smartass," he mumbles, reaching over to open the door for me. "Don't forget your cane."
I reach over for my cane and grasp it firmly, using it to haul myself out of the car. I hear my dad clunk away and don't bother to wave. I'm already running late. I pass through the front doors (with some difficulty) and feel my way to my locker. Fifth locker on the right. I check the brail numbers on my locker, just to be sure. Locker 222. I open my locker with one hand, the other occupied with my cane. Once my locker is opened I shove in the cane. I don't want to look like a loser on my first day. Then, I find my unsteady way towards room 108, checking the brail signs of each room.
I knew life at regular school would be difficult.
*
Room 108 takes forever to find. It's in the last place you'd expect to find it. First floor, behind the gymnasium. Eventually I stumble in, my hair damp with sweat that trickles down the back of my neck. I can sense that everyone turns toward me. Some gazes are more intense than others, and I can feel them burning into me, taking in every little detail. I stand in the doorway, clearing my throat subtly. "Dylan! I didn't realise you were here!" the professor says, her tone sweet and buoyant. I smile slightly, trying to pinpoint the direction from which the prof's voice came. The prof (Mrs. Carter, my dad had told me) touches my shoulder lightly and leads my to my seat. I find myself reaching my arms out as I wobble after the teacher. I take a seat and pretend like I'm intensely focused on whatever there is at the front of the class. I try to act normal. I feel stares drift away, and soon only one sensation remains; that of the person to my right. For the remaining hour, I felt his stare piercing a hole trough me (I could tell he was a he because of the distinct smell of cologne and testosterone).