I Am Iris

Chapter One: Don't Quack at Me

Ms. K stood there, staring for an uncomfortably long minute. "You... alternate? I don't think I quite follow you."

"For one test, I study super, duper hard," I explained. "Super duper," I repeated for emphasis. But, for the record, super duper hard really, truly, isn't actually all that super duper hard. "The next, I don't study at all. It's a stress reliever, you see. And with great scores on half the tests and all that other junk, I still manage to pass the class." I rolled my eyes. It was like I was speaking to a child.

Ms. K rubbed her forehead with her hand as if she was petting a cat (real with fur and everything, not porcelain), staring at me, speechless. The pencil finally snapped with a subtle sound, and yellow, wooden pencil remains fell to the floor.

"Should I go now?"

"Please," she almost begged.

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Ms. K had made me late for lunch. Now I had hardly any time to eat and all the tables were taken. Great. Now I had to hunt around for some unsuspecting people who wouldn't throw applesauce at me if I dared to sit with them. I peered around the lunchroom, standing on the tip of my toes in order to see over heads. Nameless, meaningless people with no significance whatsoever to my life crowded just about every table, but one.

I began walking over it, watching my feet as I did. Whenever I walk, my feet point inwards at each other, rather drastically, actually. I'm always teased for being pigeon toed. It used to bother me, until one day people started quacking at me. That made me feel a lot better, because then I could make fun of them for being stupid.

"I'm pigeon toed, not duck footed. Pigeons don't quack," I used to tell them. Then they'd blush red, but, being persistent and stubborn, and refusing to admit being wrong, they'd continue quacking.

People are dumb.

I focused on my feet, trying to make them more pigeon toed than usual, just to annoy people. My tall, pink superhero looking boots squeaked against the tile floor. They didn't exactly match the leopard print leggings, and that didn't match the oversized white t-shirt with a smiling porcupine, but maybe it did go well with the cat ear headband I wore. But I didn't care. Matching is for self conscious, boring people. The thought made me grin.

I sat down at an almost empty table. I was at the very end of one side, and the unfamiliar girl sat on the other. I opened my metal lunchbox as I stared at her.

"Hello, I am Iris. Iris Mai. But, not Mai like the month. With an I, not a Y. That sort of rhymes!" I giggled as I realized that, interrupting my own introduction.

The girl was a bit short with dull, mousy brown hair that was all over the place. She had a nice tan, though. Or was that a sunburn?

"I observe that you're sitting alone. So am I. Us loners gotta stick together!" I said, throwing a proud fist into the air. The gesture was not returned. I reenacted it once more, just in case she blinked for an extended amount of time.

"Can't you see I'm ignoring you?" she snapped.

I shrugged and took a bite from my banana jelly sandwich. Oh well. She didn't seem like friend material anyways. And who needs any, anyways? Certainly not me.

As I was eating I started to observe my movements. Each movement seemed more unnatural the more I concentrated on them, more robotic. If you think about something long enough, it almost seems like you're not thinking about it right. Suddenly, a fun idea popped into my head. I shall act like a robot, I thought to myself.

I tried moving my arms very choppily (what a funny word!), bending them in limited ways. It was quite entertaining. After a while, I moved onto neck movements. I tried to move my neck robotically, too. As I turned it, I saw him. He was sitting alone at the table directly behind mine with his back to me.

He had black hair. Not dark brown, but black- very black. He was wearing a white t-shirt that appeared blank from the back, along with dark jeans and brown sneakers.

His movements all seemed extremely robotic. Coincidence? I think not.

I stomped over to him- just a few small foot lengths- and stood there, just an inch or two behind him. I put my hands on my hips and felt my face scrunch up in anger. I tapped him on the shoulder, and he jumped, just a little, and then turned around, confused. His lips were a straight line, and his muddy brown eyes stared up at me blankly.

"Excuse me, but I have reason to believe that you are mocking me. What would your motives behind this act be?" I questioned.

His eyebrows crawled a bit higher up his head. "Um. Who are you, and what are you talking about?"

"I am Iris."

"Uhh... Hello Iris." He waved politely, but he still looked extremely confused. He was a good actor, that I will admit, but no one fools me.

"What were you doing just now?" I demanded.

His spotless skin flushed a bright red. "Don't laugh, but I was, um, acting like a robot," he explained, flustered.

"No," I told him.

"No?" he repeated, but he said it as a question as his face returned to its normal pigment.

"No. I was acting like a robot, and you were doing the same in an attempt to make fun of me," I accused him.

"Really?" He squinted. "I swear I had no idea. The idea just popped into my head, and I thought, 'why not?' I guess great minds think alike, huh?" He seemed genuinely truthful, so naturally I was still suspicious.

"Fine."

I started to turn around to return to my seat, but he grabbed my arm.

"Nice shirt, by the way." He grinned up at me, flashing his teeth. I looked down at his. On his shirt was a duck wearing a t-shirt itself.

Peculiar.

"Um, uh, th-thanks," I stuttered. "I mean no, I am not thankful! You are a- a- well, I don't know, what's a good insult?" He blinked. "And what's your opinion on top hats?"