The seamstress

strange

"Welcome to United Nation high, Zarya. Why don't you tell the class something unique about yourself. I already know one."

Standing in front of the medium sized class, the short female frowned, my hair hidden by my olive green knitted beanie and patched canvas hoodie.

Dearly desiring not to say anything, I took a deep breath and mused in a surprisingly strong voice, "Imma nineteen year old foster mother of six, I work two, part time jobs as a waitress and a cashier. I came here because my apartment burnt down three months ago. And... and I have a problem with rambling."

The class was silent and wide eyed. The kind female teacher blinking several times in surprise as I hang my head and stuff my gloved hands in my jacket pockets. Lips pressed firmly into a frown as i make my way to an empty desk when told to.

Zarya pov

Sitting down next to a tall bleach blonde male with lavender colored irises and a pale scarf around his neck, Zarya gave him only a small glance.

Setting down a large duffle bag filled with items, she pulls off her backpack as well and huffed, glancing over when the male mused kindly in a Russian accent, "I love v'your name, it's of rrussian descent rright?"

The short female nodded, grabbing out a dollar-store notebook and flipping to the first page. Looking to the board, she wrote down the date and subject.

Zarya Young (black, Korean)
Period 1
English-literature
Mrs Rodgers

She caught the Russian male peeking over at her paper so she casually covered her writing with her arm. Paying attention to the teacher and giving small signals for the male to look too.

After a few hums and suggestive motions to do his work, Zarya finally got him off her back.

Getting all the notes and classwork done in record time, the short female reached into her work out bag. It smelt like asphalt.

Unzipping the flap she reached inside and got out yellow thread and a small needle. Setting that on her desk before grabbing a bag of fabric patches.

All of different colors.

Reds, blues, greens, purples, blacks, whites and one velvet blue button.

Taking out the fabrics, she got to sewing, biting off a long length of thread and looping it five times through the eye. Making a small knot, Zarya hummed in the silence, softer than her own breathing and barely audible to the male next to her.

Looping it up the conjoined halves of the crimson and royal blue fabrics, she blinks her deep molten gold colored eyes and focuses further on her work.

The thin black leather gloves not hindering her in the slightest as she works.

Going back down the line of pierced loops, the short female smiles to herself as she continues humming as softly as humanly possible.

When it came to the end of that stitch, she simply bit it off and continued with a new length of string. Always making small noises as a special little song played in her head.

The thirteen and five year old were sharing a Birthday, so she needed to get these presents made and soon.

She had two hats to make and several rugs for the house they have now.

Her father had bought the property a long time ago, the decaying wood in the middle of being torn away and replaced by her and the three oldest. Her old man couldn't help. Hell, he could barely recall who she was, let alone remember if he is standing or sitting.

Jolting suddenly, Zarya shook her left hand, scrunching her nose before stuffing the tip of her middle finger between her teeth. Biting softly through the thin faded leather and going silent.

She held her breath. For a long moment she didn't even move, internalizing the sharp sting before letting her smile fall to a tired frown just visible under the shadow her hood cast.

She didn't like her face. Because of the scars it held.

But the thought wasn't deemed worthy of staying in her mind. Shaking it out and focusing with a determination she can only possess.