Still Broken

Still Broken (Part 2)

Antoinette

I can see that teenagers are as narrow-minded and unimaginative as ever. The usual whispers went round:

"Do you think she has something wrong with her face?"

"Is her jumper trying to hide the fact that she's fat or something?"

"Oh my god, do you think she has a skin condition?"

I almost laughed. This lot wasn't as creative as the last school. I think at one point at my old school half the student population believed I was a man. The American Teenager. As unaccepting and self-righteous as ever.

There was one boy, at the back, with shaggy brunette hair and sympathetic eyes. He clearly pitied me. Kind of ironic, since I was the person who should pity them and their low-grade school. Then again, that wasn't their fault I was in their low grade school. I'd worked my way through almost all of the better ones, and I'd asked to be sent to this one. I was slumming it with the commoners. I think after Cole, I'd turned into a masochist.

The boy looked back at me in the usual surprise. They always looked so surprised when I looked at them, as if because they could not see my face, it meant I could not see theirs. The pure ignorance of people, sometimes, almost, makes me smile.

Sean

She had no friends. Well, that part was pretty much obvious. Even though every whisper in the room was about her, no one got up the courage to talk to her. She didn't seem to mind, or really notice. Maybe it was always like this for her. Maybe that's why she transferred schools.

She had a really piercing stare. When she'd looked at me, before, it was like her eyes were boring into mine, making me freeze in surprise. I like it when people have strong eyes. It means they have a strong character. But why would someone with a strong character hide behind a mask...?

I saw her again, at lunch. She sat by herself outside on the lonely bench normally dominated by the science club. I guess her very presence repelled people, and even the nerds in the science club marked her as different, and refused to join her.

The team sat on the table in the cafeteria that was directly behind her. I watched her sit as still as a statue, completely ignoring the (expensive-looking) sushi box in front of her, deep in thought.

Then Sasha and the other cheerleaders, looking as preppy as usual, walked up to her. I saw her head jerk up, and her lips stretch into a cold, humorless smile.

Antoinette

Girls were bothering me now. I was waiting until someone would. The longest time I'd ever waited was for a whole week. Three hours. This had to be some kind of record. Well, mediocracy hates anything that is not mediocre. They loath anything "different".

But why is it always the girls who bother me first?

"Hello," a bleached blonde girl said to me, in her falsely bright voice. "My name is Sasha. I'm head cheerleader." She didn't need to tell me that. I was so obvious from her stance, and her ponytail, and the power she seemed to exude over the other "cheerleader" girls behind her.

She out-stretched her hand. I stared at it, as if unsure what to do with it. I always play dumb in the beginning. This means the play can last longer.

"God," another blonde sneered behind her. "If Sasha offers to shake your hand, you should just take it. It's rude to just ignore her."

"Now, now," Sasha chastised in a mother-like tone. "We play nice with the new girls, right?"

She turned back at me with her honey-sweet smile. I wasn't fooled. I'd met a thousand girls like her. She was the type that was sweet and gentle on the outside, but cruel and cold on the inside. She has become too used to her own popularity, and has become confident, and probably imagines herself as an experienced manipulator. But she'd an amateur compared to me.

She expects me to confide in her now, because she's so different and understanding. I still play nice, and give her my best shy nod and she continues to beam in my direction.

"Now, Anne...Can I call you Anne?" She continues without waiting for my answer. "If it's not a rude question to ask... Why do you cover you face up?"

I look at her blankly, like I'm too idiotic to understand.

"Can I see your face?"

I've been waiting for this one. They seem to think that if they can see your face, they will be able to see your soul as well.

I shake my head, still playing sweet.

Anger and impatience flash through her eyes, before she goes back to blinding me with her shiny smile.

"Don't be shy. If there's anything wrong with your face, we won't tell anyone. We just want to see your face. That's okay, right?" Her tone had automatically turned patronizing, like she was talking to a child. I guess I do give off that impression in the beginning, when I don't talk. I could see my silence was annoying her, and that she would start using force on me soon. But I just look back at her, like the innocent like child I no longer was.

"Sasha," a male voice says behind me. This boy would try to be my knight in shining armor. But I know everything about people like him. The only reason people tries to help anyone else is so that they can get the attention every human craves.

I look at his face. It was the boy from my homeroom.

How completely predictable.