It's Not Me//DT

》2《

GLOSSARY: 

"Ɛkɔm de me" — I'm hungry

I love free time during class. It means I can just sit there. But today I had other plans. I actually want to do work.

"How can we sit idly by and measure people off of their looks? How do we do it? Why do we do it? We base their looks off of a nose, a mouth, and some eyes. Why do we have to look a certain way? Why do we change the outside of ourselves when all that truly matters is the inside.

It's never about character or personality, just on how beautiful, pretty and gorgeous you are."

I press the backspace button without letting go erasing the work that took me about 10 minutes to find the words. It was all true, I believed it, but it was too out there.

I couldn't help my mind to stop thinking about lunch. The Jason kid is just like the rest of them. He only values looks.

Why do people even care about looks?

I decide to take a break to calm down. Presentational speaking would have to wait. I have more pressing matters.

Elle.

I try so much to find anyone with a connection to Elle. I look for Elle's that died recently. I fill the search bar with anything.

Nothing.

I needed to find something. I needed to find everything. But I couldn't find anything.

I have a very obvious connection to Elle, how could I not? I have her face.

I needed to know something about her. Even if it were her favorite color, I'd be okay with that. I looked at different funeral home websites. There's always one or two Elles, which got my hopes up. Only to find out they were old. Like 50 years old.

In Study Hall, the other day, I had nothing better to do, so I searched more. Someone was walking by and almost got a glimpse.

At first I thought that the kids at this stupid public school wouldn't care. Now I realize, they would have run wild with that.

I turn my focus back to my speaking project.

What could I say that would make people understand?

I think to myself a minute. All the words in the world seemed wrong, no matter which order I put them in.

There are no right words to say.

I stare at the prompt, to simply write something I'm passionate about. It wasn't supposed to be hard.

It just wasn't coming to me. I was passionate about Elle, sure.

I don't want to write about her though. I feel like it isn't my place.

The only thing I was passionate, or could be passionate, about was Elle and this whole fucked up situation.

The bell rings, pulling me out of my thoughts.

One more period. Art.

I have been eavesdropping more or less and I found out that both of the twins would be in this class.

The teacher clearly hates me, but I can't tell you why.

On my way to class I slipped into the bathroom. To check my...scars. Lembachi was going to be mad at me whether I got to class early or not so it doesn't matter.

I have to see if what my dad said was true. I have to see if they were going away nicely. They were, which is exciting.

But I have to ignore it. I don't know why, but I just do.