Little Women

It's yet another morning of an average school day that won't bring anything especially exciting to me.

I got up around half past six am, feeling totally dazed and lost in space and time, as any normal human being should feel in this dead hour. In such inhumane circumstances I got dressed and, after having a quick bite (after all, breakfast is the most important meal of the day!), I went to school.

I usually spend about 45 minutes on the bus that I suspect has seen World War 2. My constant companion in such adventures is always a book. The world around me, streets, miserable people going after their daily business, stores opening up, all the worldly drama – nothing of that sort interests me much. I am not a big fan of the modern world. The alternative that I can find on nicely scented book pages is always my number one choice.

I go to one of those schools that have a reputation of being for above average, talented children. How brilliant does it sound, that you are a somebody, that you are special, unique, one of a kind!

I won't lie, that was one of the reasons why I fought so hard to grab a spot in this school. I wanted to be somebody. I wanted to have a sense of identity. Just existing here meant that you are an elite.

Except, of course, you're not. Here, just like anywhere else, you quickly learn your place.

High school is a tiny eco-system. I think that each one has its established hierarchy of who is who and what is what, and each year, every single newcomer gets sorted out rather fast. They make it look so simple! Like it's possible to classify your whole being under one label of being either a weirdo, a crazy rock'n'roll dude, a jock, or a high school queen. The bigger problem is, once you get labeled, that's it. It's over.

My label is an introvert, one of those people who are neither good nor bad, neither interesting nor boring, neither accepted nor an outcast. You know. The worst kind. In the school full of special young people, I happened to be one of those who never really stand out.

I try not to think about it anymore. After all, I'm almost done. Being a third year, I have less than a half of journey left and then I'm out of there.

.

I have learnt that even in a place that nurtures talent and uniqueness, you can be just as average as anywhere else. With time, you accept your destiny and your label and you just go with the flow. It just takes time.

And this particular day was set out on taking all the time in the world. It was as if everything was in slow motion, like toffee, just dragging on and on and on, all the while I was secretly reading my book hidden beneath the classroom bench.

I firmly believe that, if one aspires to reach great knowledge and wisdom, one should read as much as possible. School taught me facts. Books taught me life. Not that I didn't reach for academic achievements. I had to. After all, it was one of the school phantom rules. If you were considered to have a bit of a difficulty keeping up the grades that actually meant you were just above average, sadly.

Pity.

It was no wonder other schools hated our guts. We were fancy nerds. Snobby, snotty, full of ourselves, we exceled at academics, at everything.

But, like I said, everything comes to an end. So will this chapter of my existence, but it had to be one step at a time. And the next tiny step was the last class of the day (which I can barely remember, being lost in the world of possibilities and adventures) when my prized possession, a beautiful ink pen, rolled of my desk and with a loud noise fell on to the floor.

It was a gift, from my aunt and uncle. I cherished it deeply.

Hoping it didn't break, I quickly bent to pick it up. Panicky, I checked if it was still whole. Luckily, it was. I felt immense relief almost at the same time as I felt that there was an awkward silence in the classroom.