I wanted to make sure I couldn't see a thing. If I took even a tiny glimpse, if my eyelids accidentally fluttered, this would be totally pointless. I squeezed my eyes even tighter, to the point of discomfort.
I didn’t want to hear anything, either. If I focused my attention on the sounds around me, if I caught just a single word being spoken, or a single footstep passing by, then I'd be zipped back to reality, and that's never pleasant . I put my left hand over my ear.
I needed to shut out the world, I needed to erase all thoughts. I just needed to mindlessly move the pencil against the paper. Whatever I subconsciously drew, that would be a clue. That would tell me all the answers to my questions- a clue to what? I don't know yet. What questions it would answer? No idea.
I heard about this on TV. It sure seemed pretty nifty to me. There was one woman with powder blue hair and so many zippers it would make you think they kept her skin from falling off, and she discovered her calling and that she'd become rich (well, upper middle class) through the cat figurine industry, and obviously it was true because all old woman with colorful hair love cats, even ones that are just porcelain with chipped paint in pale pinks and fading golds and-
Suddenly, I felt my right hand being emptied. Someone had stolen my pencil during my psychological experiment!
My eyes opened the second- no, millisecond- I had realized that. My ears finally activated in that way that ears do.
My teacher, Ms. K. was hunched over me, her face red and wrinkled with anger. Her hand holding my pencil was gripping it so hard that I thought she just might break it if she didn't loosen her tiny hand muscles.
Hand muscles? Is that the right word... Words? Term? I guess so.
I heard the hustle and bustle of all the students rushing out of the classroom holding their unnecessarily large text books... And I heard Ms. K screeching at me, her hands flying mindlessly in the air, and she almost slapped her own skin, which already appeared to be hanging ever so loosely off her face.
"You weren't paying attention the whole hour! All you did was doodle that ridiculous picture of a duck wearing clothes!" Her voice was like worn leather and milk that turned chunky after being expired for months- a combination that resulted in an unpleasant sound.
I looked down at my creation for the first time. What do you know? It was a scribbly dibbly duck with an oversized beak and a shirt that almost reached the crooked, web feet. Peculiar. "Anything's better than a porcelain cat, I suppose, huh?"
"True, true."
"And take into consideration that I drew that with my eyes closed," I added. "If I really wanted to, it could be much better. Maybe I could have given it a top hat, even. There's nothing happier in the world than a luckling duckling with a big, tall top hat, especially if it has a red bow tied around it." I smirked up at her.
Ms. K ignored me. "No wonder you failed your last test- oops, no- most of them, actually. Two tests ago you got a B minus! In a parallel universe that's almost good. What happened?" The last two words were less loud, less angry. More perplexed and disappointed as if she wasn't even expecting this. You'd think by this time she would at least be indifferent to this sorta thing.
"No, no, no," I sighed in annoyance, "I do pay attention during class, or, at least, on semi-rare occasions. You see, today more important things needed to be done. A psychological experiment, actually." Ms. K seemed like she was about to say something as she opened her mouth, but then I guess she must have forgotten. "And the reason why I failed the last test was not because I didn't pay attention. It was because I didn't study at all. I alternate."
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.
* * * * *
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?"