o n e
t w o
t h r e e
f o u r
t w o
(her)

english history was a damn hard class to find, and the cacophony of teenage angst and noise made it even more difficult for me to concentrate on the badly illustrated map of the school the receptionist had handed me.

i found the kids milling about weird. everything was weird. the lights were not bright, but they were too much. the floor was slippery, my neck was prickling, and i was blinking too much.

i didn't bother looking for my locker, but i glanced slightly at it as i passed it by. a boy and a girl stood next to it, feeling each other up frantically, as if meeting each other after a decade. that was going to be a problem.

i was mumbling something about a teenagers inclination towards the private aspects of a woman when, bam!

i was shocked into silence as everything around me was stunned into silence. the voices that were zooming in into my brain stopped, and a slight hum took up the silence.

"look where you're going, fag." i say, not rudely. i'm shocked, and disoriented.

"i'm sorry." the strangely soft voice says. i look at his face, he isn't looking at me.

is he shy? of me?

i scoff, and he looks up.

and then a single thought.

pretty.

i brush past by him as fast as i can, shaking my head fiercely. to get back the loud noise. to get rid of the slight hum.

to get rid of that one word.

pretty.

and then i find the classroom.

english history.
© Sivani Yasashree,
книга «Out Loud».
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