I can't love.
And believe me when I tell you that. I had my first kiss when I was 9 years old with a girl from my class. Now looking back, I might have been the only oblivious one. We were playmates from the start of school, always ate lunch together, even hung out with each other at every recess. I just never thought of it that way. One afternoon, she kissed me goodbye on the cheek for the first time. I thought it was weird but didn't think much of it. The time she kissed me again on my lips, I felt… oddly disgusted down to my stomach to be quite honest. I really hated the gross feeling... She probably didn't do anything wrong. It was so normal for other kids to hang out and have "girlfriends" even at such young age. It was just me. I realized that I was the weird one.
My name is Arthur Kirkland. I know it was weird how I didn't tell you my name at first, it was just awkward to say "Hey I'm Arthur and I felt gross when someone kissed me."I usually can't remember people's name at first. It would be so much better if someone have time to know more about a person first, then ask for their name, since now they have something to tell about the person, to differ them from just anyone out the world doesn't work that way. I feel uncomfortable when I forget people's name and have to somehow get their name again. But even more awkward talking to someone when you forgot their name. I'm full of contradiction, that might be why I didn't have friends. Remember the girl who kissed me? Now you know because… that was probably my only friend. And I was such a blunt kid who wouldn't hesitate to blurt out my feeling when she ask "How do you feel...?" She was my friend, but she didn't feel the same way toward me. She thought we were dating... Most girls back then thought I was cute, which I certainly don't want others to feel about me. But that was primary school, I barely remember anything from such a long time ago.
When secondary school approached, the girls rarely approached me. The boys at school either ignore me, act "nice" to me just to copy my homework, or some ask if I can be their punching bag. Secondary did a number on my self esteem what puberty and whatnot growth spurt but that doesn't mean I didn't get through. Simply shitty secondary school years, where kids were still kids who simply want to feel superior to others so they can hide their own "insecurities". Honestly, I just... didn't have to be the one to take the pain and insults. So why me indeed? I spent those 5 years mostly hiding away from people, coming to school at exact time the bell ring, eat in classrooms or not eat and go straight to the library.
But I'm past that as well. Now that secondary school was no longer, there came "high school". And hopefully I'll be okay.
I moved from London, to some random town call City Heights in San Diego, California. I know it's a long way. My family probably couldn't stand seeing me anymore, so they probably sent me here to my Uncle Roger and Aunt Mitchell. I shouldn't get started on this, but one thing I can tell you about my family is that… they never cared for me. They didn't care that I was making good grade at school. Or that I wasn't welcomed or safe at school. Now I understand that it's hard to keep eyes on "every little thing" when you have 5 children hanging about. I was the 4th in the family. So special if the education system worked well with me. Wow, how pitiful that I was teased, could have stood up for myself. And if I couldn't, I always could go crying to my 3 brothers. Well, helpful lots they would be since already had no masculinity traits, but even then, they are always off in their own little lives. My third brother is okay but being in the uni. and rather popular, he' always hanging out with friends, being the attention of every gathering. My second brother in college hated me, since I was the ugly one with the eyebrows. Seriously, like none of our family has these bushy stupid eyebrows? Yeah right. That was probably just some lame excuse since he already picked on me enough about my acne and my "unfashionable style". For my eldest brother… he's okay. He got married when I turned 5 and moved to Northern Ireland. Good luck, me.
For my parents, my dad was never home. He was always out drinking after work, what he call socializing and climbing the ladder at work that kept him out usually past midnight. Some weekends when he's home, he would be in his room, doing whatever fatherly thing in there alone in front of the TV or hanging out with his friends. My mom… I don't know how to feel about my mom. She's so busy with work and taking care of the family. She never fix me when I was all beat up or hug me when I cried (which I didn't, who told you that I cried), but she listened sometimes. Just once, when I came home late at 6 or something without my book bag around the winter of my 7th school year, and told her she didn't have to buy me new things since I'll probably find them soon (of course I lied, where would I find them when I just threw them in the garden's bushes to hide that it was all shredded and cut up, dirty and stink of piss from the toilet of the school's athletic building.) Just last year, she got on a long call one evening and afterward told me that I could study in the states after I finish the school year, my 9th year. My school's grade did me some good and would make me eligible for a study abroad program in America that was sponsored by dad's company as long as I would be okay living together with my Aunt or Uncle over there. I get the feeling she probably knew about the thing that was going on at school, how the first aid kit in the house went missing once in awhile and I always knew exactly where it is, why the bathroom light was on for hours some nights (mind you, nothing much going on, just me trying to patch myself up or wash my dirtied garments in secret... well whatever that might mean). I don't blame her. Looking from behind, my mom is so fragile and skinny, but she is the strongest person I know to be able to put up with dad and this family's burdens. Eventually I gave up trying to understand how my family worked.
Enough about all that, I'm 15 years old and today is my first day at this American "high school" called M. Academy. Did I tell you my aunts and uncle was nice? They still are, somehow. They are… exceptionally nice, not a complaint about anything concerning me. They actually praise me sometimes for helping out with chores. I don't know how to feel about it when people are nice to me. I don't want to think all sorts of things like they are constantly watching me, making frequent calls to my parents, or telling them every shady thing that I did. They were just really nice, unlike my family, and I want to... believe them. Uncle and Ant Roger has 2 small daughters. Aunt Mitchell is widowed and unrelated to my side of the family otherwise. It's almost unbelievable how the people around them are pretty nice to me too, like the neighbors. They didn't avoid my eyes whenever they see me. (I did though, out of old habit. It's what Brits do, avoiding others eyes. I think.) Instead, some of them wave at me or give me a smile. It always makes me feel a bit queasy inside whenever people do that to me in my home town, smirking at me. But so many people do it here; I doubt they mean any harm. Unless they are all psycho murders with axes ready to kill me, which is even less likely.
Now… I can't believe how fast that got off topic. Again, I can't love. Simply as that. But sit in front of me, my first assignment, in literature class, first period, is this "bell work", what they called it, busywork after you walked in the class.
"Write a paragraph answering this question: How's your experience with love?"
What the blood hell of an assignment is that? Am I supposed to make up lies here, since I have absolutely no fucking clue what love is, except for that grossed out feeling when a girl kissed me?
I decided to cease cringing at that old memory, sitting in this chair, in a class I had no problem finding (since I left home early at 7:45 even when class doesn't start until 8:30), in the literature building, in this school. Just stop. Then I looked up at the teacher at his desk. Whoever is this stupid to give such an assignment. Blonde hair in a small ponytail. Blue eyes meeting my eyes (I swear, now thinking back, every teacher does this crap. How do they know they are being looked at?) And now he's giving me the smug face? Maybe just a "smile" then, since this is America. I avoided the teacher's eyes quickly to look around at the class. It seemed that I wasn't the only one not writing, or pretending to look like I'm giving some thoughtful seconds to this crappy assignment. People were talking, laughing, looking around like little ducklings, Oh, especially that one kid in the very front with a blonde lock of hair sticking up, bouncing in his seat, as he looked back. His eyes met mine briefly. However, I knew he was different from me the moment he had his hand up high.
"Can I ask a question?" he asked loudly.
"Yes, after everyone's done. Now, just keep writing. Don't be shy, I'm the only one reading them!" The teacher winked and gave him a smile, and the boy shut up.
It was quiet. A few minutes until the "bell work" needed to be turned in. I didn't lie. Instead, I wrote a paragraph about how much I love books. Close enough. I don't need people's love.
"Alright! Everyone's paper on this top basket." The teacher stood up from his chair and pointed to the black metal rack folder thing with his plastic hand pointer in about 5 minutes after the bell rang. America has so many weird things, mind you. Then the teacher hopped onto the podium seat and settled down, looking at the students returning back into their seats.
"My name is Mr. Bonnefoy~ I will be your AP English and Composition teacher as of this year. I also teach French, the foreign language, not the culture class. A pleasure to meet everyone." He said in a heavy French accent. Still, who allow a Frenchman to teach English ever?
"As far as self-introduction goes… I moved to the U.S. 5 years ago. I'm the school's home economic supervisor, Oh! I've seen some of you who joined at the class signup last week, and if you haven't, you can still sign up with me or the front office!" the man winked at the girls who were giggling in the corner, then gave some thought to whatever thing he was forgetting. "I'm currently single, but I don't see why I should tell you that… Ah. Someone had a question. Was it you?" He looked peculiarly at the boy who had his hand up earlier.
"It's Alfred!" the boy said cheerfully.
"Hello, Alfred!" the teacher waved at him with a friendly smile, then looked down at the paper on his podium, most likely the class roster. "So Alfred… Jones? What was your question?"
"I think the bell work is weird. What if we don't have any particular experience with love at all?"
"I find that to be surprising of a question, looking at you." The man's eye widened out of humor. "Now, why don't we proceed to introduce ourselves first, to make it more exciting?"
I looked around. No one seemed to like the idea. There was about 20 students in class, and since there wasn't any seating chart for the first day, everyone seemed to form their own little group already, except for me and a few other kids.
"Okay, here we go! Start from Mr. Jones, if you please?" he clearly didn't get it, or as every teacher does it, they ignore the little details and go with the plan.
"I'm Alfred Jones?" he said again, more awkwardly this time. "I moved here this year from... Brooklyn, New York."
"Do you play sport or have any hobbies?" the teacher seemed to hint.
And Alfred's eyes fluttered wide open at the mention, it seemed. I just sat back and stared at those sparkling eyes. How cute, I yawned.
"Yes. I'm in football!."
Oh. Hopefully he's not a piece of garbage like most athletic kids I've seen all my life.
"That's great. Our school has a strong football team! There are also many student clubs, like the French Culture Club, if anyone's interested!" He smiled fondly at the boy. "Okay next!"
Americans like to speak quickly. It's hard to get into the habit of listening to this strange accent, though it was still English. I should be used to it soon, though it's going to bother me a bit how they require us to leaving out the 'u' and changing some of the 's' into 'z' when writing. I was so offended when I found out without doing that, I was basically misspelling words. Even Google would correct my perfect grammar. Other than that, I really don't mind the accent, unlike how stereotypes about Britons go. Watched too many American movies. Even if I did mind, what could I do? Tell the president to change it?
"My name's Kiku Honda. I'm from Japan. It's nice to meet everyone." The Asian student behind Alfred spoke up.
"Nice to meet you, Kiku…"
And then... I slowly zoned out from the boring thing. As I said earlier, I won't remember any of these names anyway so why bother. Of course there's still part of me who's excited about the new environment and who knows, there might be a kid at this other end of the world who would care about my existence a bit and actually want to be friends with (the socially inept) me, the kind of friendship you see in movies… But we can all dream. It's too good to be true.
After the aloof Japanese kid, there came two Italian brothers. Then a few American who have lived here all their life. And after that, more Asian kids. Korean, Thai, Burmese? California, no doubt. I'm mildly entertained by their stories by now, if the Frenchman stop talking it'd be just right, his accent annoys me, even in a class with everyone speaking in different dialects. Guess it's rather nice to have so much diversity in just one classroom. The other half of the class was full of Spanish or Caribbean descendant kids. America surely is a strange place.
Suddenly the class got really quiet. I tuned back in to see what was happening. Meeting my eyes… was most of the classroom, including the teacher… well especially the teacher, I guess. A little flustered, I cleared my throat.
"I'm Arthur Kirkland. I'm from London, UK. Nice to meet everyone."
"England, nice! Anything interesting you would want to tell us about your hometown? Any hobbies?" the teacher "cooed" in that overly sugary voice of his.
"… I like reading." I muttered, and then to spare more questioning, added, "Fantasy novels, fairy tales, fictions that sort of thing."
"Fantastic! I'd have you know that later in this semester, our plan is to cover some of the most famous tales and folklores around the world. We shall have a great time then!"
Well, that's good to hear. I looked through the American's school curriculum online (not that I was really excited, just... preparations), and am pretty sure that I don't want anything to do with American modern literature anytime soon, even though my plan before I move was to major in Literature and Journalism. Wonder if they even have majors in U.S. "high school."
After me there were only a few kids left for introduction, two were black, the other was Taiwanese, he strongly insisted, not Chinese. Even if the students are ethnically diverse, none of them really struggle speaking English. I wonder if they are all transfer students like me.
"So most of you are probably wondering why this class is so diverse." Bonnefoy chimed happily.
Yeah yeah, I get the feeling that we will be singing "Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts" very soon.
"Our school is a unique private academy even among other private school. We create our own curriculum, as we have many students from abroad, invited from all over the world so we can share our experience together. And I truly believe that," he paused for a moment out of personal fondness and smiled, "we can bring out the most from our excellent students."
Well, that isn't necessarily a bad thing. I probably won't get to experience the infamous American public school I've heard so much about, but something told me this is off to an okay start.
I think I'll be okay for now.
Song of the Day: Fine on the Outside by Priscilla Ahn
A/N: I really enjoy writing this story and hope you have just as good a time reading it!