I'm not quite sure where to go after that basic introduction. There's nothing I feel that I can say - nothing that I want to say.
I don't want to be standing up here.
"I hope to get along with everyone." I finish. An empty platitude, meaningless, but appropriately polite.
After a second of waiting to see if I am going to continue, my homeroom and science teacher, Mutou, continues where I left off, a typical speech about getting along with others. It is equally meaningless, but necessary to continue 'normal' affairs.
Interest lost, I examine the classroom and its inhabitants. The room itself seems very...open, for a lack of a better term. The ceiling is rather high and there is plenty of space around desks. Presumably, this assists the...visually impaired when they need to move around.
High slider windows adorn the right of the classroom, recently cleaned. There are blackboards all around the classroom, covering most of the available wall space. The desks are typical, standard wooden desks and chairs with metal frames, a shelf underneath them to act as a storage space. Rather...old fashioned, all in all.
There doesn't seem to be any pattern to the seating chart, or to the disabilities the people in this class have. Quite a few of the students have no noticeable disorder, like me. One of the girls in the front are fast asleep and don't seem to be waking any time soon. The sight makes me smile halfheartedly.
A flash of violet hair, and my eyes go to the girl in the back who is staring at me curiously. When our eyes meet, she immediately covers her face with her hands again, but I've already noticed what look like burn scars covering the right side of her face and neck. The back of her right hand, as well, show signs of damage, purple and red encroaching on her otherwise pale skin.
I pull my gaze away from the scars. If she were to peek out, she would find my stare disconcerting, and I don't want to frighten anyone away. I may not particularly want to make friends, but I don't want to be disliked, either.
Mutou finishes talking and everyone applauds, minus the shy girl in the back who was staring at me earlier. But I don't think it's out of disrespect or disinterest, more a refusal to take her hands away from her face. I'm guessing this behavior is normal for her.
"We're going to be doing some group work today, so that'll give you a chance to talk with everyone. Is that okay with you?" Mutou tells me.
Is that some kind of joke?
Perhaps not. I have to remember that not everyone is as - broken - as I am.
"Yes, it's fine with me." I reply.
"That's good, you can work with Hakamichi. She is the class representative." So, in other words, exactly the type of person I would rather not talk to.
"What about the other open seat?" I ask, glancing at the empty spot next to the girl that was staring at me earlier.
"Hm." Mutou says, giving me a speculative look. I'm not sure what about my request merits so much thought, but he seems to be seriously considering the matter.
"Not for now." He replies. "Sit with Hakamichi for now, and if you still wish to later, you may."
I'm not sure how to interpret this statement and decide to take it under consideration.
Well, we're off to a delightful start. It could be much worse, though - at least this is a school filled with people something like myself. I won't be a freak here, or if I am, at least not quite as much.
"She can explain anything you might want to know. And who else would be able to do that better, right?" The teacher passes out the day's assignments and announces that we will be working in groups of three. It's about that time that I realize that I don't know who Hakamichi is.
That's alright, I can figure this out myself. Class representative…
I immediately eliminate everyone in the back row under the assumption that the class representative is personable and likable. There's a certain 'outgoing' element I'd imagine existing in a student representative, and none of them appear to have it, especially if, as I suspect, you're allowed to sit anywhere you want to.
In cases like those, students will naturally form cliques, and the back is usually reserved for introverts like myself and delinquents.
No, the student council must sit in the front row…
There's a fit girl - it might be more fitting to call her a woman, actually - with two arms and one hand eyeing me somewhat speculatively, but everyone else seems mostly indifferent - or in the case of that one girl, asleep.
The middle row?
The students on my left all seem introverted, but on the right - a pink-haired girl with the oddest hairstyle I've ever seen and a blue-haired girl next to her animatedly talking in sign language.
The former solves the problem for me by waving me over.
"Are you Hakamichi?" I say shortly. She looks...optimistic. Her hair is wrapped in drills cascading down her shoulders and her eyes are brown
This opinion is drastically revised over the course of the next few minutes.
"Hahaha!"
What?
"It's nice to meet you. But I'm not Hakamichi, I'm Misha! This is Hakamichi! Shicchan!" Giggling, Misha points to the girl next to her. She has short, neatly brushed dark blue hair, a pair of oval-shaped glasses balanced on the tip of a dainty nose, and midnight-colored eyes that seem to alternate between analytical and bored.
And a sharp contrast to Misha, who is very excitable. And loud. Shizune, on the other hand, is silent.
That would make her the deaf one, then.
She starts making gestures to Misha. Misha returns with a few hand movements of her own. I can't understand any of it. It might be a good idea to learn how, if only so that I can communicate to everyone if necessary.
Or even just to eavesdrop on the class representative, which strikes me as such a good idea that there's no way I can't implement it.
I nod at the class representative in acknowledgement, a gesture that she doesn't return. I don't care enough to be annoyed by it.
"Are you Shizune's personal interpreter, or do you regularly act as a translator for others?" I ask Misha, seizing control over the conversation as best I can. I don't think remaining a passive spectator for this conversation is in my best interest.
It's apparently not what Misha expected. I wonder what they've been told about me, if anything; how much about my past are they aware of?
"W-Well, I only work for Shicchan! But I can help out sometimes if I need to!" I notice that she has a brief conversation with Shizune before replying - did she need Shizune's advice on that question…?
"I see. Do you mind if I ask why you learned sign language?" I ask.
Misha's fingers freeze for a second before resuming their silent conversation with Shizune.
Ah. There is something, then.
"Ahahaha!" She laughs, a little nervously, "I just wanted to be able to talk to Shicchan face to face." There seems to be a good deal more to it than just that simplified explanation but this is very obviously something I shouldn't press, regardless of how curious I am of the answer.
"That's a noble goal." I reply, before turning to my assignment at an attempt at giving her some space. I have no idea if it comes off correctly or not.
"If there's anything you need to know, you can feel free to ask us. Do you like the school so far? We can show you around a little if you haven't had the time to walk around and…familiarize…yourself with it." Misha stumbles over the harder word a bit, but her translation is otherwise fluid.
That's pretty impressive, especially the way that she's able to talk while reading the signs that Shizune makes. JSL requires a translator to focus on the face of a person signing as well as the actual motions they make, making someone like Misha who can focus on that while actively translating quite unusual. I wonder how much time she's spent working on it.
"Thanks." I remember to answer the hanging offer. "I think I'll be fine, though." I try to offer a smile and only partially succeed.
It's not that I particularly dislike the duo, though Misha's loud voice is grating to my sensitive ears; rather, I'm not sure how to recover from my accidental faux pas and seek to escape the situation.
Another pointed glance at the assignment gets the idea across; Misha exclaims something about how we need to start on the assignment, much to my chagrin, and then we begin.
The assignment is boring and long, and my patience is quickly sapped. I'm good at science, but problems testing dimensional analysis is not how I wanted to spend today. I want to explore the new school and familiarize myself with it as quickly as possible, since it seems that I'll be here for some time.
My impression of the school, despite my first thoughts, is extremely positive. It's nothing at all like my old school, where people seemed to think I was lucky because I couldn't feel pain, and nothing like I expected this school to be like, filled with people who were as moody and reclusive as I.
It's nice to see that there are others like me who seem to be doing a bit better than me. I don't think I could wish my experience on any-
…
No, that's not quite right.
There are two people who deserve worse than I've received.
Misha interrupts my dark thoughts with a misery-filled complaint about one of the problems, unsigned, and says something along the lines of "I wish I was as smart as Shicchan and Hicchan", which is enough to get me to clear my head and move to assist my wayward classmate with her portion of the chemistry classwork.
I protest the nickname, but despite my efforts, it sticks.