Waterville, Maine 1925

Nicknames

"JULIA FROST?"

If I really wanted to be here at this very moment, I would have loved to answer. But I really didn't want to be here, they had just started to find out back home, if only I had been there a little longer.

"Julia Frost?" the female teacher, whose name had been written on the board as Ms. Clarkson, called my name again.

"Here." I answer unwillingly.

People were already looking, something I, personally, wasn't looking forward to. I hated the stares. They would look me up and down examining my bizarre exterior. The eyes would start from the top of my silvery bleach blonde hair, which was extremely unnatural for this part and unnatural to me as well. My parents were the reason for this, but not because of genes. No my parents had actually bleached my hair, not that I disliked the outcome, it actually looked really cool. My hair hadn't fallen out like they expected it, and they were careful not to burn my scalp or skin. But I still didn't like the attention it brought.

Their eyes would then move down to my face. Most likely my mouth would be the attention of their glazes. My bottom lip had been busted about a week ago and was now in the healing process. Then the eyes would move to my arms and chest. They would see how discolored my body was, in every section. My arms weren't just one color, no they were several. I had a dark blue spot on one arm and a reddish spot on the other. Then there was several colors put into one on my shoulder. That was how my whole body was colored. I didn't mind it much, the pain pasted easily now. My body had grown use to pain, a tolerance to the bruises that I got every night.

I heard mumbling already or maybe that was just my imagination. I hoped it was my imagination. Unwillingly, I unglued my eyes from my shoes and looked around. No imagination here. People were staring and whispering lowly to their neighbors. How joyous. I closed my eyes and put all of my attention into my ears to hear what they were saying.

"What's with her arms?" a girl hissed.

"She probably thinks she better than everyone, just look at her hair." another girl hissed.

"Her lips are cut, maybe she's a tough one." a boy said eagerly.

I sighed then opened my eyes to stare at the ceiling. This was only the first day of school. The truth was unbearably true, I would have to deal with this everyday, for the rest of high school. Four more years. Great.

I was then distracted by the teacher, who had now chosen it time to start teaching her bogus lesson. History. The worst subject to start the day out with. After paying attention for several minutes I found my thoughts going else where. To sleep. Last night wasn't the best night ever in my families house hold. So I folded my arms on the table and gently placed my head on it. After a couple moments the teacher called my name.

"Julia Frost. Am I right?" she asked standing right next to me.

"Yes." I tried to answer sweetly.

"Hm. Well maybe you can answer when Waterville was first inhabited?"

"It was inhabited with Indians before 1692. But it was incorporated in 1802."

"Thank you." she was obviously disappointed that I knew about the place. She stalked off back to the board.

Another sigh escaped my thoughts and I decided to just simply close my eyes and get some rest sitting upright. That worked for awhile. We were now forty-five minutes into class. We had been given an assignment, a fairly simple assignment. It took ten minutes. Tops.

So for the next fifteen minutes of class, I decided to recollect on my past life. We were living in Presque Isle, in North Maine. We had lived their since I was born. But of course no one said anything about the injuries I had acquired there. Either people thought I was really clumsy, or didn't want to get into anyone else's business. Something I wish people would do more often. The whole reason we moved was because the children at school were finally catching on more than my parents wanted them to. A big disappointment. The fact the children got more than the parents was extremely sad. But the worse part, was the parents didn't listen to their children, so no one could help the way I need help.

A lot of times, I wanted to go to the police myself. But when my parents caught on to what I was going to do, they made sure I came home right after school, picking me up and taking me home; then the pain would begin. I started wishing I hadn't thought of going to the authorities, then I would be in less pain. But that was back then, this was now. Not a big difference, but still some. They weren't going to pick me up from school today, I knew that for a fact because I had no idea where the police station was and I wasn't going to find out soon either. I didn't want to. It would be better just to let them be calm, and the future take its course, what ever course it may take.

My thoughts were then interrupted by a taping on my shoulder. Turning around, I saw the kid behind me holding a piece of paper. When I looked at him, he didn't move. So I just stared. Soon enough he pushed the paper that was in his hand toward my face, implying that it was mine. Taking it from him, I turned around. I didn't want to open the paper, knowing what was inside it wasn't difficult. But I still opened it anyways.

Your skin is weird.

A small chuckle escaped my lips. How boring. This wasn't even hurtful, just plain pointless. I picked up my pen and began to write.

Wow. that's very interesting for you to point out. Anything else you would like to point out before the bell rings?

I turned around giving the paper back to the annoying boy who had passed it. After he opened it, the expression on his face turned sad, he looked up at my glare and looked surprised. He shook his head several times then looked down to the floor.

Stupid idiot. This is what made me mad about kids. They didn't care how they hurt people and when they did, they felt bad for themselves. How nice.

The bell rang and I found myself quickly getting my things. I stomped my feet to the door. Once I opened it and took my first step out, a gust of wind flew past me. I looked over to see a boy moving as quickly as I was to his next class.