Assignment #1: Character Analysis – Find out who you are
The last year of a stage in one's life is a very special one. You start making plans for the future, reflect the years that have passed and ask yourself some important questions.
What does the image look like that I have created of myself? Did I have a certain intention in mind that I wanted to display? And if so: What exactly did I want to achieve?
Did I disguise my real self just to please and impress other people? Did I just want to be myself? Or did I manage to break the mold and get to know aspects of my personality I haven't known before?
But the most important question is: Do I still have the chance to change who I am?
Internal monologues like these are normal for young people who are about to graduate from school. Because what comes next is real life. What your parents always warn you of, hoping that their offsprings have been prepared properly for the serious side of life.
Our story starts on a warm day in September, sometime in the late seventies. The sun sent its glittering rays down upon the crowded streets of St. Canard, Calisota.
Young men were sweating in their black business suits while goose-stepping towards the subway station, their important-looking briefcases dangling back and forth in accordance with their footsteps. Mothers were pushing strollers through the parks, other people were taking their dogs for a walk or using the last minutes before work to thumb through the pages of the daily newspaper.
A similar rushing could be found among the students of St. Canard High School. It was the first day after summer vacation and the girls and boys were getting ready for another year of education. Unmistakably, the focus of attention was now on the graduates-to-be. Who would have mustered the most awards by the end of the year? Who wouldn't graduate? Not only did the juniors and the teachers ask themselves these questions, but also – or especially – the worried seniors.
One of them was riding the school bus and looking out of the window anxiously. Her shoulder bag, chock-full with books, was resting in her lap. The head of the rat girl was leaning against the window pane, moving slightly to and fro. Except for her, there were only younger students on the bus. She was the only senior. She knew she would be pointed at and giggled about once she got off the vehicle. The boys would shake their heads, smirking, whereas the girls would examine her with derogatory looks and mumble names like "wallflower" or "freak". Maybe they would also trip her up on her way to the classroom. But there was not the slightest chance that somebody would be waiting for her at her locker. Eleanor Johansson had no friends.
In this way, her last year at school began. The school she hated so much. The student body, that is. And this sentiment seemed to be mutual. Eleanor was the showcase geek. The one who was permanently picked on because of her looks, her interests and her intelligence. Was thinking about the future – your own as well as the planet's – really that uncool? Was it contemptible to be interested in natural sciences and foreign languages and to organize your leisure time around them? Was it that odd to like school?
The bus jerked to a halt. The rat girl had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't noticed their arrival. She sighed and rose from her seat halfheartedly, just to be jostled by a group of screeching seventh graders. She couldn't deny herself a smile. These kids were so light-hearted, status symbols didn't exist in their world. Yet. And their social fabric was still different from what she knew. It was a lot more difficult for Eleanor, who was at the age of 17. Unlike the majority of her classmates, she neither possessed a driver's license (cars polluted the environment) nor was she friends with anybody who could take her along. So she was dependent on the bus and raised a laugh day-to-day. And it was no difference today. She already heard them when she put her foot on the first step.
"Hey, Eleanor!"
The other girls jeered and whistled at her, but Eleanor didn't look. That would make things even worse. She accelerated her pace and tried to keep the color of her face as neutral as possible. The shrill laughter reverberated until she opened the door of the main building and disappeared inside. The rat girl stopped and exhaled. She was supposed to stand above their teasing after all these years, wasn't she? She shouldn't care about that any more, right? Yes, she should actually have gathered the strength to stand up to her bullies. But Eleanor hadn't. Right from the cradle her father had taught her to meet other people's expectations first. And since it seemed to be her classmates' expectation that she acted amusingly, she saw no chances to change anything.
It was still quite early and Eleanor was alone in the cold, protective belly of the school. She peeped outside. Her female classmates didn't dare to enter the building yet. They were more interested in showing off their new sunglasses they had bought on vacation in France to their friends, the boys and the world overall. She saw Preena Lott, the most popular senior girl and prospective prom queen, as she presumably told her astonished friends about her exclusive vacation.
"So what," Eleanor thought, "I went to Egypt this year and joined an archaeology summer camp. You would never dare to do that – your poor fingernails might get dirty."
Eleanor averted her eyes and started rummaging her bag for her schedule. Regardless of her good memory: She just couldn't keep in mind which class followed which. Her first class today was French.
"Great, I may enjoy the company of the honorable ladies a little longer," she thought disparagingly and headed for the girls' restroom.
Relieved that she hadn't crossed anybody's path, Eleanor pushed open the door of the restrooms and chose a stall in the middle. The last one would have been way too striking. She locked the door and sat down on the toilet lid, the bag in her lap. She stared at the tiles and tried to look for patterns in the stains on the poorly cleaned floor. This usually helped perfectly to get rid of her bad thoughts. But today it just didn't work. She had to admit that the question whether or not something would change this year bothered her. She didn't expect to become friends with many people, but she nevertheless hoped to get somebody's sympathy. At least a bit. Because, honestly: They were mature enough to demonstrate due respect to each other, weren't they?
"No," a voice popped up in Eleanor's head. She was all too familiar with it. It was her inner critic. "Why should things change now, of all times?"
Shoot, why did she always have to be so negative? She shook her head in order to make her subconsciousness shut up.
With a bang the door of the restrooms flew open and a group of cackling girls entered. They could hardly restrain themselves. The rat girl stiffened and could only just save her bag from slipping off her lap and thus from revealing her presence. She tucked up her legs, put the bag atop and listened.
"Did you see her?" one of the girls shrieked. Unmistakably, that was Preena's voice. And it was clear to Eleanor that she was the topic of conversation.
"Sure! She offends my eyes!" responded another voice, a rather hoarse one. It belonged to Celeste. The rat girl bit her bottom lip. Celeste had pretty much been the only girl Eleanor had once been sort of close to. They had sat next to each other in eighth grade and she had helped the duck girl with her Math homework regularly. Celeste had thanked her with occasional conversations. But unfortunately, a real friendship had never accrued. When they had reached puberty, Celeste had started to change. Boys had suddenly become her focus of attention, and that had sparked Preena's interest for her. Preena Lott had already had several boyfriends in seventh grade. Eleanor was always astonished at the fact that her current boyfriend Hamilton String hadn't turned into a bore yet. Anyway, with this turnabout the prospective friendship between Eleanor and Celeste had died away.
"The poor thing is stuck in the fifties, no doubt," Preena said. "I mean, have you seen how she's walking around? Does nobody tell her that we have advanced in terms of fashion?" The sound of hairspray could be heard.
"Maybe you should do that," Hannah assumed. She was one of those who usually left the thinking to others.
"No bad idea ... ," Preena answered. There was a long break. Eleanor could literally hear the girls' brains work. At last Preena said, "I think I already have an idea how we'll do it." Her voice sounded vicious. Eleanor felt a shiver run down her spine. Preena was her nemesis and her jokes were exceedingly disgraceful. Eleanor heard the girls' laughter, it crept up under the door crack like toxic gas. At least she knew now that they were up to something. But she didn't get to know what it was, since they left the room noisily.
That was the keyword for Eleanor to relax her muscles. She slowly put her numb feet on the ground and sighed. The rat girl should have known better. She would have to tolerate humiliation and rejection even longer and asked herself what Preena's plan could possibly look like.
Utterly quiet, she unlocked the door and stepped out. She sighed again and moved towards the sinks, turned on the water and let the cool liquid run over her hands. What a pleasant feeling, as if she could wash away a part of her sorrows.
Eleanor closed her eyes for a moment, turned off the water and then dared to look in the mirror. Only now did she realize how old and tired she looked. Several strands of hair had escaped from her bun, which indeed looked quite weird. She loosened her bun, ran her fingers through her auburn curls and tied her hair up again. Eleanor smoothed out her clothes, took off her round glasses and rubbed her eyes. When she put the glasses back on her nose and looked at herself again, she perceived her appearance as at least more reasonable than before. She tried to manage a smile, which turned out quite wry, and left the room.