Sora could feel her face flush in embarrassment. She couldn't understand why it bothered her so acutely, but it did. And every time she put herself out for people to judge, it would. It hurt every time.
"I should just not talk." Sora whispered to herself as she shuffled down the hallway. Looking back to the events in the girls' locker room a few minutes earlier, she shook her head. Esprit de l'escalier. I should have said something back. I should have told them to shut up. I should have told them I'll wear a boy's uniform if I damnwell want.
Sora had always felt out of place. While the other girls were playing with dolls and having tea parties, she was out playing soccer, and getting into fights with the boys. She'd never been the same as everyone else, and she never would be.
It hurt.
Brushing her fingers though her hair, they were caught momentarily on the hairclip Taichi had given her a year or so before for her birthday. He didn't understand. Nobody ever would.
I wish I weren't so sensitive. I wish I didn't feel so damn much.
Avoiding all the looks and stares from the various students, Sora slid through the crowd with the careful determination of someone well accustomed to not be noticed. One who had become a shadow, not through will, but through the necessity of survival. High school was a war zone, a wild place for predators, and she was fresh meat.
She looked around the girls' room and went inside, ignoring the ringing bell that told her to go back to class. She hefted herself up onto the table beside a window looking out of the courtyard and pulled her long, muscular legs to her chest.
I'm not going to class with tearstains all over my face. Sora smeared the salty tears aside angrily. She was usually so good at making herself look tough, uncaring of what others thought.
Ever since Mimi had left her and gone to America, she had felt more alone than ever. She could talk to Hikari sometimes, but it wasn't nearly the same, and she didn't want to burden Mimi over email. She loved her, but Mimi could be capricious, and probably wouldn't understand what it felt like to be different. Miyako... she simply couldn't bear sharing this with. It would be a catalyst too strong for her to handle, one way or another. Accept me.... reject me... she'd rather not take the chance and lose a friend. And over time, the aloneness grew inside her. Crowded out all of her other emotions, which was just as well, because she'd learned long ago not to show them to anyone. You show them, you get hurt worse. Any sign of weakness in the jungle is an automatic signal to attack.
And attack they had. In the girls' locker room. Dressing along with the other girls, careful not to look at them.
"I don't see why she just doesn't shower with the boys." A snotty voice broke through the giggles and shrieks normal to the moments before the next class when girls were dawdling, brushing each other's hair, and generally minding everyone else's business.
Shower with the boys.
One thought sprung to Sora's mind. They wouldn't want me in their showers.
Then of course, came the inevitable, terrible, irreversible second thought. I'm not wanted here either.
Not wanted.
Not wanted.
Sora dressed quickly, averting her eyes and tuning out the rest of the conversation forcefully, deliberately. She began thinking about Yamato's band, and how she'd be going with him to their next gig. She would have to help the guys lug their equipment onto the stage. They weren't strong enough to do it on their own. Which reminded her.
She peeked around a bit to see if the other girls were mostly dressed then reached into her backpack to pull out the prize.
"Guys, if anybody is looking for something to do this weekend, I have some free tickets to The Revolution Wolves concert." She said as brightly as possible. Every trick she knew was required to talk to them. Breath deeply to keep you pulse rate down so you don't sweat. But slowly, so they don't see how nervous you are. Keep a smile on your face, it sends happy chemicals to your brain. Block out everything but what you are saying.
"Looking for a date, Sora?" One of her classmate asked just as sweetly as she was handing the tickets to a few of the girls. She froze immediately and her face went completely blank. She blinked a few times, standing up very straight, and holding onto the remainder of the tickets tightly, crushing them in her palm.
"Not you." She said flatly before grabbing her backpack and whisking her way resolutely out of the locker room before anyone could say another word. Just as she stormed through the doors, she heard one word.
"Bitch!"
Looking back on it, she was very proud that she hadn't burst into tears on the spot. Leaning her head to the side of the window frame, she looked down a few stories at the young middle schoolers running around on the field outside that they shared with the high school. It amazed her. Only a few years ago, she had been able to blend right in. Maybe not as one of the popular prissy girls. But as a tomboy. That lovely transition from mamma's little darling to the raging hormonal teenager.
It also served as a terrible contrast to what she felt now. Completely hollow inside, unwanted, unloved, and a complete failure. She'd only been able to give three girls the tickets. Yamato wanted the girls to show up, so they'd buy the band's t-shirts and CDs. They needed the capital if they were going to try to tour on the next break from school.
She began to cry harder, totally succumbing to the hot traitorous tears making little scalding streaks down her face. Sora knew if she kept this up, she'd be ill, but she didn't care. She was in the ladies' wasn't she? Or should she start going in the boys' bathroom as well? Get herself a goddamn strap on so she can be exactly what they think she wants to be.
I just want to be me! I don't want to be a boy. I like being a girl! Sora hid her face in her arms, curled up as much as possible. She began to rock back and forth a little as she completely broke down. I'm just not like them. Why can't they see that?
Sora looked up suddenly, somehow sensing that someone was coming. She immediately fled into a vacant stall, carefully steadying herself into a standing position on the toilet seat, and locked the door.
"Shut-I>up! She didn't say that!" One of the voices protested. Sora heard the slam of books onto the table she'd previously occupied.
"She did." The other confirmed. She recognized their voices as Tokara and Meikyn, who were both in her next class, and consequently, tended to hit the ladies fifteen minutes into the period, which told her how long she'd been sitting there in self-pity. "I got a ticket, but Tinga didn't. She was so pissed. She called Shinja a bitch and gave her an open handed slap in the mouth!"
Tokara giggled and the sound of intense hair brushing was heard. "She adores Yamato. I'd imagine she'd do anything for a ticket."
"I gave her mine. I don't really care if I miss this one. Besides, it wasn't just for the ticket. Tinga has a sister who's a lesbian."
"Shut-up."
"I'm totally serious, Toka. She came out a few years ago, and she defends her violently. I can see why she'd be so defensive of Sora, since no one else has the figurative balls to do it."
"Well, Shinja looked like an ass for saying that when she was being so nice. It's not like Sora looks at us. I checked."
"You looking?" Meikyn teased, with a tinge of hope in her voice.
"Bitch, no. Well, not really." Tokara slammed her brush down on the sink. "I just feel better knowing that Sora would rather play our big sister than our big daddy, okay? It's just wrong."
"Don't say that around Tinga. Or Sora." Meikyn said softly. "Promise me you won't talk like that around Sora. She doesn't deserve it."
"Of course not. I'm not a creep like Shinja."
"Whatever. C'mon. Kuwahara san's going to think we fell in."
Sora stepped down from the seat and stood for a moment, ungrounded and uncertain of how to feel. She didn't really feel better. Insider her stomach was still a sharp, growing pain that just wouldn't go away. Slowly, she stepped out of the stall, and walked over to the sink, looking up into the mirror hesitantly at her strained, sorrowful face.
Where do I go from here? She thought, glancing at the window once more.