Juliana sat, hands folded neatly on her plaid skirt, sun radiating on her
soft red cheeks. She had her long, black winter coat on, and was beginning
to feel warm and faint. Slowly, her fingers crawled and pressed the button
on the car door beside her. Hoping her father wouldn't notice, she cracked
the window open for some fresh air.
"What are you doing, Jules?" he cried. "Close the window! You'll catch pneumonia."
She huffed and shut the window.
"That was stupid of you," she thought to herself, "trying to sneak around like he wouldn't notice. You're so stupid."
Juliana's father was driving fast down the long main road. He always drove so fast, as if her were trying to catch something or maybe running away from something. It annoyed her. She didn't think he needed to get anywhere as urgently as he thought he did. She would have told him to slow down, but it would be of no use. He never listened when she talked, so why bother speaking?
"Uh, thank you for driving me, Dad." She spoke meekly. "Sorry I missed the bus again."
"You just need to manage your time, Jules. You'll learn someday."
The car jerked to a stop. Juliana looked up at the hill before her, and knew her dreaded school loomed at the top. She looked to her father, but he was staring past her.
"Okay," he said.
"'Okay' what?"
"'Okay' you can get out of the car now."
"I have to walk up?" Her face was more tired and reluctant than surprised. She sat still in her seat. Her father reached behind the seat and grabbed her backpack, bringing it forth and placing it in her lap.
"Have a nice day, sweetheart!" he said, as if he hadn't heard her question. He smiled. "I love you!"
Juliana looked at him and nodded slightly. She smiled a forced smile, and pulled the handle on the car door.
"If only he knew," she said in her mind. "If only he could fathom the horrid pain this school brings to me. The psychological torture; the loneliness I face every day. If he understood, then maybe he'd let me leave."
She slammed the door shut and turned around swiftly, just in time to see her father wave. He tooted the horn, and sped away. Juliana swung her backpack over her right shoulder.
She walked up the asphalt hill to her school. The only sound to be heard was the clicking of her heels as they met with the hard ground. She stared down as she walked, silently cursing her wretched school the entire time.
She creaked open the door, and stepped into the main hall. The office was empty, as usual. The teachers were upstairs in the lounge, she knew, sipping their steaming black coffee, while maliciously plotting against the students. She turned down another hallway, towards the wall where her locker hung.
She could see, from several feet away, that hers was the locker with the graffiti on it. FREAK was written with a permanent marker, across the face of her locker door. BITCH was written beneath that. She hadn't done it, of course. It showed up a few days after the school board assigned locker numbers. It was one of those things that the vice principal swore he'd eliminate "as soon as possible". Whenever she brought it to his attention, however, the janitor was mysteriously missing or suddenly very ill.
She spun her lock around three times, and it clicked open. When she opened her locker, hundreds of shreds of paper fell to the ground.
"Someone has too much time on their hands," she thought. She swept the rest of the bits and pieces out of her locker, and kicked them to the side as they fell to the floor.
She gathered her books in her arms, and stuffed her book bag into the locker. She slammed it shut, and briskly walked away before anyone could accuse her of leaving the paper pile in the hallway. On the way to her morning classroom, she chucked her brown-bagged lunch into a nearby trash can. She paused a moment to listen to the thud it made, and continued on her way.
Her day continued on as most days do. She was late for home room, because she missed the bus. First period she had science class, in which she did her social studies homework. Science was boring, and everybody knew it. Their teacher was monotone, and no one ever listened to her speak. Juliana sat in the front of the classroom, but the teacher never bothered to look around. She never saw what the students did. Second period was social studies class, in which she did her French homework. Social studies class was one of the noisiest classes she had. The teacher screamed, and the students screamed. Juliana sat in the back of the classroom, and tried to block out the noise around her. Third Period was French class, in which she did her algebra homework. French was the easiest class that anyone could take. The teacher never gave tests, and when she did, she rarely marked them. French grades were based mostly on class participation and behavior. The best thing about French class was the teacher. If you asked her a question, she could go on explaining it all period. All you had to do was not talk when she was speaking, and occasionally nod your head, and you could pass with an A or a B.
The worst period of the day was lunch. Lunch was only fun for the kids who had friends. Juliana didn't have any of those, so she sat in the bathroom with her knees pulled up to her chin, and tried to escape the world. She sat in the stall and looked at the writing on the walls. Vulgar notes about certain girls, phone numbers, and peoples names were scribbled all over the walls. Then she saw a familiar note:
Your eyes do not see me, And I fail to understand, Why the world has to be.
It was her poem, and it was still unfinished. She still couldn't think of a good rhyme. The more she stared at this poem, the more annoyed she became. It was as if the poem, with a life of its own, didn't ever want to be finished.
Then a thought drifted into her mind. Haunting memories caused her head to pound and her eyes to tear. It still hurt, and her scars from it were still very new. She tried to push the thought away.
"Understand." she whispered. "Stand, hand, band, strand, brand, grand." Her mind was done with rhymes, and flung the memory back at her. It was the day she became "invisible".
"What are you doing, Jules?" he cried. "Close the window! You'll catch pneumonia."
She huffed and shut the window.
"That was stupid of you," she thought to herself, "trying to sneak around like he wouldn't notice. You're so stupid."
Juliana's father was driving fast down the long main road. He always drove so fast, as if her were trying to catch something or maybe running away from something. It annoyed her. She didn't think he needed to get anywhere as urgently as he thought he did. She would have told him to slow down, but it would be of no use. He never listened when she talked, so why bother speaking?
"Uh, thank you for driving me, Dad." She spoke meekly. "Sorry I missed the bus again."
"You just need to manage your time, Jules. You'll learn someday."
The car jerked to a stop. Juliana looked up at the hill before her, and knew her dreaded school loomed at the top. She looked to her father, but he was staring past her.
"Okay," he said.
"'Okay' what?"
"'Okay' you can get out of the car now."
"I have to walk up?" Her face was more tired and reluctant than surprised. She sat still in her seat. Her father reached behind the seat and grabbed her backpack, bringing it forth and placing it in her lap.
"Have a nice day, sweetheart!" he said, as if he hadn't heard her question. He smiled. "I love you!"
Juliana looked at him and nodded slightly. She smiled a forced smile, and pulled the handle on the car door.
"If only he knew," she said in her mind. "If only he could fathom the horrid pain this school brings to me. The psychological torture; the loneliness I face every day. If he understood, then maybe he'd let me leave."
She slammed the door shut and turned around swiftly, just in time to see her father wave. He tooted the horn, and sped away. Juliana swung her backpack over her right shoulder.
She walked up the asphalt hill to her school. The only sound to be heard was the clicking of her heels as they met with the hard ground. She stared down as she walked, silently cursing her wretched school the entire time.
She creaked open the door, and stepped into the main hall. The office was empty, as usual. The teachers were upstairs in the lounge, she knew, sipping their steaming black coffee, while maliciously plotting against the students. She turned down another hallway, towards the wall where her locker hung.
She could see, from several feet away, that hers was the locker with the graffiti on it. FREAK was written with a permanent marker, across the face of her locker door. BITCH was written beneath that. She hadn't done it, of course. It showed up a few days after the school board assigned locker numbers. It was one of those things that the vice principal swore he'd eliminate "as soon as possible". Whenever she brought it to his attention, however, the janitor was mysteriously missing or suddenly very ill.
She spun her lock around three times, and it clicked open. When she opened her locker, hundreds of shreds of paper fell to the ground.
"Someone has too much time on their hands," she thought. She swept the rest of the bits and pieces out of her locker, and kicked them to the side as they fell to the floor.
She gathered her books in her arms, and stuffed her book bag into the locker. She slammed it shut, and briskly walked away before anyone could accuse her of leaving the paper pile in the hallway. On the way to her morning classroom, she chucked her brown-bagged lunch into a nearby trash can. She paused a moment to listen to the thud it made, and continued on her way.
Her day continued on as most days do. She was late for home room, because she missed the bus. First period she had science class, in which she did her social studies homework. Science was boring, and everybody knew it. Their teacher was monotone, and no one ever listened to her speak. Juliana sat in the front of the classroom, but the teacher never bothered to look around. She never saw what the students did. Second period was social studies class, in which she did her French homework. Social studies class was one of the noisiest classes she had. The teacher screamed, and the students screamed. Juliana sat in the back of the classroom, and tried to block out the noise around her. Third Period was French class, in which she did her algebra homework. French was the easiest class that anyone could take. The teacher never gave tests, and when she did, she rarely marked them. French grades were based mostly on class participation and behavior. The best thing about French class was the teacher. If you asked her a question, she could go on explaining it all period. All you had to do was not talk when she was speaking, and occasionally nod your head, and you could pass with an A or a B.
The worst period of the day was lunch. Lunch was only fun for the kids who had friends. Juliana didn't have any of those, so she sat in the bathroom with her knees pulled up to her chin, and tried to escape the world. She sat in the stall and looked at the writing on the walls. Vulgar notes about certain girls, phone numbers, and peoples names were scribbled all over the walls. Then she saw a familiar note:
Your eyes do not see me, And I fail to understand, Why the world has to be.
It was her poem, and it was still unfinished. She still couldn't think of a good rhyme. The more she stared at this poem, the more annoyed she became. It was as if the poem, with a life of its own, didn't ever want to be finished.
Then a thought drifted into her mind. Haunting memories caused her head to pound and her eyes to tear. It still hurt, and her scars from it were still very new. She tried to push the thought away.
"Understand." she whispered. "Stand, hand, band, strand, brand, grand." Her mind was done with rhymes, and flung the memory back at her. It was the day she became "invisible".