Pavlov made himself famous for getting his dogs to drool when they heard a bell. As I left the cafeteria that day, I found myself wondering if the school administration had modeled their own bell system after his dog experiments. It occurred to me that I could be forever doomed to stand up and walk around whenever I heard a bell, when someone grabbed my wrist.
"Hey!" It was Rory. I sighed. The last thing I wanted to hear was some new girl complaining about her badly photocopied map.
"Can I help you?" I asked. Apparently, I am a huge masochist, because I stopped walking (which, at Bay, is a horrible idea, and will likely get you trampled) and turned to face her.
"What was that girl saying? Why's the wolverine 'having a coronary'?" She shifted her weight, annoyed. I sighed again.
"You're new." I told her shortly. She made a strangled sort of sound that might have been a scream of frustration.
"Everybody says that!" She stalked down the hall a ways, then turned back to me. "What the hell is that all about, anyway?" and then she rounded the corner and headed up the stairs.
I watched her go for a minute, and continued towards my Chem. class. There was no need to bring up the past, I told myself. She'll figure it out on her own, anyway. There was no need to tell this girl how I had managed to acquire the hatred of most of the student body. Somebody else will tell her, I thought, and she will just not sit with us anymore, and things will go back to normal.
My chemistry teacher was Mrs. Conroy. Mrs. Conroy was round, alarmingly like a basketball. She read from the textbook in a way that reminded me of a pep-squad leader, and wrote chemical equations on the board in her blocky handwriting, complete with little smiley faces at the corners to remind us that chemistry was a fun and happy thing. She was right. There is nothing more fun than inhaling toxic fumes or balancing chemical equations. I put my head down, and let my eyes close against my arm, and waited for class to be over.
"Ms. Halliwell!" Mrs. Conroy called on me, practically shaking with the excitement of chemical equations.
"Hunh?" I made a decidedly un-excited noise. This, however, coupled with the fact that moments ago, I had been asleep, apparently didn't register with Mrs. Conroy, and she helpfully repeated the question.
"Can you tell me what x equals, Ms. Halliwell?" I looked at the board. I looked at Mrs. Conroy.
"I don't know." I shrugged, and plopped my head back down.
Minutes passed like hours until finally, the three o'clock bell rang, and I sprang from my seat, a loyal Pavlovian dog. Mrs. Conroy stopped me at the door. "Are you okay, Kerry?" she asked, "It's only that you seem to be…unhappy, lately." I smiled widely, a manic, wild smile, and left without answering. What do you say to that, anyway?