It took her longer than she thought to find her homeroom on the first day of school, and after running up and down hallways she finally found it; room 404 on the fourth floor all the way in the back hallway. It had to be the crowds earlier that had blocked her view. At 5'8" she generally didn't have a problem finding places, as long as they were listed in places where you could see. Not on damnable waist high placards next to heavy wooden doors that made horrible loud creaks when you attempted to stealthily push them open. Cringing, she walked in to find the room crowded and loud, no one even glancing up to see her sneaking in late, perfect. There was no teacher in sight; regardless of the fact class was to start within 15 minutes. Awkwardly shuffling her bag to her side, she pushed pale blue-white strands behind one ear, quickly scanning the room and its inhabitants to find a suitable seat.
There was a group of girls in their flattering fuchsia talking and giggling amongst each other near the front left, their subject matter lost to Kisara in the noise. Another group of guys and one girl crowded around a Duel Monsters game between a tall blonde teen and a shorter kid with some of the weirdest hair she'd ever seen; spikey blonde bangs with black purple-pink tips covering the rest of his head and spiking out at dramatic angles. Punk, she guessed, wasn't dead at Domino High. They held down the central rows, and the right were filled with more guys chatting idly, and smaller groups of what she assumed to be cliques of friends.
She eyed the back row and licked her lips, making quiet and quick footsteps towards her safe haven; no gum in your hair or pokes from a pencil in the back row. The walls were her allies in a three hundred and sixty degree battle of self protection. Only one person sat in the very back row, and he hid behind a mop of brown hair and a laptop screen, his fingers ticking away at keys. "Good," she thought to herself, inhaling through her nose and taking quick purposeful strides to land her at the corner desk, one wall to her back and another to her right, in the last row, naturally. Perfect as it could get.
She slipped into the seat and slid her bag down by her feet, crossing long legs and then pulling at the hem of her skirt in disgust, trying in vain to make it longer. i"Mind your face"./i Her mother's voice whispered, as Kisara had a terrible habit of wearing her emotions like accessories. Dropping the frown she pulled out her notebook from her bag and her cell from her jacket pocket and began to prepare for the rest of the day. Her mind was still slightly buzzing, the adrenaline pumping through her system from her frantic flight to find the room. Perhaps that's why she didn't notice the teacher walk in, or the stares from the giggle-girls. Or the quiet muttering of the game-geeks (who was she to label them geeks? She loved games just as much). She scolded herself inwardly for being judgemental, one of her worse traits she had developed from what life had laid in her lap.
Tapping lightly on her phone screen, she input her class schedule, noting the room numbers by each class. With that done she breathed a sigh of relief and pulled out her trusty sketchbook. She jotted down ideas and roughs for new monsters to model in 3d later, and though she knew soon she'd be working mainly from reference she still liked to practice with her own creations. It was her favorite hobby, and she needed to build up her portfolio - she did have an interview on Saturday as a modeler for a new monster creation and development for Duel Monsters platforms, at the Kaiba Corporation, naturally. Their online ad seemed to have some interesting technology she'd like to get a closer look at, and though she wasn't as familiar with Duel Monsters as some other fandoms it seemed to be blowing up lately. If she could land it, perhaps it would be a step on her ladder to success.
A loud "Class!" caught her attention and she looked up from her sketching. Everyone had settled peacefully into their seats with their full attention on the man standing in front of his desk. His name placard said E. Hong and he seemed to be midway through thirty. Gently laying down her pencil, she crossed arms across her chest in her usual standoff manner, ready for battle. "Welcome to another exciting year at Domino High and congratulations on making it to junior year, especially you Wheeler," Mr. Hong said and the class laughed in unison at the blonde boy who had been facing off against the punk kid in duel monsters.
"Heeeey!" was all he retorted with, smiling easily to mirror all his surrounding friends.
"Calm down Wheeler, it wasn't just you who passed with the skin of your teeth." He leaned on his desk and grabbed a stack of papers, handing them to the giggle girl nearest the front to pass along to the rest of the class. "I'm pleased to announce that despite your best effort we are still ranked among one of the highest scoring schools and our reputation for excellence is unmarred. Here is an updated list with a few more classes the school has added for those looking to expand their horizons in different ways. If you wish to choose any of these, inform your councilor immediately and we will switch you if possible…." Kisara suddenly felt her mouth dry up. She was two seats behind the nearest other student, and the only other person in her row was at the exact opposite ten seats away, fingers still flickering over keys in a zen-like state. Someone was going to hand her the paper, someone was going to pay attention to her. The stack grew nearer and she felt her hands clench into a fists under her arms in preparation. Her anxiety spiked as she realized there was no way out of being noticed. It was going to happen, like it did every year, the stares would start, the whispers.
"…..I'd like to welcome our new transfer student," Mr. Hong's voice drifted back into her consciousness and her head flicked up to the professor. iNo, no, no/i. The teachers should know not to point her out, she had transferred to three different schools in elementary and everyone just let her slide like she was just another kid in another class. It said so in her record all the problems she had experienced—all the bullying and councilor's meetings. It specifically stated to draw as little attention as—
"Miss Kisara Hayashi who recently transferred here from Waseda. Hello Kisara." His lips curled into a smile and her pulse beat in her temple, her nails digging into her palms as every head in the room turned to look at her. She watched it like a virus, spreading from one face to another until it infected them all. Her face was controlled, her body still as absolute quiet lingered in the air. And lingered further, even the typing of her back row companion had stopped. Her eyes flicked to him, assuming another loner at least would be somewhat of an ally and saw he was staring at her with drawn together brows and a frown so intense it put hers to shame. Quickly she looked back to Mr. Hong, and opened her mouth trying to willing out words but finding none.
"..…Hello" she squeaked said finally, her voice coming out rusty and unpracticed. She couldn't remember the last conversation she had that wasn't between her and herself in her head. It had been at the funeral for her mother, but even then she had done more nodding than speaking that day.
A strained smile and breath of relief from Mr. Hong as he nodded to her and then began addressing the class again about testing scores and some other insights about their futures. Most of the looks turned back around, surprisingly faster than she had thought. The punk kid and the blonde kept glancing back, along with their other friends. One had spiked brown hair, another, the only girl, had a short brown bob with pretty blue eyes and a smile when she faced Kisara. Not a fake one like Mr. Hong, but a real smile. A snarl under her breath and a curled lip suspiciously and unconsciously at the girl. She wasn't ready to make friends, now or ever. It hadn't worked before, and sooner than later Kisara would make her regret it.
The giggle girls were whispering to each other as soon as Professor Hong allowed them their private study time, or whatever homeroom was for. Her hair stood on end and she still knew someone was still watching, like her six sense, her curse granted her awareness of others eyeing her oddity; she could feel it. Her eyes shot around and she curled and uncurled her hands, fingernails digging red half moons into her palms.
Idle chatter returned, and she closed her eyes, focusing hard on the scratching of a pencil, turning of pages and the soft whispers of her new classmates as she tried to calm herself. Yet, there was no sound of the now-familiar clicking of keys, her eyes shot up and she caught him, still staring at her from ten seats away. She waited for him to break his stare, her eyebrows lowered equally as far in challenge. Fighting her instinct to snarl at him with everything inside her, she tilted her chin up and stared into his cold cobalt ones with vigor. Inwardly she seethed and screamed and relived being provoked and pointed at when his eyes refused to break contact. With all the new fashions, with all the cosplayers, and the harajuku streetwalkers she really wasn't ithat/i different. The lie emboldened her and she spat a fiery "….What?" which came out like a hiss as it whispered through clenched teeth.
He blinked finally and seemed to realize himself. He said nothing but simply turned back to his computer and began typing again. A small part of her cheered internally, score one for the freak. But then the swell in her chest felt tighter more than relieving as she truly looked at him. He was taller than her with lean muscles obvious under his fitted blue jacket. It was buttoned to the top, opposed to almost every other boy in the class who had theirs in some sort of open or half buttoned fashion. His pants were pleated and the jacket looked pressed. His fingers were long and slender, frustratingly mesmerizing as they moved over the keys, never once hesitant or remorseful of a keystroke. Brown hair covered his brow in a stylish version of a modern clean cut and dripped to the nape of his neck. His tanned jaw twitched every once in a while as she examined his face. He was handsome; it hit her hard in the gut, strikingly handsome to her. His eyes were a dark counterpart to hers, including matching dark bags underlining them as if to mock her in similarity. She inhaled sharply as her womanly sensibilities and teenage hormones won her over, and her face flushed hot.
She tilted her head down and focused on her sketchbook, already angry with herself at her thoughts alone. Every boy she had ever liked ended in tragedy. Only speaking to her classmates when absolutely necessary was an absolute rule. She kept her protective walls up like her comforter at night, drawn over her head to protect her from outside intrusion. Her mental walls served as a barrier to keeping out people like imaginary monsters. Once she had confronted a boy, a nice boy with black hair and green eyes. An American exchange student, one time she had talked to him. And he had thought she was joking when she asked him to the dance.
Her fantasies died that same night as she cried unabashedly, her mother holding her until she needed to sleep before her shift. Hours after mom had left, Kisara lay shaking in her bed, skipping school. Tears no longer fell and anger quietly stepped into the void that sadness left. Anger would not betray her, anger fueled her, and anger kept out other feelings. Someone like her would never know another's touch, she would never find love, she would never have a iboyfriend/i, a husband, a lover.
Kisara picked back up her pencil and continued staring at her sketches. She inhaled deeply through her nose and breathed out through her mouth, reminding herself that she could not quit this early. This was not optional, and not easy, but this was Imandatory/i. This was step one on day one of the rest of her life, one day of school.
Her time here would be worth it if her feelings could be controlled, forced down deep into submission. She had P.E. in three more class periods. Perhaps she could run since it always helped to clear her head. Sometimes she felt like she could outrun the stares, or her feelings, or her negative thoughts. Inhaling again she focused and began to scribble once again, little dragons coming to life in her sketchpad. Her ears focused on his typing and she soothed herself knowing she had scared him off.
The bell rang after what seemed like eternity and she headed off to history, making sure to get out of the door last, so everyone was in front of her and she was back at advantage again, taking larger steps towards her next challenge.