My foster-mother, who insisted we call her Aunty Lin, hustled us out the door at a quarter to seven. The two boys rode off on their bikes immediately, and Cara got picked up by her friends in their car as soon as we turned the corner. I walked slowly towards the subway station, earbuds firmly in my ears and eyes scanning for the best paths to stay as far away from everybody as possible.
My loose black hair framed my face, apparently complimenting my green eyes and amber skin tone. It was unfortunate that someone who wanted to blend in so much had such an interesting eye colour.
Taking my small iPod out of the pocket of my backpack, I changed the song, trying not to think about the many assignments that were due today.
An English creative writing piece.
An essay for History about the creation of metahumans.
Some sort of artistic creation for Art symbolising my subconscious.
A- I cut myself off, cringing at the thought of all the work that was waiting for me. Most of it was overdue anyway.
Sighing, I descended the stairs to the underground, tensing up for the wave of mental noise my music never seemed to be able to drown out.
One, two, three
One, two, three
Sitting on a seat in the train, I tapped on my thigh, I tried to focus on the beat rather than the thoughts swirling thick and dark around me.
One, two, three
One, two, th-"I wonder what my next story will be?" a journalist sitting opposite me thought.
A thrill of terror stole through me as more thoughts broke through.
"I'm bored." A student from my school. "The Flash is so amazing! But who is he really?" A man to my right. A tidal wave of voices, all screaming to be heard followed. "She's so mean!" "I think I'm going to be fired-" "Is it going to rain?" "I want to watch-" "dreaming about-" "...stupid kid-" "there was a fire-" "Meta-humans are unnatural-" "...going to be late-" I huddle, drowning, frantically counting in my mind.
One, two, three
One, two, three
One, two, three
Finally, after a couple of rounds, my mind begins to settle, and I began breathing normally again. I hadn't even noticed that it had been coming in soft ragged gasps.
It's ok, you're ok, Juliet, just keep counting. I silently tell myself it's all going to be alright.
We reach my stop and I jump up, as if my life depended on getting out the doors, and lurch out onto the platform, hurrying up towards the street.
I wish I could just walk without being hopelessly late. I wouldn't mind, but the school would.
Stupid train.