(no subject)
Every day's the same.
You leave for school with a hug and a caution from your mom to "be good". It's always understood that it's more for the sake of ritual than anything else; you're a good boy who doesn't really get into trouble, doesn't cause problems or anything like that, like an inside joke between mother and son. It's one of the few times you've gotten to talk to her recently; she's been covering for a co-worker who's been sick, which means she's been working second shift at the hospital.
Your feet take you towards the school the same way they have day after day. You watch silently - other people laughing and talking about homework, about what they did last night, about whatever TV show'd been on. Not you, though. Nobody was running to catch up with you, and if you'd done the same to some of the people you'd known... well, it's not like you would have been able to do much. Walking and writing wasn't a pair of things that went well together anyway. So you walk on. Nothing's said or written or anything. For the rest of them, going to school is just as much about socializing as it is getting from point A to point B; for you, it's only the latter, a method of transportation.
Homeroom's much the same way. The teacher - Ms. Dusseault - waves at you, and you respond with a wave back and a smile. Again, it's all part of the ritual of each day of school, for you; she knows enough to know that you feel out of place, don't really want to be here, but what can be done? You've talked with her a few times after school, but lately you've just felt like going home rather than staying around. After all, teachers have work to do even after class ends.
Each class goes on in much the same way. The beginning of class is filled with whispers and gossip about the dance coming up, and each time you hear about it your mood sinks a little bit more. You weren't going; you didn't have anyone to go with, didn't even know who you could ask to go with you. There wasn't anyone you was really close enough to want to ask, and even if you did, most everybody had somebody to go with. And even if you did - what was the point? What would make it that much different from any day at school, except with more music and dancing?
During class is when you feel safest, when you feel most comfortable. It sucks that you can't do things a lot of the other kids can, even if you know you should be used it by now. It's harder for you to volunteer answers (you always feels so awkward, so uncomfortable, imposing on another student to speak for him), but you study, you pay attention, you want to learn. You're not like the other kids who complain about their classes and tests, because you're good at these things, but being good at tests doesn't make you less shy, and it doesn't make you friends.
Lunchtime.
You hate lunchtime. Not that you mind eating; it's just that the cafeteria is small enough that you can't go sit somewhere by yourself and read or study or anything like that. You've got a group of people you sit with, sure, and you're on decent terms with some of them, but they're not anything you'd think of as friends. You're not really included in the conversation; a few times you've tried, but the conversation moves so quickly and by the time you've figured out what you've wanted to say and written it out, the moment's passed. You can't just put yourself in there the way other people can, especially because you don't want to be rude in the first place.
Today is worse. The group of people around you are all talking about some sort of party they're having after the school dance. Nobody pays attention to you, nobody ever casts you a second glance; it's as if you're not one of them, you just happen to sort of sit here. It's like being out in the halls, or sitting in class waiting for it to start, but for an entire period, and you hate it, you hate being so close and yet being practically invisible.
"Hey, Rion!" a voice speaks up. It's Gino, one of your classmates from history class, who's sitting there. He's taller than you, much taller, and has the kind of look that makes girls swoon when they're 15 (and so is the person they're swooning over). He's... popular, for lack of a better word, and you're admittedly somewhat jealous of him.
Is he maybe inviting you too? Maybe you can finally start talking to people. After all, if someone like him were to invite you somewhere, maybe that'd mean you meant something, right? Maybe people would notice that you're more than just a mute little kid who studies hard in class, maybe people would ... care that you exi--
"Do you have the notes for History from yesterday? I was out sick," he asks, as if this is a perfectly normal thing to ask.
Your heart sinks. Of course, you nod at him, you get out your notes from your bag and you let him copy them down, but it was stupid of you to get your hopes up. That's how it always is when you sit here. If you've got something important for them or something to help them, they might talk to you and ask you for it, but otherwise you're just sort of present, like a background character in a play with no lines.
The rest of the day goes along much the same way, gossip and rumors flying along with tests and studying and lectures. It's always the same, and you keep hoping that you can get out of here sooner rather than later. The waiting for that last hour is the worst part of the day, as the minutes tick by and you hope that you can be away from all these other people; if you're going to be alone you can at least be alone alone. (This makes sense in your head, at least.)
The journey back home is the same as the way there, except instead of people grouping together, they break off, one by one, to walk home, each one going back to their families for the next day. You do the same, but you're not going back to anyone; Mom's going to be working until very late. So you do the same thing you've done for the past few weeks, ever since she started having to cover. Like a good boy, you do your homework, poring over books and filling in numbers for math problems and writing out sentences and finding the verbs and the nouns and the adjectives.
You make yourself dinner; it's nothing special, just something out of a box, but at least it's something you can do yourself. You clean up the dishes, you make sure everything's just the way you (or Mom) left it, and then you go to the one place, recently, where you feel like maybe you can belong somewhere - your computer. At least there, you being tiny and unathletic doesn't matter; you being unable to talk doesn't matter, because nobody talks there, only typing, and it doesn't matter that you take some time, sometimes, to think of what you want to say.
At least there, you feel like you belong. But it still doesn't feel the same, and you sigh even as you begin typing, a soundless motion that somebody who wasn't you or Mom wouldn't be able to interpret. At least tomorrow's a Friday and you won't have to be at school for an entire weekend, then.
You leave for school with a hug and a caution from your mom to "be good". It's always understood that it's more for the sake of ritual than anything else; you're a good boy who doesn't really get into trouble, doesn't cause problems or anything like that, like an inside joke between mother and son. It's one of the few times you've gotten to talk to her recently; she's been covering for a co-worker who's been sick, which means she's been working second shift at the hospital.
Your feet take you towards the school the same way they have day after day. You watch silently - other people laughing and talking about homework, about what they did last night, about whatever TV show'd been on. Not you, though. Nobody was running to catch up with you, and if you'd done the same to some of the people you'd known... well, it's not like you would have been able to do much. Walking and writing wasn't a pair of things that went well together anyway. So you walk on. Nothing's said or written or anything. For the rest of them, going to school is just as much about socializing as it is getting from point A to point B; for you, it's only the latter, a method of transportation.
Homeroom's much the same way. The teacher - Ms. Dusseault - waves at you, and you respond with a wave back and a smile. Again, it's all part of the ritual of each day of school, for you; she knows enough to know that you feel out of place, don't really want to be here, but what can be done? You've talked with her a few times after school, but lately you've just felt like going home rather than staying around. After all, teachers have work to do even after class ends.
Each class goes on in much the same way. The beginning of class is filled with whispers and gossip about the dance coming up, and each time you hear about it your mood sinks a little bit more. You weren't going; you didn't have anyone to go with, didn't even know who you could ask to go with you. There wasn't anyone you was really close enough to want to ask, and even if you did, most everybody had somebody to go with. And even if you did - what was the point? What would make it that much different from any day at school, except with more music and dancing?
During class is when you feel safest, when you feel most comfortable. It sucks that you can't do things a lot of the other kids can, even if you know you should be used it by now. It's harder for you to volunteer answers (you always feels so awkward, so uncomfortable, imposing on another student to speak for him), but you study, you pay attention, you want to learn. You're not like the other kids who complain about their classes and tests, because you're good at these things, but being good at tests doesn't make you less shy, and it doesn't make you friends.
Lunchtime.
You hate lunchtime. Not that you mind eating; it's just that the cafeteria is small enough that you can't go sit somewhere by yourself and read or study or anything like that. You've got a group of people you sit with, sure, and you're on decent terms with some of them, but they're not anything you'd think of as friends. You're not really included in the conversation; a few times you've tried, but the conversation moves so quickly and by the time you've figured out what you've wanted to say and written it out, the moment's passed. You can't just put yourself in there the way other people can, especially because you don't want to be rude in the first place.
Today is worse. The group of people around you are all talking about some sort of party they're having after the school dance. Nobody pays attention to you, nobody ever casts you a second glance; it's as if you're not one of them, you just happen to sort of sit here. It's like being out in the halls, or sitting in class waiting for it to start, but for an entire period, and you hate it, you hate being so close and yet being practically invisible.
"Hey, Rion!" a voice speaks up. It's Gino, one of your classmates from history class, who's sitting there. He's taller than you, much taller, and has the kind of look that makes girls swoon when they're 15 (and so is the person they're swooning over). He's... popular, for lack of a better word, and you're admittedly somewhat jealous of him.
Is he maybe inviting you too? Maybe you can finally start talking to people. After all, if someone like him were to invite you somewhere, maybe that'd mean you meant something, right? Maybe people would notice that you're more than just a mute little kid who studies hard in class, maybe people would ... care that you exi--
"Do you have the notes for History from yesterday? I was out sick," he asks, as if this is a perfectly normal thing to ask.
Your heart sinks. Of course, you nod at him, you get out your notes from your bag and you let him copy them down, but it was stupid of you to get your hopes up. That's how it always is when you sit here. If you've got something important for them or something to help them, they might talk to you and ask you for it, but otherwise you're just sort of present, like a background character in a play with no lines.
The rest of the day goes along much the same way, gossip and rumors flying along with tests and studying and lectures. It's always the same, and you keep hoping that you can get out of here sooner rather than later. The waiting for that last hour is the worst part of the day, as the minutes tick by and you hope that you can be away from all these other people; if you're going to be alone you can at least be alone alone. (This makes sense in your head, at least.)
The journey back home is the same as the way there, except instead of people grouping together, they break off, one by one, to walk home, each one going back to their families for the next day. You do the same, but you're not going back to anyone; Mom's going to be working until very late. So you do the same thing you've done for the past few weeks, ever since she started having to cover. Like a good boy, you do your homework, poring over books and filling in numbers for math problems and writing out sentences and finding the verbs and the nouns and the adjectives.
You make yourself dinner; it's nothing special, just something out of a box, but at least it's something you can do yourself. You clean up the dishes, you make sure everything's just the way you (or Mom) left it, and then you go to the one place, recently, where you feel like maybe you can belong somewhere - your computer. At least there, you being tiny and unathletic doesn't matter; you being unable to talk doesn't matter, because nobody talks there, only typing, and it doesn't matter that you take some time, sometimes, to think of what you want to say.
At least there, you feel like you belong. But it still doesn't feel the same, and you sigh even as you begin typing, a soundless motion that somebody who wasn't you or Mom wouldn't be able to interpret. At least tomorrow's a Friday and you won't have to be at school for an entire weekend, then.