Hales

have that feeling again. The one where I know someone is watching me. All I have to do is keep my head forward and look at the black surface of the writing board. Somehow, I can’t explain it, whenever I feel like I am being watched I have to turn around. I hate having eyes on my back. I turn in my chair to face the usual group of girls, the one with the bright green eyes waves at me, like she does every day. Not the usual wave from a friend, no, the more flirty kind with the fingers bending in that girly fashion at the knuckles. I put my hand up and give her my usual half wave, trying to show her that I really don’t care. She does the same thing she always does, turns to the girl with the ruby colored hair and the peroxide blondie next to her; that really can’t be their natural colors. I turn back around as they continue their bird like chattering, the gossiping kind, up to no good. Reminds me I can never remember any of their names, but I don’t care too much for any of them, so what does it matter? I still feel like they are watching me though, makes me uncomfortable.

I really want to let my mind wander; this class is pointless in my day. First period, the class that was supposed to be French. Well supposed to be, but not anymore. The teacher quit the second day of class, I can hardly remember it all too well, he just stormed out saying he wasn’t paid enough to do what he was doing; or something like that. I really didn’t care. It seemed though that our school was too poor, and still is too poor, to hire a new one so we are left here pretty much to teach ourselves in a sort of study time. Some days the principal comes into check on us. Others we sit alone for the whole hour until second, makes for some interesting times that I care nothing about. The other kids, some working, others acting like they were meant to be in a zoo, go on with their lives. All I can really do is let myself daydream; I like making the most out of these times. Daydreaming just happens to be that one thing that makes me happy, but it doesn’t make up for everything that makes me sick.

I think I really want to listen to my music. Only problem is my CD player ran out of batteries ten minutes ago, with forty more minutes left until the bell. I can’t really believe I am sitting here with my oversized headphones on, with only silence playing out of them. I find it typical of myself to be too lazy to take the darn things off. All I can do is find myself looking around the room ever so aimlessly. The peeling puke colored paint rolling off of the bare walls, the broken bookshelf in the left hand corner of the room, and the teacher’s desk collecting dust at the front of the room; all are reminding me of all the reasons I don’t want to be here. I look down to my worn skating shoes, which lost their laces months ago. I guess my baggy faded jeans cover up the fact my family’s too poor to buy new ones. Not like anyone cares here, we’re all poor. Lifting my head I reach up brushing back a shaggy lock of my dirty blonde hair, I can’t remember the last time I had a haircut. I hear the girls in the back giggling again, why do I have this feeling it’s about me?

I feel a poke in my back, the sharp tip of some writing implement no less. I turn around completely in my chair to face the girl who’s every word I can pretty much predict by now. That smiling, freckle filled face. Though she’s obnoxious, and rude, she always seems to brighten my day for some reason. Apache’s high cheek bones and pinched nose almost make her dark brown eyes look squinty, but every time I turn around her eyes look like a deer’s caught in a headlight, some days it’s quite amusing. Apache’s not her real name though. I think it might be Lillian or something like that, but her last names Apache, like the Indian’s and such, so that’s what everyone calls her.

“You better not have gotten pen on my sweater,” I say to her in my usual soft tone as I pull my silent headphones down around my neck. I watch her nose crinkle.

“What does it matter,” she sneers at me, “It’s already filthy.” She was right; I don’t even remember when this sweater looked new. Apache was one of the richer kids in this room, maybe even in this school, she might be stuck up and very spoiled, but I still think she had a good heart somewhere inside those new looking clothes of hers. Not like I am jealous or anything. I’d rather be poor with my kind of personality, then rich and spoiled. That’s just how I see things.

“Do you know the homework for Mr. Perez?” she asks me as she scribbles some more on no doubt another half done assignment.

“No,” I say quite bluntly, “I don’t even have my backpack today.” She looks down to the floor where my backpack should normally be, and then to my desk, which should have had homework assignments lying across its surface.

“That’s the third time this week you know?” she sneers at me as if I didn’t already know, “You are going to fail school you know,” her nose pinches even more as she speaks to me.

“Yeah I get it, and I really could care less,” I say irritably as I turn around in my chair pulling my dead headphones over my ears again as if I can’t hear her anymore. She is starting to annoy me now. Guess I can only take her in small doses. I decide to look forward, eyes to what was in front.

There is only one desk in front of mine. The girl that sits there usually skips this class. I don’t think she likes it very much. She’s the kind of person that green eyes, ruby, and blondie all would pick on; and they do. It’s only because she is different I guess, but I don’t see her that way. In fact I’ve known her longer then I have known anyone at this school. Her and I went to the same grade school together. I was in fifth grade she was just coming into first, I remember her the best because we used to be friends. It kind of happened on accident really, on the first day of school. Some kids were picking on her in the playground and one boy who was rather rougher then the rest pushed her down. She’s not exactly a fighter that one, so she took the fall pretty hard, I think she must have cut her knee or something because she started bawling her eyes out. Well being the reasonable child I was at that age I did the best thing to solve the situation; I pushed the boy down into the dirt and told all the other kids that if they didn’t leave her alone they were all not going to make it home that day. That did the trick all right. Since that time through the rest of my grade school days, she followed me like a shadow.

She wasn’t much of talker, more of a listener. That’s the kind of person I like. She would just sit with me and let me talk for a change. I loved it. It was the first time I ever felt like someone really cared. Someone was there listening to my problems. Then middle school came along and I left. I never really learned what school she went to or anything or how the rest of elementary went for her cause I never really saw her again. Soon as I saw her here though I knew it was her. I could spot her a mile away. Well it’s hard not to, Mellissa is albino. Skin the color of porcelain; long fair colored hair, and light pink eyes too. The works, I just can’t help staring at her, not in a bad way, even though I doubt she remembers me.

“Eric…Eric. Eric Hales, what the heck are you staring at man?” I turn to look at my best friend Kyler.

“No man,” I say looking over to him on my left in the seat he pushed up against the only window in the room. “I was just spacing,” I say trying to reassure him I wasn’t acting sketchy.

“You sure, cause it looked more like you wanted to talk to little miss you-know-who,” he nods towards Mellissa, his sparking grey eyes smiling though his mouth isn’t. I lean over in my chair to make sure her headphones are in, and they are.

“No wasn’t gonna do anything of the sort,” I say in a low tone, “I was just thinking, like I said.”

“Sure, if you say so,” Kyler says, but he knows I am lying. He knows better then anyone; sometimes I wish he couldn’t read me so well. I watch him turn back to the window, his long black hair brushing against his shoulders, guess he hasn’t had a haircut in awhile either. I turn forward again. Watching Mellissa listen to her headphones, and drawing meaningless shapes on the cover of her notebook. It all reminds me my own headphones aren’t working. Wish she knew how much I want to say something to her. All of it makes me kind of want to do something about it, like get right out of my chair … walk up to her and say something, anything; the bell rings, and I know today is going to be another one of those days … makes me sick. n