The Bitter and the Sweet

There’s always a group of girls hanging around the mirrors, chatting casually, playing with time and the teacher’s potential wrath. I’m a good girl and an obedient student — I don’t come late to class, don’t even cut it close. But today is my birthday, and really, it’s not so much that I’m feeling brave, it’s that I’m trying not to feel anything at all.

I push the door open and catch a shriek of laughter. Five girls clustered around some pictures. I hesitate, wondering if I should pretend that I’m in here to wash my face. But just then the bell rings, its incessant peal a call to duty that I don’t want to reply to right now, so I lean on a sink and wait for a break in the conversation.

But that conversation dies — three girls make a dash for it as the last echo of the bell fades. I’m disappointed. I was hoping for some distraction because I’m scared of the noise my mind might make if it’s too quiet around me. Geography isn’t interesting enough to keep the buzzing low.

A girl from the grade above me gives one last pat to her hair and casually strolls out, probably relying on past luck to get into her classroom.