Friday, 4th May
There is nothing more annoying to awakening to the sound of a drilling alarm noise at seven am. As soon as you hear it, especially after having a late night, you just feel like you want to punch your clock to shut it up. But I don’t, because that would really stupid and I’m sure I’d break it.
I roll over sleepily and moan. I reach for the clock resting on my bedside table and grope around it, searching for the button that will mercifully silence the sound.
Once I’ve done so and have climbed out of my sheets, I stumble around like a zombie to the bathroom.
My morning routine consists of a shower, breakfast, glamouring up my face and then packing my bag. As always, I make it to the bathroom.
I reach for the basin and scoop up some water to rinse my face. I grab the nearest towel to wash it off. My reflection slowly emerges from the mirror above the sink.
What the hell? Someone please tell me why my face is suddenly a rose pink shade of skin!
Maybe I rubbed my face too hard. Yeah, that would be it. But that’s the thing: I don’t go red very easily. It must be something I inherit from my blood ancestry, but I’ve never had any problems with my skin. It’s always been a light olive colour. The only way it ever gets darker is with extreme physical exertion, and that’s something I tend to avoid.
Has it been a cream I’m using? I’m not allergic to anything, at least anything I do know of. I must check the label on that moisturising stuff I’m using, see if there are any nasty ingredients in there that I shouldn’t be using.
I take my hair out from the band and shake it loose. I sometimes sleep with it up. I think it’s habit more than anything.
I observe it, and yet again I’m stunned.
Okay, I’m been know to have some pretty bad hair days, but I’m sure this beats every single one.
I pull up a strand to examine it and it’s so thin I swear some of it has disappeared. I try to untangle it but it’s impossible. All the hair has entangled itself like a spider’s web.
Something’s very wrong. I rub my eyes and yawn. I’m still tired. I could be just over-exaggerating everything. I mean, my hair isn’t that bad, and neither is my skin. Maybe a good shower will do the trick.
I strip and hop into the shower, watching it steam up with the hot water. I’m in and out before I know it, and drying myself off, wrapping my hair up in a towel turban.
I don’t dare to look into the mirror. I’m terrified of seeing my reflection and realising it hasn’t changed.
I hurry out with a towel draped over me and sneak back to my room. I get changed into my drab school uniform. It’s Friday today; thank goodness I only have to put up with one more day until the glorious weekend. After I’ve styled my collar and laced my shoes, I head down the stairs to have breakfast.
I survey around, looking around for Nan. I really don’t want her to see me like this, if I’m still pink. It would cause a lot of awkward questions and I still haven’t created an acceptable excuse to explain it yet.
Yes! She’s not up. Still snoozing in bed, I bet. That means that hopefully I can have breakfast in peace and worry about my problems later.
Soon I’m back in the bathroom again after my meal. I’m hovering my face in the mirror and wondering what’s the best way to go about this pinkness. I decide on makeup. Lots of it.
I smudge on layers and to my relief, I can’t see the rose skin tone on my face or neck anymore. My arms are covered by my long-sleeved top and my legs are hidden underneath pants, so the only thing that looks pink is my hands. I don’t really have to worry about them, because it’s May and the weather is becoming fairly chilly, and people will just assume that I’m cold.
Time for school. I grab my lunch from the fridge; my Nan made it last night. I stuff it into my duffel bag along with my homework books lying on the study desk and head out the door. My bike is awaiting me and once I don my helmet I’m off.
-x-x-
The boy is walking, pondering. He adjusts his collar on his shirt and starts to wring his wrists. He is thinking about his mission and the importance of it all. How will he start, how will he begin? There is just so much to explain. It’s a burden. There’s no telling what her reaction will be.
-x-x-
I attach my bike to the school bike rack with a chain and padlock. I don’t want any thieves to pinch it. I learnt my lesson with my previous bike.
I unclip my helmet and thread the straps through the chain as I hear footsteps approaching. I turn my head and smile.
“Hey, Cass. You’re early.”
She rolls her eyes and flicks her orange hair back. “Ugh, tell me about it. My parents had an early meeting today at work.”
Trust Cassie to complain about coming to school early, the miss universe of school etiquette. You look like a nerd arriving too soon, she’s said on one occasion.
“Come on, let’s walk to the lockers,” I say, and take a few steps forward. She doesn’t move.
She’s giving me a funny look.
“You’re hair is different today,” she says slowly, pondering over her words.
Oh, crap! In my haste to disguise my new skin tone I forgot about my hair!
“Where did you get it done?” she enquires with wide eyes.
That’s it! Props to Cassie for coming up with the perfect excuse. I’ll just pretend I got it styled and thinned by a hairdresser.
“Um… the one closest to my house,” I say lousily.
It’s enough for Cassie. “Cool,” she says simply, and starts to stroll with me.
As we walk to our lockers togethers, we happen to walk past a group of really hot boys lounging on some steps leading to a classroom. Cassie immediately puts on a glamorous smile and starts to swing her hips more. I hide a giggle.
I don’t want to impress those jerks, thought. They’re the douches from the soccer team. Half of them will probably drop out by the end of the school year and the other half will go on to have apprenticeships or something similar. I mean, I’m not a genius, but compared to them, I’m Mozart.
They’re pathetic excuse for the teenagers we have at this school. I don’t bother even looking at them. I put brains over appearance.
Cassie suddenly grabs my arm and lets go quickly.
“One is looking at you!” she mouths frantically at me, like this whole looking is a life-changing event.
I shrug my shoulders. “Who cares?” I say.
I’m curious, though. I crane my head and study them.
“Which one?” I whisper. “I don’t see any of them looking at me.”
Cassie sighs. “Damn, you missed it! He was soo into you for, like, a second.”
This time I laugh and don’t hide it.
“Come on, princess, let’s concentrate on school.”
-x-x-
English is my favourite subject. I adore it to bits. It’s the only subject I know I’m good at. Cassie tells me that I’m great at science too, but I never actually felt that I’m great at it like I do with English.
There’s just one kind of large downside: It’s the one class that I don’t share with Cassie.
Which means I’m pretty screwed socially.
I don’t have any other friends besides Cassie. She’s the only one I’d ever let get close to me.
When my parents died, I had tons of kids trying to give their support. They’d comfort me and always ask if I was okay. At first, I could deal with that. I needed the emotional support. But after awhile, I was looking for a friend, and not someone who I couldn’t ever have fun with because they’d be constantly worried about me.
Cassie and her family moved to our town about a year after the event. Since she wasn’t involved with our community, it took her ages to find out about my tragedy. And by that time we had already become like glue.
When she did discover about my past, all she said was “Can I talk about it?”
I answered “no” bluntly, and she never enquired further.
Anyhow, English.
I searched for a table with the least amount of people seated at it. All of them were taken, unfortunately.
I spotted one with a few of my classmates I recognise as being mildly friendly. I clutch my folders to my chest and slip into an open seat.
“Hey,” says a boy named Nigel beside me. I smile back and duck my head down, opening my books. Work time.
I love him and all, but I think Einstein would suit this occasion more. It's probably just the fangirl in me writing this. 
