The clock reads 8:07. I was ready to leave as soon as I got here.  I sit in 1^st period and I’m hot. I don’t know if it’s my sweater or the room or the fact that I have fire running through my veins.  I’m irritated.

I look out the window.  The sight of snow cools my insides. It feels good.  The thought of the compacted powder, melting between my fingers puts me at ease.  

I look away from the window. Kids are flooding in and not one of them sits next to me. This is normal. I look at the board where Mr. Washington wrote ‘Unit 3: Matter’ Today is a note taking day and tomorrow is a lab.

I watch everyone sit and fill the seats around me. I assume I’ll have to go without a partner and I begin to heat up again. What’s wrong with me? I woke up to my normal agitation but this was overwhelming. It feels like someone is poking me. I feel like someone is watching me.

I become fidgety. I can feel the hardness of whomever—whatever is invading my personal space. I look around to see everyone has made it their obligation to move as far from me without making a scene. Why? It bewilders me; I’ve grown up with these people. We’ve had sleepovers, we’ve shared food and we used to play for days. We had fun. That was elementary school, and things are different now. Something changed once we got to middle school. I couldn’t put my tongue on it but I knew things would never be the same.

Day by day, a domino would fall. I didn’t have any friends. It was weird; I had never been avoided before. No one liked me and I couldn’t figure it out. I thought it was the way I wore my hair or the way I smelled. I used to spend countless hours trying to figure out what made my personality so unappealing; today, I couldn’t care less. Now I spend my time trying to figure out if they hate me because I hate them or for the ---- of it.

What time is it now? I don’t know how much longer I can sit here. I feel weird. I still feel that thing that’s been bugging me all morning. I’ll get up and walk around. I get up to get a tissue.

I should’ve gotten the hand sanitizer; I don’t have to blow my nose.

I feel the eyes of my enemies I’ve had two stable friends since I started high school. One, being my brother and the other being Isaac Christopher. I haven’t seen him in a while. Isaac moved when his mother died. She was sweet, he was sweet, we had a connection— with him gone, it’s like a piece of me is missing. He was one of my favorite people. He cut contact with me after he moved so we haven’t talked since. It breaks my heart but I understand why he wouldn’t want any part of his old life. He was the reason why I came to school every day.  He knew how much I hated everyone. But I didn’t hate him.

They’re just notes. A lecture. I can do this.  I’m not paying attention. I can’t shake the feeling of someone staring into my soul. I look out the window. Nothing. I look behind me. Nothing.  I look at the door. The door.

It’s the door.

It isn’t a whatever. It’s a whoever.

It’s a boy. I know him. I don’t know from where or when but he feels too familiar to forget. I don’t know his name or where he came from or why he followed me to school but I do know, he’s the one making me hot. He’s the reason I want to set the room on fire. 

I can feel the heat radiating off of my body.

I have a headache. It’s him. Who is he? What is he? Why is he? How is he doing this? Why is he doing this?

I’m staring at the door. I can feel him. He’s moving closer. He’s coming towards the door and I begin to sweat.

I can feel people looking at me. I hear a faint, “What is she staring at?” They’re staring at me staring at the door. I want to look away but I can’t break my gaze.

There are two other people with him but they’re harmless. I hear subtle talking but I can’t make out the words. I don’t know what it is about this person that makes me feel this way. He’s dangerous and he’s getting closer to the classroom. They continue walking until they get to the door.

Hopefully he’ll pass.

Someone in front of the door, a woman, leaves, only to leave the boy and who I want to believe is the principal, Dr. Phillips. The rage in my body begins to subdue and things start to feel calmer than they were. It’s ok, she left, then he will leave and I can make it through the last 25 minutes. The teacher goes back to his lecture and I feel safe again.

I am mid-sentence and my anxiety begins to flare again. I already know what it is. I hear a click at the door and I see everyone look up out of my peripheral. They enter the classroom one at a time. I hear a high-heeled shoe step in through the door. He’s next.   

I become frustrated when I hear the sound of murmurs in the front the room. I look up to see the exchange between Mr. W and Dr. Phillips. The only thing I can hear between the sharp whispers and giggles is “new student.”

New student.

It knocks the wind out of me. I am thinking of ways to evade the future fiasco. I’ll go to the back of the room. I can’t stand there for 20 minutes. Maybe I’ll just go to the bathroom. He’s in the hallway. There’s no solution. I’ll just sit here and wait for whoever this is to get here and we’ll leave and I’ll never comeback and never see him again or feel—

            There’s a subtle knock on the door and I feel him enter

Oh my god…