Mum laughed obnoxiously at the TV, a piece of scrambled egg hanging off her chin. She had tomato sauce in her ponytail, breath that smelled like tequila, and she was late for work. What a fucking slob.
I groaned quietly in disgust and put my own eggs in the sink, suddenly put off. Damien, my little brother, laughed loudly at our mother's stupidity. Mum barely noticed me as I left the house, twenty minutes early for the school bus.
I was halfway to the bus stop when I realised I forgot my medication. I sighed at myself and shrugged. I didn't want it anyway.
I read a book at the bus stop - an old thing that was falling apart. It was one of those classics - alongside Little Women and Old Yeller - called Glass Eyes. I liked the story because it's centred around a girl whose father commits suicide and she develops depression. I sympathise completely.
The bus pulled up and I hopped on, nervousness boiling in my stomach as I scanned my bus pass. I always got anxious on buses - it just happened, like night and day.
I slumped into the seat behind the driver, right at the front, and sighed into the glass of the window. My breath fogged against it - the air outside was cold. It was becoming Autumn - my favourite season. I liked the crunchy leaves, the crisp wind, the need for a big coat and boots. It all felt cosy and familiar.
The bus pulled up at my school and as I stepped off, I immediately felt the eyes bearing holes into my head. People were staring at me. I hated that - I hated them.
It had been on the news, and I had taken time off school. People knew. They knew my personal business, they knew things that were personal and painful and they didn't deserve to know and I hated them--
"Hello, Emilia," said an elderly voice beside me. I turned my head to see the principal, Mr Jackall. "It's good to see you again."
I nodded. My nose was cold and Mr Jackall was annoying. I just wanted to get inside.
"I'm so sorry about your father. He was a great man."
Why did he think bringing it up was a good idea?! Clearly I was having trouble dealing with it, so why the hell was he resurfacing the memory I'd just spent two weeks trying to come to terms with?!
"Thank you, sir," I said flatly, shifting uncomfortably to let him know I wanted to go.
"Just letting you know that Miss Stevens is always willing to talk," Jackall smiled. I wanted to punch him.
He walked away and I gave the back of his head the finger. He was an asshole, and that little conversation just confirmed that.
Miss Stevens was the school counsellor. She wasn't actually helpful in any way, or on any planet, but the teachers seemed to think her opinion was worth something.
I kicked leaves out of the way as I stomped into the school and shoved my backpack angrily into my locker.
"Calm down, Em," someone laughed. I turned to them.
It was a blonde girl from my class who I didn't know too well. I ignored her comment and slammed my locker, saying, "Don't call me Em."
Em was Dad's nickname for me.
---
"Class, today we have a new student moving to the school," Mrs Frazer, my homeroom teacher, said cheerfully. Her good mood was annoying.
A tall, skinny kid stood at the front of the class. He was wearing the required shirt and pants, but I counted a total of eight uniform infringements that Mr Jackall would be crapping his pants about. Eyebrow piercing included.
