Little Miss Babysitter

-- 6 --

I'd always had a special connection with hallways. As stupid as that sounds.

So many different people with so many different stories pass each other everyday without recognizing one another. They swim around, unknowing that the person they perhaps just accidentally tipped over shares the same birthday as themself. These little details are what's hidden. However, if, a hallway for instance, were empty, it would contain no secrets.

Hallow.

There would be nothing significant, no way to tell it apart from the hallways of other schools. It'd be a mirror, the reflection.

I consider myself a complex person. I'm just practiced in the ways of concealing everything important about myself. I've developed a mask. I mean, I'm used to back-stabbing friends, since I've far been there and done that.

I'm empty. Well, not really, but I pretend to be. Just like this hallway.

My steps chorused off the wall, the thick thud of the rubber soles of my Converse bashing against the polished tiles. I quickened my pace, and breaking a sweat on my brow, I cantered all the way to my Biology class at the end of the hallway. Mr. Holladay will surely rip my head off and feed it to his lizard that he keeps in the break room.

I skidded to a stop, just in front of the door, careful not to smack my forehead on the already cracked glass. I straightened out my shirt, patted down my hair, and stepped in as gracefully as I could.

All eyes trained on me, their bored faces turning back to the lunatic teacher that stood on a high school, caressing a lit lightbulb with his palm. What the crap?

His head cocked to the side, analyzing the clock and then me. "You're late, Fischer."

"S-Sorry..." I mumbled, gawking open mouthed at the shining pieces of metal decorating the tops of every person's head. The multicolored, rainbow heads in the corner of room stuck out like a sore thumb, even with the thin layer of aluminum adorning their half shaved scalps. They glared at me, sensing my awkward stare. I transfered my gaze to a posse of elegant, long haired beauts, who, keep in mind, seemed absolutely miserable whilst wearing these abominable pieces of metal atop their bleached and frosted hair. They muttered amongst themselves, probably complaining about the fashion suicide they were probably committing.

"Take a seat." Mr. Holladay rasped, handing a cap for myself as I slid by. I took it with frigid hands, and sunk down into my seat, my shoulders ultimately slumping as soon as my rump touched the cold iron beneath.

Mr. Holladay scanned the class, his eyes narrowing into fine slits. "I don't appreciate your attitudes with this assignment, so for the remainder of class, we are to sit quietly, and listen to the radio frequencies. Absolutely no talking. Zilch."

That shut up the Chatty Cathy's in the corner. The ones with the skulls adhered to their skin and notebooks. An undesirable shiver trickled down my spine and back up again, making me shudder. I tightened my jacket around my shoulders, bringing the hood just short of my neck. A vicious bruise was left there from yesterday when on the way home, a light rain had picked up, making everything slippery.

You can estimate the ending of that story. And spoiler; it's not pretty.

A scrunched up piece of notebook paper was sent flying in my direction, hitting the back of my head. A prickly corner poked into my bruise, triggering an unwanted shock up the left side of my body. I crinkled my nose, and retrived the note by my feet, flattening it out in my palms.

'You didn't call me yesterday.'

I furrowed my brows, and a light pink rose to the apples of my cheeks. What type of seduction is this? This generation, I swear.