Snowflakes

December 8th

8th

"Great minds discuss ideas. Average minds discuss events. Small minds discuss people." ― Eleanor Roosevelt.

I guess a lot of other families had the same idea as mine, because on Monday morning as I travel to school, I notice several houses and flats with twinkling lights and trees in windows. Some even go the extra mile and have those light up figures of Father Christmas and reindeer. My Mum always tuts when people have them, calling them tacky, but its clear she can't help but smile when she sees them.

But my good mood is quickly diminished as I walk into my form room. It's like de ja vu as every person in the room seems to turn and look at me. I shrink back from their stares, feeling my cheeks burn. The other quiet people, like me, make brief eye contact then look away. Nobody fills the suffocating silence. After what feels like an eternity, Kayleigh speaks up. I flinch at how loud and irritating her voice is.

"I heard what happened on Saturday, Scarlett," she says, standing proud as if she's so special.

"Shame you weren't invited; you could've seen for yourself," I mumble back but due to the lack of speaking in the room, everybody hears. Great.

"Actually, I was invited," Kayleigh persists, though her expression makes her lie transparent. "I just didn't go because I had other things to be doing. But, anyway, I heard what happened."

Thankfully, the sound of a voice has triggered the class to start talking again, even though their voices are hushed and I'm sure they're all talking about me.

"Good for you," I reply sarcastically. So much for trying to keep my head down.

When other people begin speaking at me, I ignore them.

❄

Do you ever get that feeling that someone is looking at you, or talking about you? Well that's what I endure the entire day.

I know they are because when I glance over, whichever group of students I laid eyes on will hurriedly look away. I know how it works: it's temporary, tomorrow this will be yesterday's news and by Friday nobody will even remember. But that doesn't make it feel any better now.

Imogen isn't helping, either.

"Scarlett, they're staring!" she whispers and although she looks embarrassed I can hear the underlying tone of excitement in her voice. Unlike me, Immy secretly loves the attention.

"Thanks for the reminder," I reply, hating how bitter I sound. It can't really be helped, though, considering pretty much all she's said to me today has been along those lines.

We stand up simultaneously, both holding our dinner trays, and slowly make our way down the cafeteria. I can practically feel the eyes burning into my back as I walk.

It's ridiculous really. I mean, all I did was call someone out for their bad manners. But because that someone was the most popular boy in the school and it was his party and I'm a nobody, everything becomes blown out of proportion by gossip-hungry school students.

"What is up with you today, Scarlett?" Immy hisses as soon as we're outside and away from the majority of the prying eyes and ears of the school.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe just that everybody in this whole damn school seems to be talking bad about me," I snap back, shaking off the grip she had on my arm.

"Whatever. I'm going to speak to Emily and her lot. See you," Imogen says, clearly in no better mood than me.

After Immy disappears I retreat to the library because it beats standing by myself in the cold and I know that nobody in there will have been at the hell-party. I'm right, of course, when I open the door to our school library nobody bats an eyelid at me. Glad of not having all the attention on me, I head to the corner. I'm tucked away behind bookshelves and displays as I pull my phone out of my pocket.

The next ten minutes until lunch time finishes are spent scrolling aimlessly down my Twitter feed, thankful for the peace and quiet the near deserted library offers.

❄

I'd been so caught up in everything today that I only realise at the end of the day that I'm yet to discover what awaits me in my locker. I head in the direction of the block of lockers.

As usual, they're crowded and I spot James nervously trying to cram things into his locker before he gets trampled by the other people squashing around him. I have to lean over him to reach my locker but I don't take long.

Straight away I spot today's gift. It's a curly wurly chocolate bar – my favourite – with the simple note 'Enjoy! X'. My lips curl into a smile.

"D-did you ask Imogen about...uh, you know?" James' uncertain voice makes me jump; I'm distracted by the chocolate bar that's now safely tucked into my bag.

"Wha- oh, no sorry." I admit truthfully. James tries – but fails – to hide his disappointment.

"Oh."

"Tell you what, I'll ask her tomorrow. Okay?" I offer and he gladly accepts, nodding fervently before noting his enthusiasm and calming down in effort to appear cool.

He's a nice lad, James. Admittedly, he isn't blessed with the flawless skin and confidence and model-like features that others, such as Aaron Dean, are but at least he's kind and has actual manners.

"Thank you Scarlett, I'll let you look at my Maths homework tomorrow if you want!"

Oh, and he let's me copy his homework.