It's not about you and I.

Art of my life.

  "Wake up sleepyhead, been trying to wake you since 20 minutes"

"Mom, I don't wanna go to school," I moan beneath the sheets, covering my just exposed face from the light.

"They'll be nice to you, sweetie"

"Mom, have they ever been nice to me? What makes you think that today miraculously they'll be nice to me?"

"Don't jump to conclusions, June you've been there only for 2 weeks. Make friends, socialize."As if friends are sold in a supermarket, I think.

"Get up. you don't wanna get late, do you?"

I yawn,curl under my pillows for one last time, as if they are releasing some sort of energy and summon all my strength to face the day.

I wake up to my messy room. Clothes, yesterday's Shakespeare's plays, notes, all scattered, clutched to the ground. They are most of the time that way. It's their friendly zone. My room's in a ramshackle.

This is how my daily struggle starts.

Mom drops me at Sprinfield High while leaving for work. In the mid semester of my senior year, we moved to Sprinfield, Massachusetts from Connecticut because mom was being offered a big promotion here as the CEO of her company. She couldn't refuse, obviously. A lot for being a workaholic. Dad and I had to adjust, I guess.

As I pass the hallways to my locker, pushing past people, I can already see that bunch of girls and some guys bragging about their roles in the Shakespeare's play, how they got the leading roles. 

The play Twelfth Night by Shakespeare is being acted next month. I missed the audition, of course. Mom picked me up early from school yesterday, she had an urgent meeting at Hanover, few hours away from here. Dad was out of town for a conference, so she couldn't leave me alone, even after our argument of me being seventeen and old enough to handle things on my own. "You're too young to know," that's what she says. Sometimes ,even dad gets super frustrated by her so conservative nature. She wouldn't let me go to any parties until and unless she knew the kid's parents. Despite of all my assurings that all my friends are going and stuff, she just wouldn't let me. Dad used to say, "Etta, let her have some fun, she's seventeen," but mom was a complete no. Gradually, I stopped saying, witnessing her continued disapproval.

Back to my locker, those girls started staring at me with those wicked eyes. I wish I had been at Connecticut, at least I wouldn't have to deal with this shit. I had a big group of friends over there. One of them says, "look at her, the transfer student. Heard she missed the audition yesterday""how bad, there are no re auditions for those who missed. I think Little Naive would have to settle with the Stage Crew." They all broke into a laugh. Me? Naive? I was the best actor and playwright at my school. I've gotta get this straight to them. But, I don't. I don't care. They'll see it when they see me. After all, actions speak louder than words.I move ahead for class.

It's not the girls that I'm worked up about. It's something in the air that just doesn't seem right. Like a part of me that yearns for something I don't know. It's not a guy, if that's what you're thinking. Like the first thing that came to your mind. Out of my past experience, I've concluded that relationships suck. People mess up, they get hurt, and lot of crap happens.

It's something I can't quite decipher, but I know it's there. Its hollowness is felt deep inside of me. My parents think it's because of adapting to a new place, new school, new environment. That's a part of it. But, I know it's not the entire reason.