Human Fey Girl

Chapter 1 - Invisible

Hariko Suwezawa

Gazing at the school building, I know that I shouldn't tempt fate. There's no way I can back out of school. I hate school.

Living in British Columbia is laborious enough, especially when your humble abode is situated in the mountains. Yes, we suffer the icy winters when you can get frostbite just from having snow dropped on your head. Seriously, it's that cold.

But school is definitely the worst about being here. School is overrated. School is as hell as shit. Because the truly unassuming people could never survive one day without persecution. Which is why I don't fit in anywhere.

I stumble through the doors, averting my eyes to a resting place on the floor as students shove past, greeting friends (none of whom are mine) and fumbling with their lockers. I'm invisible. No, more inferior than that. Worthless. Stopping at my locker and photo (which was shot in the most terrible light possible), I read yet another shaming sign, claiming:

"This whore is an ugly, self-loving slut. If you want to live without disgrace, stay well away from her and the places she hangs out, this shabby locker being one of them."

Great. So they build up as the days roll on. Well, I suppose things could be worse - I'm nearly fourteen, with my birthday being in five days. I wonder what's in store for me...

Almost as immediately as I think this, I am slammed hard into my locker (face-first, of course). Lifting myself cautiously from the metal compartment, I reach into my pocket for a tissue to wipe the vermillion fluid that circles my body from the two outlets which it is dripping from (if you haven't guessed already, I'm bleeding and no one gives a shit).
Then my eyes skim up dizzily towards the guilty party. A cheerleader from the fangirling squad, I presume. She doesn't notice the damage as she bounces after Morgan West, one of the most popular boys in Grade 9. He'd never give me a second glance. Ever. Oh, he's acknowledged her beaming smile. Yep, she's a fangirl, alright.

As the bell rings for Lesson 1, Religious Study, I thrust open my now dented locker (bear in mind this year has only just started) and hurl out the books I need for the day. To my surprise, my practise has worked. They all land in neat, perfect order in my black satchel, which is covered in band merch patches and stickers. Huh, I think. That'll probably be my only happiness in the entire day.

Religious Study was fine, to my astonishment. I was even given the chance to prove a point to the class, who (as they would naturally) ignore me. However, the teacher didn't. In fact, he praised me for being eloquent! Ha, I ruminate in my third lesson, P.E. . And they thought I was a low-scorer because they never saw me. Well shame on them. No praise for their sorry asses.

Phys-Ed is one of the few lessons (apart from music) where I can hear my own thoughts properly without grief at school. Whatever I do, I love the air against my body as I move. My true self lies there, and for once no one criticises. Most of it is just kinetic, with everything falling into place when I do well. Immersed in my thoughts, I tumble into a virtuoso backflip on the trampoline without difficulty. Me and Miss Archer can't help but grin at the shocked faces veening at us as I hop off the trampoline to watch the next student.

That's my downfall in the popularity chain. I become viewed as a show-off. Coming out of the girls' changing room, I'm smashed into the wall by Neit, a brutal, burly barbarian of a bully who wouldn't hesitate to thrash anyone that makes the fangirling squad jealous or embarrassed; in particular myself, whom Neit has never liked for prejudicial reasons (I'm a metalhead. No one likes me here). Realising that I've committed the first of the two options which upset the ladies, I cringe; on the contrary, I'm relieved: I know I can stand the beating he'll inflict on me. It's not like I haven't been in this scenario before. On the other hand, the voice that usually comes into form when I'm in my taekwondo lessons forces me to fight. With no way of controlling myself at this point, I let my instinct take charge.