nefelibata (n.) | ✔️

twelve.

Present. September 24th, 2018.

Monday morning was gloomy. Dark clouds and fog covered up the sunrise as rain gently washed over my windshield.

Today was my college counselor meeting. Yay. I've had the colleges I've wanted to go to engraved in my brain since freshman year, adding new ones to my list as I research. I didn't see the point in pulling me out of class just so I could talk to a counselor about my plans after high school when we all know, she really doesn't care. I've already begun the application process, so even if she disagrees with my choices, it's not going to matter.

The only thing in my life that is absolutely one hundred percent certain is that going to school for creative writing and art wasn't a question, it was set in stone. I won't be convinced to take a more secure route, there's no other way.

As I walk down the student filled halls I turn the volume of my music fully up, my headphones blaring. I stop at my locker, the lockers nearby being opened and slammed by my least favorite people. I focus on the words and the beat of my music to drown out the feeling of eyes on me.

Before I can close my locker and head to the first period of the day, my earbud is pulled out, and the locker door is slammed. For fuck's sake.

"Stop blaring this emo shit, not everyone wants to be depressed." Brooklyn, also known as Satan's spawn, is standing in front of me with a proud smile on her face.

"That's the point of headphones, Brooklyn. Maybe if you weren't so worried about what I'm doing, you wouldn't hear it." I roll my eyes and snatch my earbud black, aggravation clear on my facial expressions.

Brooklyn's "friends" are giggling behind her as Brooklyn attempts to twirl a piece of my black wavy hair. I smack her hand away violently. "And what makes you think you can touch me?" I question.

"Calm down, psycho. We're just messing with you." She pulls her hand away and rubs it with her other dramatically. My eyes might as well just roll out of my head at this point.

"Did it ever occur to you that I don't want to be fucking messed with? Stay
out of my way, Brooklyn. This isn't the sixth grade." I tug on the straps of my bag harshly and put my earbud back in, ignoring the shocked expressions of Brooklyn and her minions.

I sit in the back row of my first-period class, quickly keeping up with my History teachers pace, my handwriting down the notes swiftly. Not that it's really legible, but it's not like I look at these ever again anyway.

My focus continuously gets derailed by the far-off laughs and side glares that were thrown my way. Brooklyn and her brainless friends really got the class talking. Seriously, how fast does news travel around this place?

I'm not in the mood for the immaturity that filled the room around me. Does anyone realize that we are Seniors in high school? Not first-year middle school kids.

My History teacher finally decided to give us a break and ended the notes. I flipped a piece of loose hair over my shoulder and packed up my notes, sighing as I still had five minutes until the bell.

The girl next to me I recognized. She was with Brooklyn this morning, standing next to her with a bored expression. She was dark skinned and actually beautiful, but I couldn't place her name. She was staring at me all period, and I was at my breaking point.

"Is there a problem?" I say, snapping my head in her direction. I give her my perfected death glare.

"What?" She questions with wide eyes.

"Do you have some kind of problem with me or does staring at me all period come with being Brooklyn's friend?" I cross my arms and raise my eyebrow.