The nervousness seemed all too real now that I had been sitting in this foreign institute for over thirty minutes. I found every flaw riddled in-between my outfit, every hair out of place, every smile masking my self loathing under the makeup. My combed strawberry blonde locks had been freshly curled for the day, and my makeup had been set. The outfit was picked out the night before, in between mental breakdowns on the floor, slamming each door of my wardrobe in mild frustration as I realized how new and daunting everything seemed. I was alone, once again, except I could not hide now. And as I marched myself to this new place I'd be in, for the next ten months, I had no idea it would be such a rollercoaster, filled with unexpected ups, downs, twists and turns.
But I wasn't thinking about how the year would turn out, in that moment, I was thinking about how the stupid air conditioner wasn't working and we were all practically melting into our seats like crayons on a stovetop.
I couldn't fathom just how many people there were in this school, it seemed so big, partially because the layout of the school was an open campus. And I walked from door to door with my little paper in hand, giving myself directions between the arrows I managed to scribble on this torn, folded and battered little old paper, because everyone else refused to help. I had no idea what I was doing, and looking down the sheet of all my classes, I felt my heart sink because none of them seemed enjoyable, except one.
I'm one of the people you could refer to as having an artistic temperament. I don't agree I am good, nor will I admit, but I can enjoy art in its' many forms. And to my luck, I had an art class. At first I had trouble finding the class, and not because I'm lacking in intelligence or self awareness, but because this designated art building had been lodged so far away from my other class buildings, I had no idea what it was and even that it existed. I had sat down in my assigned seat and quietly put down my bag, trying to draw the least attention to myself as possible. I placed my phone down on the wooden desk which had four sides with four chairs. I was seated facing the door, my back to the board behind me, and the teacher taking attendance. She seemed like a sweet but stern old lady and I felt I admired her. She seemed classy and elegant in the way she spoke and she had a kind smile. She continued reading off names, lightly touching her ice white hair and placing it further away from her face, tapping on each name as she got to the next. A girl sat infant of me, she seemed happy and shy, excited to be there. And to her right and my left, sat a boy, who caught my eye the minute he walked in. He seemed quiet and reserved, but I felt intrigued. I wanted to know more about him. And at the time, I had been so flooded with new faces and names, nobody stood out, except for him. To this day, I cannot tell you what had stood out to me about him, but I'm glad it did.
The teacher had asked us to write our full names on a piece of paper and I wanted to oblige, however, I was missing a pencil. I panicked and reprimanded myself, I mean, who the hell comes to school without a pencil. And so, I asked the boy, whose name I did not know, for a pencil. I felt the heat on my cheeks and I avoided his gaze as I fumbled with my fingers under the desk, hoping he wouldn't notice. He nodded and gave one to me, silently I felt as though he were judging me. And he seemed so distant, focused yet spaced out, like he had a lot on his mind all at once. I thanked him and continued on with the assignment. All I wanted to do was talk to someone, but especially him. I felt so alone but he seemed as though he didn't want to be bothered. And so I had carried on, gave him back the pencil and for the last ten minutes of class, we sat in silence as everyone around us talked quietly amongst themselves. That was the only day our table was silent.
