the lost stories

"The school's bookworm"

Bookworm /ˈbʊkwəːm/y

(noun) a person unusually devoted to reading and studying

The school's bookworm. The one person who spends her free time in school in the library doing her homework that isn't due for another week, studying for a test happening next month, or immersing herself in a new book. The one who would rather stay cooped up in her room, reading or doing work rather than going out with her friends. The one who seems to spend all her time outside of her school and home at the neighbourhood library (you know, that place others never go to that has a small cafe inside with soft couches or tables around for people to do work or read comfortably.)

The one that has no friends.

So she wouldn't have people to go out with anyway.

If you haven't already guessed, I'm the school's infamous bookworm.

I'm one of the top students in the school with straight A's and I'm the teachers' favourite student because I'm hardworking. With all the teachers liking me and my perfect grades, I should have a great life in school right?

Nope.

Being the bookworm in school isn't that great. Sure, the teachers love you, but the other students seem to only want to make fun of you as if that's the only thing on their to-do list. I can never walk around school in peace with people throwing insults and calling me names, other students finding me to try to get me to do their homework. If they aren't bullying me, they would be avoiding me like the plague, as if the moment I go near them they would be infected with the "bookworm" virus. For the majority of my school life, I have learnt to just ignore them and move on with my life.

But sometimes, it becomes too much. Sometimes you can't just keep ignoring everything, you can't keep pretending as if what they say don't hurt, can't keep acting as if being bullied doesn't affect you and that you don't mind being a loner in school.

Well, at least I have a family that is there for me, a family that is proud of me and what I have achieved, that gives me encouraging words and advice when it becomes too much to handle, who will pull me into a hug, provide me warmth and make me realise that I'm not alone, right?

If encouraging words come in the form of hysterical screaming, the hug being things thrown to the ground in anger, and parents that could care less about my grades as they constantly fight as if I don't exist, my presence often being ignored, my achievements likely to be forgotten, lost in the back of their minds. Then yeah, I have the perfect family.

Aside from my schoolwork, the rest of my life is being torn into little shreds, unable to be pieced back together no matter what I do. The A's on my report card don't work like glue, it doesn't fix my life. The teachers' compliments don't fill the hole in my heart that longs for my parents to recognize my achievements.

When my parent's arguments started, I didn't know how to deal with it. I didn't have friends or people to talk to, didn't have a way to vent my feelings. I turned to books, my small hobby turned into a form of escape.

A way for me to forget about reality, about my messed up life. A way for me to forget who I am for just a moment and leave my life, immersing myself in someone else's story, to live as someone else, even just for a while.

When reading, I could pretend my problems don't exist. I could be the most popular girl in school instead of being ostracised. I could have loving parents who dote on me and are my strongest pillar of support instead of fighting every single day, not caring that I could hear their arguments.

"She is a loner in school, Sarah! She doesn't have any friends and never goes out! How did our daughter turn out this way?" My father screams at my mom, his voice loud enough for me to hear even though he was downstairs.

"You failed at raising her, Mark! It's your fault she turned out this way! You are never home, instead always hanging out with that secretary of yours!" My mother yells back at him.

I vaguely hear the sound of glass being shattered, things falling to the ground. I can already see the mess that they are causing. The mess that I would be cleaning up because they will just storm off to their own rooms, acting as if they had no part in making the living room look like it has been struck by a hurricane.

I hear my sobs slowly drown out the sound of their screaming as I sink further into my cover, my book tossed aside, unable to immerse myself into a different world, a different life.

A life where I'm whole again and not a just a broken girl that hides behind books.

Reading is my escape, but it doesn't make the problems go away.