The Best Are Different

Nayal Achilles - Impulse and Instinct

I self-consciously tuck my hair behind my ear and flatten my back against the wall, a reflex action. Why? I see someone coming. Someone taller, and stronger, and scowling like he wants to take my head off and put it up on the wall. 

"New girl!" his voice is gruff and he stands in front of me. A basketball player, by the looks of it, with a bright orange ball tucked under his arm and several jersey-laden wannabes trailing after him. 

I feel the urge to taunt him, retort, but that's gotten me in trouble before. I can't risk it here, or I'd be off. They'd send me away. 

Instead, I clamp my mouth shut and try not to breathe. His breath is awful. 

"You scared?" he jeers. 

You wish, fish-breath. I think, giving him the most innocent look I can and hoping my defiant eyes don't betray me. 

"Newbies always get the lesson first, especially smart ones." he says. "You a freshman?" 

I nod. 

"She's in my English class. Maths, too." a younger-looking one of his cronies informs the tall bloke. 

"Sophomore-level freshman, then." snickers another. Tall shoots him a look that plainly says, shut up or you'll get it. 

"Fourteen, by the looks of you." he surveys me distastefully. "Awfully pretty, it's a shame you're a demented freak." 

I keep my face blank and my eyes down. Please let me leave... 

"Wouldn't hurt a soul, this one." he looks around furtively for a teacher. None are watching. "You're lucky, princess, you don't get much more than this." 

He draws back his fist, clenches his teeth and punches me hard in the stomach. I swallow. Don't cry, Nayal. Don't be impulsive. Don't hurt anyone. 

That's what the therapists and doctors have always told me. They told me that my instincts were different from other peoples'. They said that even though sometimes it was good for other people to act on their instincts, my case was different. My instincts could be dangerous. 

There is a collective laugh from the rest of them, and they walk away, throwing an occasional jeer over their shoulder. Me, I sink down on the floor and put my head on my knees, trying to get myself under control. 

I hear the soft patter of feet next to me, and I look up, blinking back tears. I can't show emotion. I have to be stone. 

It's Farsa, from English. Her short, messy brown hair gives her away, big brown eyes looking at me, flicking around nervously as if she can't look anywhere for more than three seconds. 

"Are... are you okay?" she says softly. 

I stare at her for a moment through cold, empty eyes. I want to say a million things, but I can't. 

And how unfeeling she must think I am now, with my eyes of ice and defiance and my empty expression. I feel a rush of regret and sadness. 

I nod again, and she smiles tentatively, the corners of her mouth just barely going up. It's a genuine smile, not much of one, but I can feel the meaning behind it. I drop my eyes to my knees again. 

"Be careful." she says, in the same soft voice as before. 

When I look up, she's gone, but her voice rings in my ears. Be careful. 

I stand up shakily, let out a soft sigh, and walk towards the doors. My footsteps, although light, still echo through the vastly empty halls. The sun shines on my face as I push the door open, and breathe in the fresh mid-afternoon air. 

Be careful. 

I trail down the sidewalk towards downtown. I don't have to work until six, but anything beats the Firways at home. Even working with other people. 

Other people. 

I know they pity me...