Pink Secrets and Little White Lies
A year ago, I would have laughed raucously if someone had told me that I would be spending the majority of my Friday nights inside of the house. Here I am, though, the third week of my senior year, and I’m spending this night inside. Well, I’ll be damned.
I had had such high ambitions for tonight, but it has turned into more false hope that I fooled myself into grasping. Becoming a senior doesn’t automatically mean life would be more fun. However, it does mean that it‘s a little easier to get let down.
I laid down in the bed and looked up at the ceiling. It was such a strange thing. There were soft dabs of pink paint that resembled… flowers, maybe? There were also very fine, raised-lines creeping across the surface of the flowers, and the entire display was cloaked in a thin, yellowish film. Come to think of it, I have never paid such attention to the ceiling… I need to get out of this room.
I must be going through some sort of a crisis! I actually went to class on time all day Monday! I was the first thing kicking in homeroom, and I was eager. I was seriously excited to get the day started, which is weird… I haven‘t been excited for a first day of school since 4th grade. Staying inside all weekend must finally be having its adverse effects on me.
If I stay inside for two more weekends, I think I’d totally become a super-nerd. My mom would love that, I bet.
It’s not that I’m just an average student; don’t get me wrong; I have potential to be more. It’s just that I have more important things to do. So, I only complete the amount of work that’s required of me to pass the class—to satisfy my mom of course.
At the moment, I’m a strong B student. So, I’m no bum. If I wanted, I could turn in a few essays and use a few big words to pull me up to an A…But that‘d be like—disturbing the universe! Everyone would know what I am truly capable of, and I would always be expected to produce a certain caliber of work! And frankly, I’m just not in the position or mood to do that constantly.
I sat up front and upright, steadied my eyes upon the board, and had my pen ready to write. I needed some kind of action, and at that moment, school was my fix. It was my high, and I couldn’t get enough of it.
By sixth period, though, I was tapping out, and I could feel myself crashing. My eyes were half opened, and I could barely gauge my alertness anymore. I had gotten too much of being attentive and astute, and I was so ready to leave. At this rate, I would be more than happy to spend the whole day at home—if I could just get some rest!
I was so tired… I didn’t remember my head drooping or my body slowly giving in to the peaceful call of sleep. Neither did I remember the eventual result of laying my head on the desk… Omg, sleep never felt so damn good. I could lay here forever.
“Um… class ended about a minute ago,” someone said, tugging at my hair.
“Damn you,” I whispered, attempting to fall asleep again.
“Jennifer Brighton, class is over,” he said louder.
Slowly, I lifted my head and stared blankly into space, “Wha-what did you say?”
I focused my eyes on the figure standing in front of me. He was a teacher, wasn’t he? He was tall, at least from where I was sitting, and lanky. His long black hair fell at the nape of his neck and down in front of his large brown eyes—eyes that resembled burning embers against his pale, pale face.
He sat on the teacher’s desk—his desk?—and stared at me.
“What are you, some kind of an emo-freak,” I blurted out.
I said the first thing that came to mind. My tiredness made me less inclined to care about hurting the stranger's feelings.
“Um… no. I don’t think so,” he answered coolly, tilting his head to look at the ceiling.
“You’re so weird.” I said, minutely snickering, then quickly erased my dumb smile. Oh my god, I’m flirting with the teacher. Aren’t I?
“Are you a teacher or something?”
He looked at me dumbfounded, dressed primly in his casual black garb, “No… I’m a new student. You’re the right girl…But, I’m in the wrong class.”
I was so relieved that he was a student and not a teacher, although the escapade would have been very interesting.
“Right girl, wrong class…? You weirdo.”
I stood up slowly to keep from ruffling my skirt. I attempted to pull my hair behind me, but I staggered a bit, still feeling slightly inebriated with sleep.
I could hear him laugh a little, but what did I care…? I was late for seventh period, and I was gonna get there--staggering or not. I didn’t need any more reasons for my mom to come down on me. So, I was gonna get to class, even if I wasn’t on time.
After school, I waited almost too patiently for Megan and Catherine to show up. They came running up to me, all animated and bubbly. I rolled my eyes. Needless to say, their excitement made me sick.
Megan immediately began mouthing off about something… I wasn’t really paying much attention though because at the exact same moment, that strange kid went skulking across the schoolyard and out into the street. I wondered, where exactly does he live?
Eventually, I came back down to Earth and realized that the two were squealing about something.
“What in the hell has gotten into you two,” I spoke shrewdly, though truly confused.
“It has been years since we had a sleep over! You totally made my day,” Megan shouted.
“Sleep over… where? With who?”
“Um… Megan just asked you about a sleep over, Jen, and you said Yea, why not,” Catherine informed me, eyeing me closely.
“I said what??” I bucked my eyes confusedly. Megan and Catherine simultaneously placed their hands to my forehead.
“She’s definitely going crazy,” Megan shouted rudely.
“Oh, Shutup!! And get your hands off of me!” I yelled, storming off into the street. The two giggled hysterically and followed after me.
“Jen, wait,” Megan yelled, grabbing a hold of my arm, “slow down! We were just playing!”
They knew how serious I was about being called crazy. There was a strand of psychological problems—well hidden in fact—in my family. My great grandfather had multiple personalities, and my uncle had it as well. I was not in the mood to deal with such foolishness from my friends.
* * *
I opened the door and sat my book bag by the stairs. Catherine and Megan were right at my heels. They followed me into the kitchen, and after making something quick to eat, I turned to face them. Both of them stared me down with large doe eyes.
“What,” I yelled curtly.
“Come on, Jen, she said she was sorry,” Catherine pleaded, placing her hands together in a praying pose. “You know,” she continued, “I think she’s the crazy one, wearing those shoes with that shirt,” she said, pointing and releasing a high pitched shriek as if she were really disturbed by the sight.
I laughed a little, although I didn’t want to. I wanted them to think I was upset, but I couldn’t hold it anymore.
“You’re so silly,” I said giggling, realizing how ridiculous I was being. “But Megan, I hate you. I swear.” I rolled my eyes at her as an attempt to regain a fraction of my damaged pride.
“Okay, I hate you too. So, can we go to my house now?” she asked impatiently.
“Sure, just let me leave my mom a note.
© Copyright 2016 Jennifer Brighton. All rights reserved.
Poem / Poetry
Poem / Poetry
Poem / Poetry
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