-: Part 2 :-
I hate when I get into such dark, bitchy moods. I don't really like being that cynical, but I guess I sometimes am. I'd rather see the good in people, but, I guess knowing what goes on behind my friends' façades, I have to wonder what's going on behind everyone else's, and... well, I already know what plots are behind everything Kimmy does, but it's not like she's devious every minute of her life. I'm always not really myself in the morning, though, I guess. I get this weird tense feeling around people sometimes, it happened a lot right after summer break, too. I didn't really see anyone much this summer, everyone was off at camp or family vacations, a few people were working. But in a way, it was really kinda nice. I just hung out around the house and town and things, did a little shopping, some babysitting, and watched all the movies in the family collection with my little brother. And I didn't have to worry about dressing up perfectly, or how my hair looked, or what I said, or who was looking at me or who wasn't looking at me, or if what I thought aligned just right with those around me... school's so freaking stressful, it really is. I swear working 9-5 would be easier. At least then you can just work, and it doesn't matter if you've got the current shade of eyeliner as long as you do your job right.
"Rachel? What was your answer?"
"Uhm---" A quick glance at the blurry overhead projection, an almost instantaneous sift through Mrs. Wheeler's cramped script in a fat-tipped blue marker, and I see what problem we're on. A glance at my own neat rows of problems (with huge angry Xs scattered between them), and I spit back an answer to her, looking up at her as I do so, with just the right mix of uncertainty and honesty, to make her believe I did the work (which I did, mostly) and did it myself, so I'm not quite confident of it but gave it my best shot.
She nods and smiles. "That's right. Now, in order to get that answer, you had to..."
I always seem to get stuck with math either first or second class in the morning. It's way too easy to doze back off again in here... Mornings are always mentally foggy for me. I remember when I was little, maybe four or five, I used to get out of bed so early, just to watch the sunrise... I think I can still remember how it looked. I'd asked to have my room painted a light pink, "porcelain pink" but it was almost neon where it splashed a little against the white ceiling, it was so vivid. The sunrise I remember had almost that same color near the edges of the clouds, with a light orange of a similar brightness linking the lavenders and roses with the pale gold of the early sunlight peeking around the soft edges, which were pulled smooth rather than cut ragged. A much more full sort of softness to everything, the colors and the atmosphere, than there was this morning at the bus stop. Being that young, I probably didn't pick up on subtleties the way I would now, but still... I wonder what I thought that morning? I remember standing in my room, looking out the window... I think I remember translucent white curtains, but I'm not sure if I'm making that up... I remember the layout of the room, the heavy old dresser (was it the one with a mirror attached? I'm not sure); the head of my bed was under the lowest of many shelves, I remember cracking my head on it more than once, sitting up suddenly in the morning or during the night. I remem---
My eyes focus again, looking for whatever made that light tap on my desk. There's a small wad of balled-up looseleaf. Gotta be from Chris, that pain in the butt. He's always slacking off, and always trying to distract me into doing the same. (And no, he's not remotely my type, anyway he's dating Sam.) Of course, I'm not paying attention anyway, but my grades are good enough that he thinks I do, and I let him think so. Pretty good bargaining chip, y'know? I'll copy over some homework answers, or loan some study-notes, and get a favor or two when I need it. I slip the paper into my hand and then under the desk, slowly and quietly unfolding it against my jeans. I grimace a little at each crinkle, but gently and carefully, manage to keep it pretty quiet.
"Rachel? What was your answer?"
"Uhm---" A quick glance at the blurry overhead projection, an almost instantaneous sift through Mrs. Wheeler's cramped script in a fat-tipped blue marker, and I see what problem we're on. A glance at my own neat rows of problems (with huge angry Xs scattered between them), and I spit back an answer to her, looking up at her as I do so, with just the right mix of uncertainty and honesty, to make her believe I did the work (which I did, mostly) and did it myself, so I'm not quite confident of it but gave it my best shot.
She nods and smiles. "That's right. Now, in order to get that answer, you had to..."
I always seem to get stuck with math either first or second class in the morning. It's way too easy to doze back off again in here... Mornings are always mentally foggy for me. I remember when I was little, maybe four or five, I used to get out of bed so early, just to watch the sunrise... I think I can still remember how it looked. I'd asked to have my room painted a light pink, "porcelain pink" but it was almost neon where it splashed a little against the white ceiling, it was so vivid. The sunrise I remember had almost that same color near the edges of the clouds, with a light orange of a similar brightness linking the lavenders and roses with the pale gold of the early sunlight peeking around the soft edges, which were pulled smooth rather than cut ragged. A much more full sort of softness to everything, the colors and the atmosphere, than there was this morning at the bus stop. Being that young, I probably didn't pick up on subtleties the way I would now, but still... I wonder what I thought that morning? I remember standing in my room, looking out the window... I think I remember translucent white curtains, but I'm not sure if I'm making that up... I remember the layout of the room, the heavy old dresser (was it the one with a mirror attached? I'm not sure); the head of my bed was under the lowest of many shelves, I remember cracking my head on it more than once, sitting up suddenly in the morning or during the night. I remem---
My eyes focus again, looking for whatever made that light tap on my desk. There's a small wad of balled-up looseleaf. Gotta be from Chris, that pain in the butt. He's always slacking off, and always trying to distract me into doing the same. (And no, he's not remotely my type, anyway he's dating Sam.) Of course, I'm not paying attention anyway, but my grades are good enough that he thinks I do, and I let him think so. Pretty good bargaining chip, y'know? I'll copy over some homework answers, or loan some study-notes, and get a favor or two when I need it. I slip the paper into my hand and then under the desk, slowly and quietly unfolding it against my jeans. I grimace a little at each crinkle, but gently and carefully, manage to keep it pretty quiet.
posted by Melissa @ 11:59 PM
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