The insistent drone of my mother's voice pulled me from the depths of sleep yet again. 5:03 AM. Sometimes, a rebellious whisper within me wished our household operated on a more leisurely schedule, that the sun could rise a little later in our world. But such thoughts were quickly quelled by the ingrained understanding of our family's strict adherence to religious timings. "Foolish people who sleep in for longer." my mother would undoubtedly declare whenever she got the chance, her conviction unwavering.
A sigh escaped my lips as I padded towards the bathroom. Being so rigidly religious could be tiring, especially with an orthodox mother at the helm. The thought lingered as I went through the familiar motions of brushing my teeth, washing my face, and changing into fresh clothes, the early morning chill still clinging to the air.
Just as I finished, the telltale sounds of my younger sister, Lily, finally stirring drifted from her room. Waking Lily was always a minor battle, her talent for achieving extra sleep bordering on legendary.
I found Mom already seated in front of our small, home-built temple, her movements gentle as she polished the brass idols. It was a scene as familiar as the back of my hand, a ritual I'd witnessed countless times since childhood. Religion was undeniably a significant thread woven into the fabric of my life, a credit to my mother's unwavering devotion. And despite the occasional weariness it brought, a deeper part of me acknowledged it as the right path.
The morning chores continued until it was time for me to leave for school. Excitement, a constant companion these days, bubbled within me. I adjusted the black mask that concealed the lower half of my face, a stark contrast to the two neat black ponytails that framed it.
"When will you stop wearing that mask?" My mother asked, her voice laced with a familiar exasperation as she stood by the open front door.
"Why does it bother you? I like masks," I replied almost instantly, a smile tugging at my lips beneath the fabric, hoping to soften the slight edge in my tone. Can't afford being rude.
Mom simply sighed, a sound that thankfully didn't escalate into a lecture about restricted oxygen intake. I walked down the short flight of stairs and out the front gate, my feet hitting the pavement with a familiar rhythm. As I made my way towards school, a question, as it often did, bloomed in my mind: What drama will today unfold? It was this very anticipation, this unspoken curiosity about the day's hidden narratives, that fueled my excitement. Drama, alongside the undeniable joy of seeing my friends, was a significant reason why I loved school. It was an escape, a vibrant contrast to… home. A sad thought, one I wished wasn't so true. Home was complicated, a truth I couldn't deny. Mom was… a complicated woman, her hand firmly on the reins of the household rules, her expectations often feeling rather strict. But I pushed those thoughts away, focusing on the familiar sight of Northwood School just a five-minute walk away.
Eagerly, I stepped into the bustling hallways. The familiar rush of students heading to their homerooms was already underway. I quickly joined the forming lines for assembly, the collective energy of the student body a palpable hum. The assembly passed in a blur of announcements and the principal's welcoming address, and soon we were filing back to our classrooms.
Mr. Sage, our surprisingly high-pitched homeroom teacher, had already begun the tedious task of taking attendance. 42 students in our class, an equal number in the other seventh-grade section – 84 of us in total. It felt like a surprisingly large number.
The predictably dull class began, the drone of Mr. Sage's voice a low hum in the background. Midway through his monotone explanation, I leaned over to whisper something to Chloe, but my attention snagged on a girl sitting across the room. What truly intrigued me was the black fabric covering the lower half of her face. She wore a mask, just like me. Did she also… like them?
"Is she new?" I murmured to Chloe, who glanced briefly at the masked girl before answering, "Yeah, looks like it."
My eyes practically sparkled. New students were always interesting, a fresh face in the familiar landscape of our grade. "I hope we can get to know each other," I grinned, the thought of a new connection sparking a thrill within me. What was better than discovering a new friend?
But was funny to me is the fact she didn't came the first day, who can miss their first day? Well, general school=hell clad, I ain't a part of it.
"You hope you get to know everyone," Chloe sighed, a familiar weariness in her voice.
"What? Popularity isn't bad," I retorted, my typical extroverted nature surfacing.
"I know," she conceded. "But popularity by making countless friends can be… tiring."
"Well, look at Ashley and Shawna," I pointed out, nodding towards our two more socially magnetic friends. "They both have that kind of popularity. Don't you ever wish you had that too?" I was being honest with myself. A part of me genuinely envied their easy connections, the way they seemed to know everyone, even some of the seniors.
"True, but we don't exactly have their… talent for it," Chloe laughed softly.
"Indeed…" I murmured, my gaze drifting back to Ashley and Shawna, who were already surrounded by a small group of chattering students. "How do they manage to be friends with seniors? It must feel so awesome." The last sentence was almost a whisper, spoken more to myself than to Chloe.
Before my friend could reply, Mr. Sage's voice cut through the quiet murmur of the classroom. "Vienne, Chloe, you are talking too much. I am switching your seats for this period." A simultaneous groan escaped our lips. Busted.
Time seemed to fast-forward until the blessed sound of the interval bell. "Are you going to talk to the new girl?" Chloe asked as we walked out of the classroom, the hallway suddenly a surging river of students. I scanned the crowd, searching for the familiar black mask, but she was already surrounded by Rachel's group, and we don't really talk to them. A pang of disappointment hit me. A potential close friend, already claimed.
We settled at our usual table with Ashley and Shawna, the familiar rhythm of our friendly chatter resuming. I found myself, as I often did, observing Ashley, wondering at her effortless ability to draw attention and weave connections. Our small circle felt comfortable and secure, but a part of me still yearned for a wider web of acquaintances.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of classes. In Fashion Designing, the class I'd been eagerly anticipating, I noticed the masked girl already seated at one of the drawing tables. She was interested in it too? My chance. I entered the room, greeted our enthusiastic teacher, and deliberately chose a seat at the table behind her. After a few minutes, I leaned forward and gently nudged her shoulder.
"Hello there."
She startled slightly, turning around. "Oh, hello."
"You're new, right?" I asked, keeping my voice friendly.
"Yes."
"What's your name?"
"Hannah."
"Nice, mine's Vienne."
"Okay."
I mentally scrolled through possible conversation starters. "You also like fashion designing?" Her eyes, the only visible part of her face, seemed to brighten slightly.
"Yeah," she replied, a hint of a smile crinkling the edges of her eyes above her mask. "I like fashion, and I love to draw."
"Me too!" I grinned, not even minding that she couldn't see the full extent of my enthusiasm hidden behind my own mask. I leaned forward, peering over her sketchbook. Her drawings were surprisingly detailed and imaginative. "Your art's nice."
"Thank you," she replied almost immediately, a touch of shyness in her tone. "I've been doing art since I was little." That was nice to hear, a shared passion. Sadly, our budding conversation was cut short by our teacher reminding us to focus on the task at hand.
When the final bell of the day rang, signaling the sweet taste of freedom, I decided to seize the opportunity for one last exchange with Hannah. "It was nice meeting you," I said brightly as we gathered our things.
"Yes, it was," she replied, her voice soft. Then, we parted ways, heading in opposite directions towards the crowded exit. Well, I thought, a small smile playing on my lips as I walked home, she seems the typical introvert type.
Now I was walking my way home. Home. The word echoed in my mind, devoid of the vibrant energy of the school hallways. Boring. I sighed, the familiar weight of that feeling settling upon me.