the beginning to a story.

I’m scared of who I should be.

                The halls were more crowded than usual today. Probably just because it was in between first and second period on a Monday. People were getting back from a long three day weekend. They had to huddle together in little clumps along the hallway to tell each other every exciting story. Like drinking mountain dew and playing video games couldn’t be any more fun alone.

                My books clenched to my chest, I made my way through the maze of people. Mostly everyone was taller than me, so it was like a jungle. The loud monkeys, tall giraffes, and large hippos cluttered my path. I kept my eyes open wide, trying to find a clear way through. Not everyone enjoyed mingling – I definitely wasn’t one of those types of people. That would peg me as a nerd by most people. I had an almost perfect attendance record. Tardiness was never a problem for me because I liked to walk quickly and talk to my teachers. They had more interesting stories to tell, anyways.

                After passing the clutter, I was in an empty hallway. Only a few stragglers stood against the walls, chatting with their lovers at their lockers. I tried to keep my eyes focused ahead of me as they watched my strides. Being a human in a zoo with eyes watching you was absolutely terrifying for me. You could never know when they were going to pounce. I could see my classroom now, and hurriedly opened the door and stepped inside. The peace overcame me, and I sighed. The outrage that was in the hallways was now just that – teenagers mingling in the halls.

                Mrs. Cochins or Mrs. C smiled at me as I entered her classroom. The classroom was like any other classroom, except the ceiling was covered completely with vines. Mrs. C taught creative writing, but she enjoyed having a ‘jungle’ atmosphere. It was almost ironic. I smiled at her before taking my seat, placing my books on my desk in front of me. I was the only one in the room so far. Everyone else probably got eaten by the large crocodiles by the drinking fountain.

                “Good morning, Leann,” Mrs. C acknowledged me in her singsong voice. I nodded towards her, not one for words. “How was your weekend?” Of course she had to ask this. Every teacher did, forcing me to speak up. I thought of my previous weekend, how I picked flowers with my little sister and how my little brother loved to smash them.

                “Not much, I just stayed home. I watched my younger brother and sister while my parents went to California for a car show.” This sparked her interest, like it did with most teachers. Her blonde eyebrows raised and her smile widened.

                “Car show, huh? Do your parents make cars?” I vaguely remembered writing those exact words on a personality paper we had filled out at the beginning of the year. Then again, it was almost summertime. I nodded with a half smile like I was excited to tell her about it.

                “Yes they do. My dad makes the cars from scratch, old parts and whatnot, and my mom paints them in a shop. Its how they fell in love – or so they tell me.” Mrs. C laughed here, and more students came to her attention. Our creative writing class was smaller than most other classes, so she had to have personal connections with each and every one of them. I sunk into my chair as she asked Kylie Stewart, Mason Jenkins, and Valerie Percy how their weekends went. This was typical teacher talk for every student that walked into the door. To make us feel special. Like they really cared about what we were going to do with our lives.

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