"Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."
Plato
Another day, another breakdown.
I wake up to the familiar, irritable noise of my alarm clock as my eyes abruptly open. Hauling myself out of bed, I sigh, wishing it was a Friday or even a Thursday. Sadly, it wasn't. So I was forced to carry on, the sun's rays of light almost artificial, the clock ticking too frequently. Even the whistling of my mother busily at work seems peculiar.
Completing my daily routine, I made my way to the kitchen, finding my mum who was already preparing breakfast. Her sand-blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her ocean-blue eyes shining, a tired smile forming on her light, pink lips. Why couldn't I look like her?
"Good morning," I state, groggily.
"Good morning," mum responds happily.
"What are you making?" I ask, looking over her shoulder, since she was using her small frame to cover my plate.
"Well," she begins, turning round. "I made a healthy breakfast! Consisting of salad, eggs, baked beans..."
It's all so wonderful, too wonderful.
And that's when I realise: "there's a catch, isn't it?"
"That's nice, why did you do it though?"
"Well if you want to start loosing weight, we have to start with a healthy diet!" Mum exclaims. "You don't want to be fat forever, right?"
My whole world comes crashing down. The intention, the gesture itself, is nice. However, the last statement ruined it entirely and for a moment, I thought I even saw the clouds outside my kitchen window, rapidly hover in front of the sun.
I nod, gratefully smile and take the plate, not wanting to exchange any words. After eating and a little hug for a goodbye, I leave.
It's going to be a long day.
...
Managing to navigate myself through school, I pass time with ease. I answer questions my teachers expect me to know, aware of the eye rolls and dirty looks which get thrown my way. Briskly, I saunter through the hallways, avoiding eye contact and any other types of interaction, whilst also trying to appear ordinary, not giving off strange behaviours.
Finally, it's the last lesson of the day: English. It is my least favourite class and I can't help but think about it with a certain amount of dread. I've never known how to express myself through words. On the contrary, I felt as though they've always limited me.
I knew that I had to attend the class, due to the fact that I already ditched lesson a few days back.
I walk in and that's when I see him. Dark hair, greens eyes, looking worried but distracting himself with funny thoughts because not long after, I see him grin. I hold back my smile, not wanting to be noticed by any of my peers. I keep my distance from him, acknowledging his every move. Then, our professor struts in, announcing that we have a new student. Wyatt appears at the front.
"Listen, this is our new student Wyatt Hunter, who'll be studying within this English group for the rest of the year. I want you all to treat him with..."
The class is silent, waiting for Mr Thunderman to finish his own sentence.
"Respect," he ends.
Mr Thunderman clears his throat, telling Wyatt to introduce himself and eventually, taking a seat at his desk.
"Umm... hi, I'm Wyatt as mentioned before and I'm from Dubai. I moved here because my dad got a promotion and I like art. Matter of fact, my dream is to become an artist," he says with an adorable smirk.
Adorable? Wyatt? Ewww!
Soon, I hear a girl beside me whisper to one of her friends; "Wow, I knew Dubai was a hot country but I couldn't have imagined that with hot temperatures, comes even hotter beings."
The two giggle, eyeing Wyatt as he quick gains more confidence.
"That comment was so dry," I think, recalling the girls' words as Wyatt goes on to talking about his tattoos, which are actually quotes.
"...so if you have any meaningful thoughts or conversations to share with me, it might be you who will have a phrase of their own tattooed on my body," he explains.
A girl, the same girl who made the comment, raises her hand.
"Yeah?" Wyatt asks.
"Can I choose where I want the tattoo to be?"
The class erupts into a fit of laughter and without even thinking about it I scoff. All heads turn towards me and that's when the bullying begins.
So much for keeping quiet.
"Who are you scoffing at, Fatty?"
"She's got some guts to be doing that to Miranda, a girl with actual elegance!" A boy shouts, slamming his fists on the table.
"Seriously! What are you, Fatty?"
"A pig!" A girl screams in reply.
"A pig!" The class yells back.
"That's enough...umm, class?" Our teacher tries to gain control, failing terribly.
"Go kill yourself, Fatty!"
"Leave her alone!"
That's all it takes. Three words.
Staring at the owner of the voice, I'm a bit surprised. I thought he'd go with the crowd, since he's the new kid and all. Instead, he stands his ground, determined that he made the right choice.
"What did you say?" A guy asks, flabbergasted.
"I said: 'Leave her alone'," Wyatt growls, fists clenched.