Sᴇᴘᴛᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 9. 2024
'His name is Richie McClaude, 15 years old, a Sophomore and Scholarship student.' Alexa notes inwardly. 'Is he now my friend?' She almost smiles, sitting in the second column and third row of her homeroom.
She shouldn't get too hasty now. After all, she didn't befriend anyone right away before.
Sighing, she begins to stretch her fingers, being the only one in class, snuggled in a chair, over her bag.
Time runs by and the bell rings. Alexa doesn't look up when kids start to file into the room, carrying with them loud, conjoined chattery. She huffs, dwelling on how bored she feels, but still not finding enough motivation to get up and actually make friends, though she'd like some. She's conflicted. 'Can't they just talk to her first?'
"Girl," A nasal call hovers over her head and from the corner of her eyes, she glances at a tall, light-skinned female, peering down at her with unwelcoming brown eyes, "you're in my seat."
She changes her mind. She wants no one to talk to her. None. Not one bit.
Alexa looks back down at the desk dumbly, scanning the clean oakwood before shaking her head. "I don't see any name on it." She states.
The skinny, tall girl rolls her eyes and scoffs. She's donning the perfect make-up that makes her eyes and cheekbones pop. She rests her hands on her hips, standing in a power pose, and just like that, her attitude levels spike dramatically. "What's your last name, sweetie?" She asks, leaning forward and planting a manicured hand on the desk to overshadow the pale-skinned girl who's now silent, eyes narrowed. "I haven't seen you around. Is it your first day? Bet. You don't even know who you're talking to."
Petro had told Alexa about the importance of having a powerful last name (he used that as an excuse to put her on his family tree) and from her observation; looking back on all the teen-fiction, highschool novels she's read on "Wattpad" on her newly bought phone, she wonders, 'Is this what they refer to as a bitch?' She hopes not, because she's always wanted to meet one after all the books she's read with innocent protagonists, and it wouldn't be a nice scene.
"You know what I think? I think you're a nobody, or maybe you've been living underneath a rock." The girl continues, by now, getting a lot of attention. "I'm letting you off the hook 'cause it's your first day, yeah? But, don't cross me again." She nods as if there's a mutual agreement between her and Alexa and walks away.
Eyes move from her to Alexa for a reaction, but she doesn't give any.
Alexa turns away blankly, watching the classroom door which soon opens and the expected teacher rushes in. No one says anything, but moves casually to their seat.
The male teacher of German descent begins the roll call, "Patricia Allwood?"
"Here."
"Alana Coleman?"
"Here."
He drones on and Alexa is on the verge of rolling out of her seat, bored out of her mind. It feels like this will continue for hours and hours and—for God's sake, when will class actually begin?
"Nikita Gilles?"
"Here, Mr. Fishman." The bitch girl announces and the teacher rolls his eyes, ticking her name off.
"Vincent Guiseppe?"
Alexa stiffens in her seat, 'What?' She listens for an answer to the name and there's none. Mr. Fishman looks up through his thick-framed glasses, scanning the classroom.
"Vincent?" He asks, before spotting the dark brown curls of the boy, bouncing with a pair of white headphones parting the bundle. "Guiseppe!" The teacher yells and he pauses, opening an ear and looking up at Mr. Fishman.
When he realizes what's going on, he exhales, staring flatly at the man in glasses. "Here." He grumbles, relaxing, while Alexa prays he doesn't notice her.
How could she not have noticed him entering this small space when his presence alone is overbearing? She realizes she's unable to sense his presence even now. 'Fuck, did this dude learn stealth?'