(Seraphina)

I spent two weeks trying to forget the fact that I had been raped. The girl that helped me texted me every other day to ask me how I was holding up. My parents didn't ask me if I was okay or if I was hurt.

Currently, I'm now trying on clothes at the Goodwill for my sophomore year. My father dropped me off and gave me a budget of $20 to spend on clothes. Any change that was left over may be used to buy a snack or a drink for myself. My mother was at work.

I look at a light gray shirt with no design and long sleeves. It's my size, which is a medium, but I find the same shirt in a large. I choose the large shirt because I don't want anyone to see how skinny I am. They may think that I'm anorexic.

Choosing a pair of gray pants to go with it, I change in the ladies' changing room and look at myself in the mirror. I looked fine. The shirt covered my curves, and I had to roll up the pant legs because of how long they were. Other than that, I looked okay.

I bought the shirt and pants and had $8 left over. I walked to the gas station and bought myself a blue raspberry ICEE and a hot dog. I put the change from those items in my father's basket for his everyday objects. Tossing the cup and wrapper after I ate the food, I walked to my bedroom and put my outfit in the closet.

On my first day, I wore the outfit I had chosen. My mother looked at me when I walked downstairs. My blonde hair was tied back into a messy ponytail, and gray lipstick applied onto my lips. I chose a black belt that helped the pants not be as roomy as they were before. I was not prepared that day.

I grabbed my phone and a piece of fruit on my way out the door. My backpack was black with silver stripes and a matching lunch pail. I begin my walk to school.

My gray Vans are comfortable enough to walk in. My white socks are covered up by the pant legs, the last bit of whatever purity I had left. I'll switch to gray tomorrow. Plugging my earbuds into my phone jack, I play Be More Chill from my Musical Mix. Michael in the Bathroom plays first.

I forgot it was on shuffle.

George Salazar's voice usually calms me down, but it doesn't today. I start to hyperventilate. I feel like fainting. I stop walking and lean against a house's fence. As the song progresses, Michael's panic attack gets worse, and my knees start shaking.

At last the song ends. I start walking again, but I'm off-balance. I'm walking slower than I usually do. Tears were now running down my face. My backpack suddenly felt more massive than it often did. Everything about me had changed.

"Hey, Blondie!" I heard someone call. The girl parked next to me, and I got into the front passenger seat. I haven't been in here since the party. She drives us to school, and the entire drive is silent.

When Words Fail from Dear Evan Hansen plays, more tears are running down my face. The girl looks at me and rubs them away with her thumb. I haven't had someone comfort me like this since middle school.

"Hey. Even though we're in different grades, you can still talk to me," the girl tells me. I nod, letting her know that I knew that. She parks in one of the front parking spots in front of the school, and we got out.

I walked to the cafeteria and grabbed breakfast. I looked at my piece of fruit and decided to save it for later. I sat down by myself at a table in the corner of the cafeteria. Turning up my music, I tried to drown out the shouts and cheers of the other students.

Ignore it, I told myself. Ignore it. Ignore it! I bit my lip so hard that I drew blood. Eating slowly, I kept my head down until I saw someone walking towards me.

She had shoulder-length blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, and fair skin. She was wearing a bright pink T-shirt with a flower on it with a pink skirt, pink leggings, and pink flats with white mini socks. She sat down with me at the table, and I took out one earbud.

"My name is Charlotte Bradley," she said. She had on pink lipstick. The pink color kind of sickens me. I wore it too much when I was little. I've been grossed out by it since I found out that Adolf Hitler was the cause of the new baby color change.

I stayed quiet. "What's your name?" she asked me.

"Seraphina Cohen," I mumbled.

"That is a beautiful name," she says. I see the junior look at me, her eyes widening when she sees Charlotte. I blink in return, rolling my eyes. She does the same thing, making me smile. Charlotte looks at her and the junior looks away in time.

"I moved here from Florida," says Charlotte. I pretend like I'm listening while eating breakfast and listening to Lifeboat from Heathers: The Musical. After breakfast came my first class, which was social studies.

The class was bearable, and I'll admit that. We're learning about the American Revolution. I hope that we get up to the present this year. They say that we will, but we never do. Charlotte doesn't have any classes with me, which is good.

I know that sounds bitchy, but it's true. I don't really like her. I don't even know her and I don't like her. My lip starts bleeding in class and I ask to go to the nurse's office.

"It's the first day, Cohen, and you need to go to the nurse? Why? Monthly cycle?" the teacher asks me. He is a bitch. I stand up and grab a tissue. I wipe my bottom lip and the crimson liquid that tastes like metal stains the white paper.

He writes a note for me to go to the nurse's office and I grab my stuff, keeping my lip out of sight. I run to the nurse's office as fast as I can, trying not to see Ethan Montgomery in the hallways at all.