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She walked with her head down, trying to draw as less attention as she could to herself. Not that anyone would care if she did.

Her eyes bespoke sadness, but no one was close enough to hear them tell their tale of sorrow. Her hands twisted nervously, wondering what would happen if someone noticed her for once. Her legs shuffled awkwardly along with the rest of her body, weary of supporting her.

The children moving in the corridor bumped into her often, as if she did not exist. Of course, she didn't; she was a nonentity to them. One in a Million. Just a face in a hundred. Just another brick in the wall. She glanced at the people passing her, people she identified by name, people who she had known since she was a kid. But no one knew who she was. And that was the saddest part of all.

She moved into the vast cafeteria that seated so many. She picked up her tray and stood in the line to get the lunch. The lunch lady greeted most of the students by name, laughing, smiling, and cracking jokes. But when it was her turn, the lady gave her a blank stare, as if she was unsure of who she was.

The lunch lady asked, "And who're you, missy? Transfer student?"

She shook her head, and walked away, disappointed. She didn't even have the strength to tell her she had been here practically her whole life.

She made her way to her usual seat near the back of the room. No one came here, and maybe that was why she sat in this unknown area. She didn't want to be here, sitting unnoticed except for the tiny ants that kept her company, but she knew even they were here just for the stray crumbs of food on the table. She wanted to be seen, she wanted to be heard, she wanted to be free but the look on people's faces when she looked at them. That puzzled look they always gave her hurt her more than being nameless.

She ate slowly, as if every bite hurt her, as if every bite was her forcing her body to cooperate with herself, as if every bite was her compelling herself to live.

"Live?" she thought wryly. She wasn't living. She was barely existing.

As she ate, her eyes wandered across the cafeteria. She looked at all the people creating memories, both good and bad; creating a legacy for themselves.

What would her legacy be?

Her barely risen spirits fell again. She would have no legacy.

The sharp sound of the bell startled her, sitting as she was directly under it. She sighed, looking at her half-eaten meal. She felt guilty wasting the food, but she knew no other option. She picked up the tray and dejectedly flung it in the bin on the way out.

Again, she was swarmed by people, colliding and bumping into her, causing her to nearly lose balance many times. But she never let out even a small cry of indignation. She had been invisible for so long; she started accepting the effects it had on her with no protest. And maybe that was the saddest part.

She reached the lockers and opened hers up. A certain Ashley Walters from the Track Team owned the locker right next to hers. When Ashley saw her, her face immediately twisted into a puzzled expression that was all so familiar to her. Ashley gave her an uncertain smile and she responded with a small smile, ignoring the discomfort her face muscles were going through at the unfamiliar expression.

She turned away before Ashley could ask her who she was. She couldn't hear that again. Not again.

She smiled at them, despite their unknowingly hurtful comments and looks, because it was better to smile and hide.

She walked into her classroom where the teacher, Ms. Stephens, was instructing them all to settle down. She had hung a world map near the board and the words 'AP GEOGRAPHY' were written on the blackboard in big, white letters.

Ms. Stephens finally silenced the class, and said, her soft voice just audible, "You'll be in pairs for your next assignment."

There was a scramble of movement as everybody tried to grab their friends and pick them. No one picked her.

When the ruckus died down, she noticed that everybody had been paired up. Everybody, that is, except her. She sighed. Oh, well.

Ms. Stephens gave her a sympathetic look, but she hid her face under her book. Sympathy and pity from Ms. Stephens was more unbearable than the looks of bewilderment the other teachers gave her.

The rest of the period elapsed in copying down the details of the project and what it was about. As the bell signalled the final period of English Literature, she got up from her bench and made her way to the front of the class. Ms. Stephens made a motion as if to talk to her, but she half- ran out of the class.

Much to her chagrin, the English teacher forced them to go to the library to finish the assignment. She frowned as she mentally scanned the places to sit. Finally selecting one, she sat and opened her book with a soft thump.

The plot of the book engrossed her and she didn't notice, until a while later, that a pair of brown eyes were looking intently at her. She looked up, startled, only to look at a Connor Hayes. She gave him a surprised look before going back to her book.

He declared, "You know, I'm trying to be friendly with you here."

Her mind went blank. A few silent moments later, she coughed out, barely able to speak from shock, "Friendly? With me?"

He nodded. "Trying. You have this huge 'I'm a loner' vibe and I wanted to know why."

It took her a few minutes to comprehend that he had really said what she had heard. He didn't want to borrow her book; he didn't want her to finish his notes; he wanted to know her?

But she knew enough about the school and its students. She asked, her voice barely a whisper, "Is this a prank?"

Connor laughed loudly and was immediately shushed by the librarian. "Oh no! You look like you need a friend and here I am?"

Many thoughts flashed in her head from 'What is wrong with him?' to 'Where has he been all these days then?' but Connor was still talking.

"Well, tell me your name!"

This was it. She could either accept his offer of friendship or she could reject it. She doubted if anybody except the teachers even knew her name.

Gulping softly, she said, "Trinity."

He smiled and offered her his hand. "Connor."

As they shook hands, she inquired, "Why though?"

He gave a small smile and muttered, "The saddest part about you, I felt, wasn't that you were invisible. It was that you believed it."

I gave him a smile back, and for once, it was genuine.