<Contest Entry for SandyGraves "Mental" Contest>

School was scary for some people. School was awesome for others. But for me, I was different. School was a nightmare. A horrible, terrifying place to be.

Sometimes at school, I would try to escape, drop out or hide. In other times, I would just read a book and be in my own little world. Of course, I must admit, I was never the perfect type of student that would get straight A's nor was I very popular among other people. In fact, I was actually the opposite.

Everyone hated me. Every student, every teacher, every human roaming around the school. But I was fine with that. I hated them too. I hated school. I hated being around people, I hated seeing their happy faces that showed such a carefree emotion as if there wasn't a worry in the world.

My grades were horrible, and so was my social life. I literally had no one in my little friend circle. I would usually get a D or an F, but sometimes if I was lucky, which was very rare, I would get a C.

People would often gossip about me, even the teachers would talk behind my back. The bullies would punch me and kick me, but I showed no reaction. Some kids would just giggle and point at me, then run away. Everyone treated me badly. But somehow, I didn't care.

I didn't know what was wrong with me, but I guess it's my personality. I was quiet, and extremely antisocial. I was cold and harsh towards others. I was like a robot. Emotionless.

"Nixie!" A sharp voice cut through my thoughts. I slowly lift my head, and shoot Mrs. Tanner a hard stare.

"What?" I snap coldly, my sharp hazel eyes directed straight at her. Mrs. Tanner was a very strict teacher, and most students were afraid of her. But I, however, was not.

"Dude, you were death glaring that chair for 15 minutes straight!" The boy sitting across from me chuckles. I grit my teeth.

"Could you please answer question 10?" she asks in her thick British accent, but it was more of an order than a question. I stand up, knocking my chair over.

I narrow my eyes at her. "I don't have my workbook, ma'am," I reply expressionlessly.

Mrs. Tanner sighs. "How many times do I have to ask you to bring your book, Miss Evans? This is the last straw, and you will receive an infraction!" she announces loudly as if it was a good thing.

"Whatever. Shut up," I mutter under my breath, rolling my eyes.

"What was that?" the English teacher snaps.

"I said, shut up," I repeat more loudly, snatching up my books and storming out of the classroom. I guess you could say that I am quite hotheaded as well.

I break into a run to the girls' bathroom and the bell rings a few moments later. I gaze into my reflection on the mirror. My shoulder length hair, my torn,ripped jeans, my dirty t-shirt, and my ash grey hoodie.

I exit the bathroom and trudge down the hallways to the cafeteria. A few girls stand in my way, giggling and chatting. I push past them and shove them away.

As I enter the cafeteria, all the tables are filled except for one. I drag myself over to the empty table, sitting down and pulling out my lunch. I bite into the apple and open up my book. Yeah. That's how I usually spend lunch.

After I eat, I pull the hood of my jacket over my head and place my head down on the table.

After around of 85 years of staying quiet, I look at my watch. Only 10 minutes has passed. I get up to throw my trash away, and I trip, falling face first on the floor. A group of boys point at me and start laughing.

"Immature," I huff, dumping the garbage into the bin, and turning to walk back to the table. I spin back around, let out a groan of annoyance, and give the trash can a good kick. Turning on my heels, I head back to the table and put my head down.

A few moments later, someone decides to disturb my peaceful silence. I lift my head, turning around to face him. "What do you want?" I demand.

The brown haired boy shrugs. "I'm Jack. Can I sit here?" he asks.

I look at him in mock surprise and hold my hand over my heart. "No. Why would you want to sit with me, I have antisocial personality disorder. You hate me, I hate you, everyone hates me, I hate everyone." I nod once, purse my lips, and clasp my hands together. "Let's keep it that way."

"I don't hate you."

I almost laugh. "Ha! You don't hate me? That's impossible!" I sneer.

"Nixie, please."

"No."

We argue back and forth, and finally, I give in. I throw my hands up. "Fine! You can sit here for all you want and care, but I assure you, you're wasting your time."

Jack gives me a light smile and sits in the chair next to me. "Great! So, how are you today?"

I smirk. "Oh, everything is so lovely today, I received detention from Mr. Miller and an infraction from Mrs. Tanner, no biggie..." I reply in a fake British accent, my voice laced with sarcasm.

Jack chuckles. "You're actually not too bad, as they say. You're funny."

"Shut up," I reply, my cold glare returning.

The bell rings, announcing that the lunch break is over.

"Well then," Jack says, "see you around." He waves, his brown eyes shining with warmth, then walks off.

I get a new feeling. I haven't felt anything much for a long time, and it's weird. I frown. I was not used to this. It wasn't a happy feeling, nor a sad feeling, nor an angry feeling. This new feeling...almost left me feeling...satisfied. I walk off to my next class, shrugging.

******

I trudge out the doors of school. Finally. I breathe. Finally I get my freedom. But my relief fades when it starts raining.

"Oh, darn it..." I mutter as I realize that I don't have an umbrella. I pull my hood over my head and continue walking home.

Suddenly, I feel the raindrops stop pitter-pattering on my head. I look up to see an umbrella, and to my left, I see a familiar face holding it up for me.

"Why do you persist on staying with me?" I mumble and lightly push him away.

"Because you need it," Jack replies.

I grumble at the uncomfortably close contact. "Stop..." I mutter, taking a step away from him. He doesn't respond.

We finally reach my house. I walk up the stairs and turn around to say "Thank you", but Jack was gone. I shrug, opening the door and entering my house.

******

4 years has passed since I met him. Jack has stuck with me the whole time. I had to admit, he had changed me.

I was less cold and harsh to other people, my grades started to go up, and I had even developed a small group of friends. It wasn't much, but I liked it.

Jack was the closest out of all my friends. I had always poured out my problems to him and ranted at him, and he would always listen. He was the one who helped me out of my former emotionless state. He saved me...well, sort of.

Today, I decide to surprise him and say my "Thank you". I turn up at his house and knock on the door. But instead of Jack answering, his mother opens the door.

"Where's Jack?" I ask happily, trying to take a peek in the house. That was when I noticed her tear stained face.

"Hey...what's wrong?" I ask.

"I-I'm so sorry, N-Nixie, but J-Jack...he's n-not with us a-anymore." She looks down. "He was involved in a serious accident," she explains.

I flinch, shocked. How come I never knew about this? I think. Suddenly, I feel things change. It's as if someone has flipped a switch in my brain. Tears start pouring down my cheeks, and my face starts feeling hot. I wipe my eyes, the tears threatening to spill again.

"Oh." That's all I manage to choke out, before I dash down the steps and run home.

******

I sit in the lunchroom, at that exact same table and chair, with my hood draped over my head. My expression is more stone-faced than ever, my jaw clenched. I pull out my book and flip to the page where I had stopped. I pluck the bookmark out, and it happens to be a polaroid picture of Jack and I.

Even though it's just a picture, his chestnut eyes shine with such happiness and warmth that I don't even know how he does it. I stare at it, the memories flooding back to my mind. My expression doesn't change, and I hold the small picture close to my heart. What me and Jack had...it wasn't like the typical boyfriend-girlfriend relationship that almost everyone had. It was more of a strong friendship without the lovey dovey feelings towards each other.

I feel the tears filling my eyes to the brim, and I put my head down on the table, still clutching the picture. Moments later, I feel a tap-tap on my shoulder. Preparing to glare at whoever made contact me, I grit my teeth and turn to the direction of the person. But my hard stare falters when I gaze into the familiar chocolate brown eyes of someone.

My hero.