“So did you hear about it? You’ve seen them– Wait. Stupid question; of course you have. Everyone has. I mean seriously, it’s everywhere. Everyone,” Skye whispered, positively scandalised.

Rebecca rolled her eyes in disgust. The it they so scandalously were talking about was the nude photos of Rachel – popular girl 101. Now, though? Well, she’d no doubt be knocked off that ladder ASAP. Double standards, she though disgustedly. If Rachel had posted the photo of her boyfriend – who’d been the one to post them of her – he’d be getting congratulated. The guys would be raving about the size of his penis – though she doubted it was even average; the girls would be falling at his feet. But no. Since it was a girls nude, and girls would be girls – bitches – they had no compliments, just petty insults. All she’d heard about was the fact that she wasn’t even that skinny, or pretty. Her boobs were too small. Not that she’d seen the nude – the word Rebecca and popular didn’t even go together in the same sentence.

She blocked out the annoying voices of her classmates, focusing on the teacher instead. The petty dramas of high school weren’t her problem. She’d never be involved in one of them – unless she was the one they were being mean too. She was the loner; no friends, facebookless, and, let’s just face it, she really didn’t have a life. But she was fine with that. She enjoyed a life of solitude. Friends would just always demand she fix their stupid problem, unload every single issue they had – my boyfriend broke up with me; oh no, the world is ending. God, she didn’t want to deal with that. Ever. All she needed was her books. When she read she could escape the real world – the world where anything below perfection was trash.

“The Second World War was a very important moment. Hitler’s attempt at striking back was faltered. Power was once again in the right hands. But the catch? Any one know?” Mrs Darleen asked. She was met with silence. Either no one was paying attention, or they didn’t know the answer, like her. She figured it wasn’t the latter. Mrs Darleen was crazy. Beyond crazy. Out of this world in Mars crazy. Frankly, she was bat shit crazy and her questions were either rhetorical or the answer was ridiculous. But Rebecca kind of liked her.

Mrs Darleen frowned, eyebrows lowering on her face. It made her look as crazy as she was. With her wrinkled forehead and crazy eyes, she looked angry – only there was a smile on her face. “No one? Really? You”– she pointed to someone in the back, but Rebecca didn’t bother to look behind her; she was just glad she hadn’t been asked –“do you know the answer?”

The person must have shaken her head because Mrs Darleen just shook her head. “You don’t know? Of course you don’t! There was no catch!” She started to laugh; her horrible cackle ricocheting off the class room rules. No one else was amused. Not in the slightest – although she was slightly amused, though the laugh was horrible nevertheless.

Abruptly Mrs Darleen stopped laughing, schooling her expression, as if she suddenly realised she was teaching a class. Saying it was scary was a huge understatement. It was beyond freaky. It didn’t seem humanly possible to change moods that fast. Rebecca had a theory she was schizophrenic. “Soooooo . . . that was fun! Yes, fun indeed. But, sadly this is school and we can’t all listen to my amazing jokes. You have to learn! Though I don’t see the point with some of you . . . oops! I don’t think I was meant to say that. Oh, well . . .”

All of the sudden the carpet seemed very interesting to the class. Rebecca wasn’t surprised though – once Mrs Darleen was on a roll, she was on a roll. Her rambles could go for minutes, sometimes longer. Her rambles tended to turn ‘terribly inappropriate’in the inspiring words of Mrs Darleen. Rebecca thought they were cool sometimes. Hearing teachers bag the popular kids was enjoyable – not that it ever happened. Hearing the jocks called out because of the idiocy was satisfying. Though, being told they would go no where in life must hurt their precious egos. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. Some were too ignorant to understand what that meant. A career in football was a career to them. Too bad by the time you were noticed by the big leagues you were too old to play professionally. And then what? Nothing. You were just an arrogant idiot who thought you were model perfect, when really they were just deluded. That was her opinion anyway. The pretty girls would disagree; they were all about becoming trophy wives.

“Ok, class. We’re going to do a class activity” – sighs could be heard around the classroom – “that will tell you what your life would have been like in World War Two – how long you would have survived, the job you’d have. So, let us begin. Craig Landers, you’re first. What’s your favourite hobby? What couldn’t you live without?”

As students drones on Rebecca zoned out. For some reason she’d never noticed the walls were grey. From a far they looked white, but they weren’t. Did that paint even exist? Apparently it did and it was called ‘Confused paint – paints one colour, dries another.’ Seriously, she wanted to watch someone paint the wall with it and watch it change, and that was saying something. She hated the saying ‘watching paint dry’ with a passion. It was not as fun as people though. Who was she kidding, no one though it was fun. And grey? Could they have chosen a drearier colour? Why not blue, or green?

She forced herself back to reality when she heard Mrs Darleen say, “. . . and now we have Skye West. Ok, Skye, favourite hobby?”

Everyone turned – everyone one paying attention – towards Skye because that’s what you did. Your name gets called and everyone looks. Rebecca didn’t understand it but she was curious to her answer. Normally when everyone stared at you people were shy, uncomfortable even. But not Skye. No, she was soaking up the attention. Her eye lashes were fluttering, trying to be cute . . . or something. Rebecca honestly didn’t get why she was doing that. Why girls did that to flirt?

“Well, my favourite hobby . . . um, what’s a hobby?” Again Skye fluttered her eyelashes and giggled. Honest to god, giggled. Like a schoolgirl.It grated on Rebecca’s nerves. A lot. The guys found it– she didn’t even know why they liked it, but they did because they all laughed in the deep chuckle guys did when they were trying to act more masculine.

Out the front of the classroom Mrs Darleen rolled her eyes, a look of pure astonishment on her her face. Rebecca knew what she was thinking: how could anyone be that stupid? When she spoke her tone was haughty, condescending which made sense – Skye may be a 15 year old in grade ten but she had the intelligence of a six year old. Mrs Darleen spoke slowly. “A hobby is something you enjoy. Like sport or school. Okay? Are you sure? Positive that you understand? I can explain again if you want.”

Skye clearly took the insult for what it was; she shot up, scraping her chair for effect. Obnoxiously, she looked offended, as if it was uncalled for. “Excuse me? You can’t talk to me like that! Who do you think you are? My dad could sue you for that!” Then she sat down, looking quite proud of herself.

Rebecca scoffed; she couldn’t help it, Skye was just so ignorant and stupid. It was meant for her ears only, but it wasn’t quiet enough apparently. When Skye’s eyes cut to her, icy and mean, Rebecca balked. As stupid as Skye was, she was scary. It wasn’t ever her though, it was her group. The girls were catty and they weren’t afraid to sink their claws in. The jocks would never hit a woman, but standing behind the girlfriends as support, they were menacing. Rebecca lay low, never getting their attention, staying unnoticed.

“Oh, look it’s the freak. Just shut up, no one cares about you. You have no friends or family and nobody wants you.” Skye flicked her hair, done with the insults.

Rebecca wasn’t done however. Her family was a touchy subject. Raised as an orphan, she’d never been liked. The other children all thought she was odd and avoided her. She’d been to three foster homes, including the family she was with now. Her first family had been fine. Then the abuse had started. Apparently the father had issues with foster kids, and she’d been the foster kid they’d adopted. And he’d been a drunk. It had taken months for the care worker to realise. When he came around, the father had been civilised, affectionate with her. He showed the worker her room. But it had all been lies. She didn’t sleep in a room with a comfy bed. No, she slept in the cupboard no one bothered to clean out, without a mattress or blankets. As soon as her care worker left father would drink, then he’d take his anger out on her. She had scars – physically and emotionally. It was the reason she mistrusted men now. Her second family had been better, but there’d been a ‘disconnect’ between her and the family and they no longer wanted her. She’d been with the Smiths for four years, since she was 11. They were kind to her but work encompassed bother her fosters parents’ lives, so there was little time for her. She didn’t mind though. She had a room and food so she was happy.

Skye continued, as if her words hadn’t already hit home. “Why are you even here? The teacher’s don’t even want you here.”

Rebecca flinched involuntarily. She tried to deny it. She tried so hard. But the proof was before of her eyes, she just refused to acknowledge it. Skye was verbally insulting her – borderline abusively – yet the teacher did nothing. Mrs Darleen may be the nicest to her, but even she ignored to bully she received from her peers. If there was anyone who could stop the harassment it was a teacher, but they didn’t.

She put her head down, hair falling in front of her face, and stayed silent. Skye would stop if she didn’t get a reaction; hopefully. Thankfully she did, though Rebecca could still feel all eyes on her. she purposefully ignored them, listening when Skye answered the question. Her answer was of sheer stupidity, of course, but Rebecca didn’t want her loveless childhood thrown in her face again so she showed no reaction. She could feel Skye’s eyes piercing her her back like lasers, just waiting for another excuse to ostracise her.

By the time it was her turn her mood had plummeted twelve degrees; depressed was an understatement. She really didn’t want to answer the questions; she’d had enough humiliation for one day. But she couldn’t do that, so she answered when Mrs Darleen asked her her favourite hobby, preparing for the snickers and comments.

“My favourite hobby is reading.” Her voice rang loud and clear, giving nothing away about her embarrassment. Looking at Mrs Darleen she was shocked to find that her teachers’ eyes were soft, compassion sparking in their depths. It made it easier to handle to laughter of her classmates.

“Something you couldn’t live without?” Mrs Darleen asked, her voice gentle.

Rebecca answered reluctantly, knowing her answer was even more embarrassing than her hobby. “Knowledge.”

To her lack of complete and utter shock the class roared with laughter. Mrs Darleen just smiled at her though, a twinkle in her eyes – was that pride? “Wellll . . . I’d give you a year, maybe a few.”

And that was that. Mrs Darleen moved onto someone else and Rebecca was just glad the attention was no longer on her.

*                   *                      *

She must have zoned out, because when she felt something hit her arm she almost jumped out of her chair. It had been 20 minutes; class was almost over. She looked behind her to see who it was, but everyone was focused on their work–or talking. When she looked at the ground she saw scrunched up paper. Against her better judgement she bent down and picked it up.

As her head peeked over the desk, she heard someone clear their throat officiously. Mrs Darleen was looking at her, brows drawn low in annoyance. Rebecca tried to smile sheepishly when she said, “Sorry miss. Dropped my pen,” but she doubt she pulled it off. She breathed a sigh of relief when her teachers’ eyes strayed from her to another student.

In an attempt to hold up pretences she started to write in her book, having no idea what she was writing. Opening the paper as quietly as possible she figured out what it was: a note. Why would someone be passing her a note? Ohhh, she realised with clarity. She’d probably got in the way. Rebecca looked around the room, but no one seemed to know about it. Curiosity getting the best of her, she read it.

I’d hate for anything to happen to your parents. What if they stopped wanting you? Or realised your more of a hassle than your worth?

Watch you back freak

Rebecca re-read it a few times, trying to wrap her brain around the note. Then she realised two things. One, the person was an idiot; she’d used the wrong you’re. Two, that they were threatening her.

Feeling eyes on her back of her head she turned. And wasn’t surprised who was staring at her. Skye, with her perfect platinum blonde hair, was smiling sweetly, an evil glint in her eyes. Rebecca turned back around quickly, knowing the threats weren’t just words. With rich parents, who knew what Skye could do to her parents. Rebecca was sure that they were perfectly comfortable paying her paying her parents to get rid of her. Or they could do complete opposite. They had the power to fire her parents, probably worse.

Why now? she thought miserably. She’d been going to this school for three years, and had managed to stay out of the limelight. Nobody liked her, they’d made that perfectly clear from day one, but they’d left her alone most of the time. Now, she was receiving threats.

With new found determination she focused on her work. They’d harass her the rest of the day, but if she showed no reaction they’d forget about her in a few days. Hopefully. She could handle being harassed but she didn’t want her parents involved. They were kind to her so she wouldn’t throw it back in her face.

*             *             *

By the end of the day Rebecca was beyond annoyed. The jocks took it upon themselves to make jokes about her – how ugly she was, why she didn’t go on a diet. Frankly, when she’d heard the comment about her weight her patience had snapped, but she’d withheld from punching them in their asshole faces. She wasn’t a stick, but she was not fat. But, on the bright side, after that comment nothing else had fazed her.

Now, as she stepped into her parents’ car she forced a smile when her mum asked her how her day was. If she could survive today, she could survive a week if she had to.