Chapter 5

The lights are dead in the classroom and Ms. Iberis is at her computer again. She doesn’t pay me any mind as I stride to the back of the classroom and sit in my usual seat. Today will probably be identical to tomorrow. Today Dahlia, Chrys, and Laure will ask me where Myo is. Then, they’ll find something else about me to judge and nitpick. Something else to make me insecure over. My clothes, my shoes, my grades, my name. What’s next? My new status as a loner? 

“Clover.” Ms. Iberis says icily.

I bite the inside of my cheek for a moment, to stop myself from screaming. I taste blood before my mouth involuntarily opens. I feel a surge of rage within my chest, scratchy and boiling. 

“I don’t have it today, okay?” I grit out. 

“What is with that attitude?” She hisses, “Clover, you will either say it with respect or your mother will be getting a phone call home!”

“Go ahead! Call home! I don’t care!” I shriek.

I spring from my seat, angrily clutching my backpack and whirling out the door without further comment. My poor mother. First I disrespect her, then I disrespect my teachers. I must be such a nuisance. Just how difficult a kid can I be?! What a great fall, from the teacher’s pet to the deadbeat kid hiding at the back.

My footsteps are harsh and aggressive, quick and stiff with barely contained anger. I keep my eyes glued to the floor, watching my shoes beat up and down, against the floor and reaching back up. Trying to avoid eye contact with teachers and students alike. A day without Myo and I’m already falling apart. I’m so pathetic. 

These thoughts are interrupted when I knock into somebody’s back. 

“Sorry.” I mutter, and I shove them away before continuing on my hasty path to nowhere. 

“Hey!” A firm hand claps my shoulder, keeping me in place as Dahlia’s face comes into my vision. She’s wearing the same outfit as yesterday, with an unzipped pastel pink hoodie and gray sweatpants. Her white tank top is also a crop top, revealing her midriff. 

Again? I don’t want to deal with her today. I pry Laure’s hands off my shoulder and turn away from them, resolving to continue ignoring them until they left me alone. 

It isn’t as easy as I make it sound.

I finally lose them by second period. I don’t know how they have so much time and energy to waste tracking me down. I hide in the cafeteria. It’s mostly empty, aside from a few students quietly whispering to each other politely. Many kids sit alone, wearing headphones and typing on their computers. 

I’m weak enough with hunger that I stop by the counter to buy a granola bar. It’s the best thing that I ever tasted, dark chocolate and milk chocolate, granola and peanuts, honey and caramel all mixed into a single sugary bar. They probably have it just for kids like me, who hate eating and need to fuel up for a minute to get back to hiding from their peers.

“Clo!”

“Yeah?”

“If you ever need something, count on me!”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying, if you ever need to talk, or cry, or just hug, lemme know, and I’ll always be there for you!”

“Oh, I won’t, but thanks anyways.”

“You never know…”

I wake up an hour before school ends, confused and anticipating. Dread is heavy in my chest, although I can’t seem to remember why. I can’t remember when I fell asleep, only that I had rested my head against the wall for a moment. I feel awful. Everything aches, mostly my head, and my vision is blurry and confused. My stomach is cramping, probably from all the running I did from the trio, and my clothes are soiled with sweat.

There isn’t anything to do. I’ve already ruined my reputation at school. My teachers hate me; my classmates don’t even know who I am. Might as well cut class. I hate to admit how excited I feel doing it, but at the same time, I can’t help but feel a thick sense of dread and anticipation. I want to see Myo. 

Her house isn’t far nor close to the school. It’s a thirty-minute walk. For somebody as impatient as me, it feels like forever. But it’ll be worth the wait when I get there. I didn’t end up picking the buttercups. I would feel too bad, plucking the prettiest blossoms and leaving the ugly, damaged ones alone, unwanted. 

Most people seem surprised when they see Myo’s house for the first time. It’s like a mansion, huge, with pristine white walls and neatly trimmed hedges. Every single window is open, pale blue curtains giving way to huge windows that let tremendous amounts of light into the living spaces. The front double doors are menacing, but I don’t usually enter through there anyway. An inconspicuous dirt path leads to the back door, which is always kept locked except for Fridays, when Myo wants me to come to her wing to study or to hang out. I would tell you that I pushed open the wooden door, but I didn’t. It was locked.