[ unedited; completed ] Sometimes, we feel like we want to be someone else and do not notice how lucky we already are.
*****
Being someone who is hardly noticed at school, Ro...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"How come you didn't sit with Millicent at lunch yesterday?" Lizzie queried neutrally.
The two of us were at my house, hanging out and prattling while doing homework. Unfortunately, Tracey has last-minute cheer practice and couldn't be with us. So, it was Lizzie and me alone.
"Her table was already full," I muttered blandly.
At Millicent's table yesterday, most of the chairs there were filled with her friends, except for one. It had her backpack on it. She could've just put it on the floor to let me sit. But I guess that's not what she wanted.
I found her behavior towards me quite strange yesterday, but maybe she wasn't having a good day. Everyone has a bad day sometimes, right?
"Oh," Lizzie said, her eyebrows furrowing, "Did the same thing happen today?"
"Yes," I pressed my lips together, nodding my head up and down.
"If this continues for the next few days, something's up. I usually pass her table. She never has her backpack on the chair next to her." Lizzie reasoned, shaking her head side-to-side.
"You aren't wrong..." My voice trailed off, quickly followed by a large groan.
She did have a point. Millicent wouldn't put her backpack on the unoccupied chair next to her. Sometimes, someone would sit in it. Other times, it would just remain empty. Maybe it was a bit suspicious, but then again, I could be overthinking the situation.
I let out a nonchalant sigh as I stared at the blinding screen of my laptop, plopped onto the warm sheets of my bed. As comfy as I felt, there were still lots of assignments I had to complete, such as my research paper for English.
As much as I don't want to work on it, there's a spark in me that's a tad bit excited. Ms. Davis allowed us to write about something we like, rather than it picked out for us.
As Lizzie and I spoke, my fingers glided across the keyboard of my laptop, searching for topics to write about. My eyes were glued to the blinding screen. Colorful pictures and endless links to websites all showed up as soon as I hit the search button. Lizzie did the same, however, her sharp, crystal eyes were focused on her notebook as she casually scribbled a few things onto her paper with a blue pen. The ink's hue was bluer than the crashing waves of the seashore.
"But anyway, did you figure out something you can write about for your research project yet?" Lizzie queried, adjusting her black glasses as she peered at me from her notebook.
"No," I replied briskly, maybe too brisk, "Not yet."
Still, I haven't found a topic that I liked. I've been thinking of writing about something related to art, which might keep me from falling asleep.
I've never been into art my entire life, mainly because I was never good at it. I would've picked art class as an elective to enrich my skills, but that was out of the window when too many people decided to pick it this year. There's always next year—but since art class is a class that most people pick here, I wouldn't count on it.
