Individual Complexity

I wait patiently outside one of the classroom doors to be invited inside. I can hear the teacher, Mrs. Young, through the walls. She drones on about my late transfer, and how the rest of the students need to be polite. It’s already the middle of the first semester, an odd time to be joining a new school, but due to dramatic circumstances, I’ve had to shift gears.

I lazily direct my gaze down the hallway blocking the unneeded anticipation she’s stirring. Across from me one of the windows sits idly open allowing a small number of leaves glide their way onto the floor. A couple yellow, some red, and a few orange. All signs of Fall painting the world. Every so often the crisp Autumn breeze dances into the building distracting students from their work. Fall’s goal is to entice, and it’s incredibly good at it. Evidence being, whenever given the chance, the entire school flocks like sheep to eat lunch, play games, or study outside. I can almost reach out and grab the dense fog of excitement settling over the school.

Intoxicating load of bull. I tsk, shoving my fists into my pockets.

It’s crucial for young teens to learn about the world and its often biased and unfair standpoint. Reality can be painful so it’s important to tread carefully. Many parents know that and make a point to safely direct their children to the same realization. I never had that luxury. Life hit me like a speeding train, and it nearly broke me. It’s fair to say I don’t see the glowing signs of fall the same as everyone else.

Mrs. Young pokes her head out the door. “Simon, we’re ready for you. You may enter the classroom.”

I silently nod following her inside. While entering I study her various characteristics along with the classroom for a basic evaluation of what she’ll be like as a teacher. Unsurprisingly, the room as a whole is the same ole regular bland high school classroom. Random posters of the teachers choosing, boring white walls, and several shelves with textbooks or empty journals. The desks are wooden with a large enough compartment for lunch and a laptop. Metal and plastic chairs of various colors sit under each desk. The teacher has her own large desk at the front with photos, a name plate, and a comfy office chair. Next to her desk stands a tall podium that is easily transportable, and an accessible whiteboard with a projector screen attached for the students to watch.

I like to think her unoriginal taste of decoration means she’s lazy and the year will be fairly simple. I have to admit, though. It’s her first year teaching, and she’s already diving into the lion’s den of high school Seniors. That’s anything but cowardice. That doesn’t say much about her character though. She’s still the stereotypical young teacher I expected. Mid thirties, dramatic clothing, and many mornings of plastered smiles. And I say ‘plastered’ because her numb tone is a giveaway of the dread she feels towards the job. Her hair is a dirty blonde tied into a curly ponytail. Hours of disgustingly chunky makeup, and painfully misplaced pads in her bra are a clear fail at sexiness. She wears thick high heels adding a touch of clumsiness to her step. A simple excuse for the damsel in distress role. I can already guess her phony ‘moto’ of wanting to help kids grow into their best selves. She’s just like everyone else, fake.

I roll my eyes gagging to myself. Help me grow my ass.

Before acknowledging the rest of the students I passively write my name across the board. Over the last two years I’ve jumped so many schools it’s all become second nature. Wait for the teacher, write my name, and try to ignore the class staring fiercely into my back, like I might disappear if they look away. The same annoying bull repeated over and over again.

As soon as I finish and turn around everything falls completely still. Time nearly rolls to a stop. Even with the windows open there’s not a single disturbance willing to break the silence. The wind halts in its tracks afraid to fly, the birds choke on their own spit unable to continue their joyful chorus, and the leaves wrapped around the trees hush to a mindful whisper. Only seconds after my arrival and already the once yellow atmosphere turns entirely grey and static. Both matching the cold glares each and every student is shooting me. I’m not entirely surprised considering my strange appearance and growing stature, but I’ve never had a reception quite like this before. Usually it takes a couple days for the comprehension of my arrival to settle in. Then the atmosphere starts to shift. I’d say this is a new record.

In regards to my peculiar looks it’s due to my strange clothing and menacing features. Unfortunately, the only feature my wardrobe can’t hide is a jagged scar piercing my right cheek. I wear heavy jeans covering a pair of vicious steel toed boots. The boots raise my height just a smidge adding a hint of intimidation. The jeans are kept tied around my waist by a thick leather belt. On top of my long sleeved black shirt lays a large leather jacket. I have sunglasses to cover my cold silver eyes, black gloves for my calloused hands, and a cap pulled backwards over my long black hair. The clothing itself isn’t all that bad, but during an Autumn that’s barely begun, it’d be insane to wear something so restricting and hot.

My physical anomalies aren’t the only factors causing an uproar in the peace. I have an edgy past that can’t be easily hidden. Changing schools in the middle of the semester is hard enough. Changing schools with the history I have makes it absurdly worse. To be fair my introduction didn’t really form the best case for myself. Regardless, I don’t believe even the greatest introduction would’ve made much of a difference.

Mrs. Young looks appalled at the collected class response. She opens her mouth to discipline them, but I hold up a hand blocking her. “Don’t get mad at them for something you agree with.”

For a moment she’s taken aback by my retort. However, the realization of my statement settles in. Her eyes swiftly dart away. Confusion negates her words, jumbling them into a messy pile. Unable to respond her facial features twist uncomfortably, becoming distorted under the pressure of attempting a small lie. All clear signs of someone who has a loud, guilty conscience. I was right. She’s overly naive and innocent. Both terrible traits for a teacher.

I raise a finger in the air spinning it then pointing it at the class like a composure, and right on cue, the symphony of whispers begin…

“He’s that kid that got the record for most expulsions in a year. I saw it in the news a couple times.”

“Why does he have to be in our class? What stupid teacher allowed him to attend our school to begin with?”

“I’ve heard he gets in fights with random people constantly. Kids, girls, boys, gangs, adults, and teens. It doesn’t matter if they’re innocent. He’ll hurt anyone and everyone.”

“Apparently he’s put people in the hospital just for looking at him.”

“It’s the first day and he’s already bullying the teacher.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s a delinquent.”

“He’s dangerous.”

“He’s a monster…”

I’m surrounded by an onslaught of rumors and disgusting exaggerations. Despite it all, I stride to my seat without a single bit of care. I can’t fully disprove what they’re saying. My excuses will only make their words that much more true. No, I’ll take the blows, and soon I’ll be out of this hellhole. Until then, it’s just a matter of patience.

As I’m nearing my seat I block out the desperate drag of desks scooting out of reach from mine. I’ve been designated the very far back right seat in an effort to remain isolated. It’s a clever move by the teacher to avoid fights from breaking out. Another indicator she feels the exact same way her precious students do. I don’t mind. I’m situated next to a window with a view of the courtyard. Knowing my tendencies I’ll end up spacing out or taking a nap. The window is a perfect place for that.

I reach my desk throwing my stuff across the top. As I’m getting myself situated, surprisingly and quite suddenly, one student lifts up her desk, dramatically stares at everyone for effect, and gradually makes her way closer to me. She places it only centimeters away from mine, and sits down opening a random book like nothing happened. Everyone, especially myself, are shocked by her unwelcome visit. I glare at her for several long minutes fuming, waiting for her to acknowledge me. Nothing… She refuses to even look at me.

Whoever she is she’s the type of person I’d expect to sit next to me. Instead of wearing glasses she places contacts in her eyes. I suppose it’s due to embarrassment. Her long hair is dark brown and straightened to perfection. She applies a thin layer of makeup to keep up appearances. Her posture is tall and composed. If I compared a board to her back they’d be the same. She’s the top of her class, the most athletic, and not only in charge, but tasked with setting an example for everyone around her. Of course she’s willing to sit next to me. Her pity helps gain popularity among the rest of the students. In reality, putting up with me is not for me. It’s for her status.

I slam my fist against the table with a loud crack. “I don’t need your so-called sympathy. If you’re here to mock me then just leave or things won’t end well for you.”

The entire class jumps from my violent outburst. She, on the other hand, casually looks up from her book smirking. “Big talk for a little man.”

Her response shocks me. Those aren’t the words I expected from an obsessed popular girl. This time I peer closer into her eyes matching her cold gaze. It’s cheesy as all heck, but eyes are kind of the gateway to our soul, and this is the first time I’m able to see hers clearly. They are hazel and drip a hint of soft kindness. Most of all, I can see a fiery boldness to them that I couldn’t see before. Like something inside her is rebelling.

From the corner of my eye Mrs. Young is sweating bullets praying she doesn’t have to clean up the mess I make. Instead of giving her the satisfaction, I grumpily and unwillingly ask a simple question. “What’s your name?” Of course, even if this strange girl is repressing herself that doesn’t change anything. I don’t want her sitting next to me. I’ll take care of that later though.

My question seems to surprise her. “You don’t know who I am?”

“Don’t act all snotty with me.” I glance at the students whispering in disbelief at my poor knowledge which ticks me off. “I’m new here. Why would I know any of you?!”

She waves a pesky hand in my face getting me to focus. “Does the last name Bronson ring any bells?”

Now I’m really starting to get irritated. I just wanted to know her stupid name. “What do you think? No! I don’t know the name Bronson.”

It doesn’t take a detective to come to the conclusion that due to the class’s reaction this girl’s family is well known. That means not only is she popular, but she’s rich. I could care less.

I outstretch my arms circling the room. “How much do you think I care about everyone here?” She stifles a laugh and forms a zero with her hand. I nod. “You’re smart for a reason. Unlike these numbskulls you actually get it. And I’d say that same zero applies to whoever this Bronson person is. Now, before I get aggravated, tell me what your name is!”

“It’s Thea.”

“Thank you!” I breathe out exasperated. “Was that so hard?”

A subtle smile creeps across her lips. “Is talking to me really that painful?”

“A little bit, yes.” I respond rather bluntly. “Your name means the Greek goddess of light. You should exhibit a little more radiance compared to your infuriating personality.”

She laughs aloud obviously amused by my comment. “Did you know Simon means to listen? I guess that doesn’t apply. Your patience must’ve seeped into your muscles along with your brain.”

I rub my arms pretending to shiver. “Did the room get colder? Oh wait, it’s just you.”

After a short pause I finally realize how silent the entire room has become. For a while I actually forgot where I was. Once I take the time to look around I note how scared the students look. Especially the teacher. They all stare with the same gawking hit the floor kind of expression on their faces. Like I’m a ticking time bomb ready to go off. I wonder what they think of Thea right now. Is she brave or arrogantly foolish?

I shoot Mrs. Young daggers, and she fearfully jumps to start the lecture. After everything returns to normal I reevaluate myself and face Thea. “Don’t I bother you?”

“I don’t know.” She responds slyly avoiding the question. “I haven’t had proper time to get to know you.”

At this point I’m tired of standing, so I make the tactful decision to sit down. It’ll be easier for me to deal with the situation if I’m more relaxed. I’m fairly tense from everything that’s happened.

“Your vague answer pisses me off.” I declare leaning back in my chair kicking each foot onto the table.

In turn she buries her nose into her book ignoring my comment. “Doesn’t it bother you how everyone treats you?”

“Nah, not really.” I yawn, shrugging off the question.

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“And you don’t know a thing about me.” I grab her book and shove it into her face. “If I say it doesn’t bother me then it doesn’t bother me.”

Using her middle finger and thumb she flicks my hand off like it’s a bothersome fly. “Then why do you act the way you do?”

“That’s simple really. The world hates me, so I hate it back.”

A loud belly laugh erupts from her throat cutting into the lesson. In unison all of the students turn to look at her in utter confusion. Even Mrs. Young looks slightly disturbed.

Seeing all of their dumbstruck expressions is slightly amusing, but I can’t get past the fact that she laughed at me. “Am I really that hilarious, or are you making fun of me?”

All joy in her face drains away. “Neither. You’re both dull and unexciting. It’s the fact that your actions don’t add up to your words. I find that ironic which made me laugh.”

I try scanning her eyes, but they quickly dart away avoiding contact. With my gloved hand I tightly grip her cheek forcing her to face me. “Look me in the eyes.” I demand sternly. After a long inner battle she reluctantly accepts my gaze. I let her go. “I find your words hypocritical. Ask me if I care once you accept your own hurt.” I stand up and stretch taking in the scene before me. Now her face matches the rest of the class’. Once I collect my things I go to leave. Before I reach the door, though, I turn to Thea. “It’s not that I care. It’s that I have a need to survive until I make my own world. One that is prospered from instead of simply endured. Don’t get me wrong. That world isn’t one to be shared. It’ll be a heavenly place for my own gain.” I march out and raise a hand up not looking back. “Sorry for the theatrics. See ya hopefully in a very long time.”