Fade Away

They didn't invite me to karaoke. I don't know why; that's what set me off - I didn't even want to go. Maybe they knew that, or maybe they were just ignoring me… Either way, the result was the same. Unwanted. Unnecessary. Alone. I spent the rest of the class in silence, waiting for the chance to go home, to flee… to hide.

It's not like my classmates meant to be mean, I'm sure. There was no way they could know I had these issues - I was quiet even at the best of times, rarely contributing unless for a group assignment. They couldn't know that before getting into graduate school, I was the teacher's pet, the freak. No, to them, I was the quiet girl in the back of the class, dressed in dark colors and absorbed in my manga.

They probably knew I didn't want to go to karaoke, that even stepping into a bar had a fifty percent chance of triggering a panic attack. I should've been grateful. Being ignored still hurt.

I was up and out of my seat as soon as class was over, heavy pack up on my shoulder. It helped that I didn't have a coat to put on - it was late November, but warm enough that I was fine with just my sweater. Besides, the walk home would keep me plenty warm. Physically at least. Mentally I was cold as ice, my brain going into overdrive, bringing up every moment of pain, every time I'd ever experienced rejection. The long walk only gave me more time to think.

-VRyan, on the last day we would see each other for five years, "You didn't think I actually liked you, did you? There are lots of prettier girls at my new school. Loser." He turned and walked away, leaving me alone and stunned under a blue spruce…

-VMy sister entered the car in tears. "Mom! Everyone was being mean to me today because I forgot dumb ended with a B."

"Well, look at it this way. If you can't spell it, you'll never be it." I bit my lip at my mother's words; tears stung my eyes. I'd gotten my spelling test back that morning - scored nineteen out of twenty. The word I misspelled? Necessary…

-VI paused in the coatroom to tie my shoe, listening absently as my classmates came in. A few familiar voices rose over the footsteps; I smiled. My friends were early for once. My smile turned into shock when I heard what they were saying though.

"So… How bad do I need to fake it before the Freak believes I'm sick and does my section too?"

"It doesn't have to be illness, Emma. Adam said she'll take over the whole project if we make our handwriting bad enough."

Fighting back tears, I bit my lip until it bled. It was almost time for class to start before I felt safe enough to go out into the classroom proper. The teacher looked at me with concern. "Are you alright, Jonesie? You're usually earlier than this."

I forced a smile, trying not to think about the fact that my so-called friends were using me. "I'm fine, Miss. Just had a bit of an accident in the coatroom and wanted to clean up. I didn't sleep well last night, so I'm a little clumsy."

-V- "Watch it, Dragon-Freak!" Red hair and cold steel; Davis shoved me into my locker as he rushed past. I snapped, having finally had enough. Grabbing his wrist with one hand, I forced him to stop. He stared at me in surprise.

"Never thought the Dragon-Freak would be freaky strong too. Let me go."

"No." All I saw was red. Davis and his group had been doing this sort of thing since kindergarten; I was sick of it. I twisted his wrist hard. He screamed; something popped. A teacher came around the corner at that moment. Mr. Aaronson - not one of the ones who liked me. Damn.

"Miss Jones, what are you doing?"

"He started it." I released Davis and stared at the floor. "He shoved me into my locker."

Mr. Aaronson ignored what I said. "Davis, go see the nurse. As for you," here Mr. Aaronson grabbed my arm and began to drag me through the halls, "We're going to see Miss Victory." It could've been worse. Our vice-principal was weak to tears - I knew that from when I'd been accused of breaking the school's jungle gym. Not that anyone had believed it; I was innocent, even though it had been Woodley who broke it. But tears had been enough to get me out of detention at least. Hopefully, they would be again…

-V- It was my first ninjutsu class. I was so proud to be there, learning a second martial art. I was determined to do well too, to be a good representative of my karate club and make both senseis proud. That dream went out the window quickly though, as soon as ninjutsu sensei asked us what it meant to be a good martial artist. I raised my hand proudly - this was something I knew, the one place I actually belonged.

"To be a good martial artist means you are loyal and a hard worker!"

My answer was greeted with a condescending smile. "That's a very samurai answer. But to a ninja, that answer is wrong."

I wasn't able to focus on the rest of class. My heart sank into the floor. How…? But that was what I'd been taught for years. How could it be wrong? Hard work and loyalty had always been the answer at karate - that was how you earned the right to learn what came next. Someone who didn't work hard couldn't master a technique…