heather, heather, heather, and ... veronica!heather..?

the offer regarding my education when i first moved into this town came in two options: homeschooled by the best tutors who also taught maureen and zoella, or go to the boarding school in another state with regulus and helena. politely, i declined both and instead ask father if regular public school isn’t a thing here in oceanside. at first, he laughed as if i just told him the funniest joke—which is what he believed my request to be. are you sure, he asked. none of your siblings go to the local high school, because the locals aren’t very fond of our family. i told him maybe that’s exactly why they avoid us, segregation and such. how are you supposed to convince someone you’re good if they don’t even know you? in the end, he agreed.

i’ve never been enrolled to a school. back in uk, madame elba taught me herself. and what i didn’t get from her, i make up by reading tons and tons of books by myself. nothing i read from those books could prepare me for the true high school experience.

the first day i stepped onto the paveway of southern ashford senior high, my ears were ringing from the noise. it’s so loud. people are everywhere and so are the ghosts. students who were alive in this era and the ones who maybe have been dead for decades mixed together; i can’t tell which is which unless there’s blood dripping off someone’s limb or i notice the skin of their face has melted off.  the british soap dramas and american tvs failed to mention how crowded and cramped and loud high school is.

being the new student meant people look at you with open interest. perhaps it’s also because of the way i dress. but some whispers found their way onto my ears; either carried on its own or by the help of the lurking spirits nearby. the rumours regarding a new barebone child had spread, and it escalated by my arrival to the school. it’s nauseating. everywhere i go, people will stare, but none dare to ask questions, or even to say hi. i pretend this is a circus and i’m the monkey inside the glass casket; out to be seen on display, but not to interact with.

nobody except for the teachers talked to me for the first three weeks and i learned that i can feel lonely. doesn’t matter that i have perfect grades and come out on top in the classes; those things don’t make people flock to you and become your friend. i thought that’s just a tv trope, but the reality is the same. to have friends means you have to seek them yourselves. so i did. i inserted myself in conversations, signing up for afterschool clubs, offering to help people with their assignments. i learned how to adapt to american trends and popular movies and cultures and their way of talking. i am a vessel and a chameleon; i am somebody’s intent and somebody’s mannerism and somebody’s friend. it seems to work. 

but i still sit alone at lunchtime.