Chapter 1: Hello, World!

*BRRRRRRING*

 

“Alright, your homework for tonight is questions three through thirty-five, odd only, on page thirty.” My mind comes back into focus at my hawkish teacher’s words. Like everyone else, I begin packing up my things and heading out the door.

 

Right as I’m about to make my escape, a voice catches me. “Aurora, wait.” I have no choice but to follow the command as I turn and face the stern gaze of my math teacher, Ms. Oswald. Her slick, black hair cascades down behind her shoulders, and her almond eyes pierce into me.

 

Time hitches as I drink in the sight of my teacher. Her blouse that seems like a size too small, her pencil skirt with black leggings underneath, her glossy red lips that match the shine of her heels. The embodiment of a young boy’s wet dream.

 

Mine too…

 

“I’ve noticed you’ve been staring off into space in the middle of class. I know your junior year just started, but you need to take this seriously. Your entire future depends on what you do here.” Ha, right… The only future I see is somewhere in fast-food or a back alley somewhere.

 

“I’m sorry, Ms. Oswald.” For just a second, her stern façade breaks, and I see only one thing underneath.

 

Pity. Fucking pity. If I had a nickel for every time someone gave me pity, I wouldn’t need it anymore. But that’s just the unfortunate truth. Isn’t it?

 

She sighs. “You may go now.” Not wasting another second, I follow her advice and leave.

 

Several other students have already left, bolting out of school. Others are here for clubs, grabbing or leaving stuff in their lockers. Some are just chatting with friends. Anybody that’s still here all give me the same cursory glance though.

 

Disdain. Annoyance. And, of course, more pity.

 

Is it my fault I got sent to a preparatory all-girls school? No. I wanted public since I knew it would be less stressful on the bills for my mom. I still ended up here though. She insisted for my future…and I can’t say no to her. I barely see her since she had to pick up more overtime at the office, so I do try to cherish anytime I see her.

 

It's so little anyway.

 

“Better not be alone with her.” Someone, I don’t know who, says. Just loud enough for me to hear. Yeah, that’s another thing. I don’t know who started it, and at this point it doesn’t matter, but someone made a rumor that I was a raging lesbian who was ready to force myself on any girl here.

 

I mean, I’m not raging. I’ve barely talked to anyone accept the teachers here. I do fantasize…a little more than I probably should, but that’s normal, right? It’s done nothing good for my reputation though.

 

Girls get sent here to focus on their education and stay away from relationships. That did not work at all… I’ve seen some girls on the subway linking their arms with a new boy every week. But does that become news? No! Only the girl that allegedly has sex with her classmates really reach far.

 

Then, the girls that are said to be my targets spread rumors about me. And, like the VeggieTales episode showed, rumors are like weeds. They spread and grow and consume everything in their path.

 

Relentless.

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I exit the school building, built on the outskirts of one of the nicer districts in New York. One near like two different suburbs. The Ctrl+C and Ctrl+V housing really shines here. Probably some power-hungry HOA president that made everything on even the lawns identical.

 

I wave to the elderly stationmaster as I pass through the gates. He waves back. I’ve known him for three years—Stationmaster Thompson. He’s nice. Really hard on anyone that tries to disrespect the subway system.

 

I think he turns ninety this year.

 

Sitting in the far back corner of the car, I hold my bag in my lap, trying to shield my face. It’s not that I’m afraid of anybody here—Thompson’s cameras make sure of that—but rather, I just don’t want to look anybody in the eye. See what judgmental stare that I know doesn’t exist but might still be there.

 

About fourteen stops later, I’ve arrived at my station. At this point, the only people on the train are drunks, addicts, or people like me. I step off, avoiding whatever green…goo is on the floor here, and leave through the stairs.

 

It’s nearing five, so there’s still a few sane people around here. Though most of them are wandering back to their homes like zombies. I hastily walk across the sidewalk, avoiding being too close to either the road or an alleyway, until I arrive at the shambling pile of bricks I call an apartment complex, or, in other words, home.

 

I enter, passing by Reggie the landlord’s office/room, pointedly ignoring the smell of weed. Ignoring the ‘Out of Order’ sign on the rusted elevator, I go to the stairwell. I hop over the moldy first step and climb my way up to the third and final floor.

 

Unlocking the door and stepping inside, I turn on the lights and immediately divert to the ‘kitchen’. Really, it’s a mini-fridge, gas stove, and microwave. Putting a pot on the stove, I dump two cans of ravioli in the pot.

 

I swing around to my room, tossing my bag onto my baren dresser. Now that that’s done, I return to the pot and dump half of its contents into a bowl, then the other half into a second bowl. I put foil over mom’s bowl, and quickly dig into mine.

 

After washing and rinsing the bowl, I take a quick shower. Just the bare minimum since I don’t want the water bill to be too high. As I get dressed though, my eyes glaze over my body. My dark blue eyes that some could argue as slightly droopy. My chestnut hair that barely goes past my shoulders. My B-cup breasts.

 

I’d do me if it were possible.

 

As I go towards my bed, I slip my twelfth birthday present out from my bag—a phone—and look to see any messages. Hmm, none from my mom nor my sister. None from M!lf_hunter either.

 

Yeah, they’re a weird one. The only online friend I know, though. Or friend period.

 

My phone says seven, but the call of my body tells me to do something else: sleep.

 

However, just as I wink my eyes shut, a light fills my vision.

 

[ Hello, World! ]

 

Huh.

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