CHAPTER FOURRRRRR YIPPEE The whole chapter is too long so chapter four’s second half is coming soon! ___________________________________________________ Chapter 4 When I wake up, my first thought is to get a job. I don’t know why this is my first thought of the day. But I suppose its reasonable; I also need to get into a school. I sit up and yawn, stretching my arms as I do so. Like always, last night was full of unwanted memories and awaking and falling back asleep every five seconds. I rub my face. I’m so tired. I hop out of bed and head into the bathroom to get ready for the day. After I brush my teeth and do deodorant, I brush my frill. My frill looks kind of like a Mohawk, but orange, and…well, a frill. I guess it is a Mohawk, but it doesn’t need any hair gel or anything to keep it up. It just stays that way. My scales are a sort of misty blue from sleep with hints of light green in some corners. I shake myself until I’m a darker but more vibrant, with natural yellow splotches here and there, then put my scrunchie back onto my wrist. I kind of collect scrunchies. I have so many, half of my backpack is literally just scrunchies. I watch myself in the mirror as my scales change to skin and my frill turns to normal hair, and my tail disappears. I sigh. Sometimes, I wish I could just go out in front of everyone without my disguise. If not everyone, at least SOMEONE. Anyone. Who accepted me for who I am. People have no idea how weird it feels not to have a tail. ____________________________________________________________________________________ “Well, welcome to high school, ya-yohyai?” The man stammers on my name. I’m used to it. It’s not a very common name, after all. “Yayoi Kusama,” I say. “Right,” he says. “Welcome to high school, Yayoi Kusama,” He hands me my schedule. I stop myself from sighing again. I don’t want to seem impolite in front of a figure of authority, even if he is lacking a tail. Poor guy. When I exit his office, I check my schedule. First period: math. Second period: English. Lunch. Third period: science. Fourth period: theater. Tomorrow's schedule is different, and it honestly looks more fun. But I need to focus on getting to class. I put my schedule in my jacket pocket. I can’t be later than I already am. I make my way to the math classroom I’m supposed to be in. As I open the door, the room goes silent. The teacher, in the middle of a lesson and not happy to be interrupted, turns around to face me. Her glare turns into an almost hysterical grin when she sees it’s me. “Ah!” She says. Oh my gosh, I think as I press my lips together to stop myself from bursting out laughing. She gestures to me. “Everyone, this is Yayoi. She will be joining our class this year.” The teacher says. All the kids stare at me, whispering behind their hands to each other. “What’s wrong with her eyes?” “Her hair is, like, FEIRY red.” “My cousin has two different eye colors too, but not that BRIGHT.” A normal person would feel nervous or self-conscious at this point, maybe even embarrassed. But I know I’ll only be here for a few weeks or so, so I don’t really care. The teacher gestures to an empty seat near the window. Without a word, I walk over. I keep my head up, avoiding any eye contact and just moving in the direction I need to go. I don’t care what they think. I’ve been bullied before, and while it’s gotten me a few detentions and awkward apologies, it’s just so amusing to watch as your least favorite person crumples to the ground, clutching their face as they do. Everyone at my old schools knew not to mess with me. But here I am at a new one, and I have to start all over again. I hook my backpack behind my chair and look back at the teacher. She looks at me. “Yayoi, why don’t you introduce yourself?” She says, nodding to me in a way that’s probably supposed to be reassuring. I sigh softly. This is stupid. I stand up. “My name is Yayoi Kusama,” I say, not hiding my boredom. “I just moved from Arizona.” I pause. The teacher is looking at me expectantly. I spot two students whispering about my eyes again. “And if you’re wondering about my eyes,” I say. “I was just born with them this way. But if you want to make up any stupid rumors, go ahead.” I don’t say this with anger, my mood didn’t change the whole time. I’ve gotten better at hiding my emotions. I sit back down, and there is a silence. “Very nice,” says the teacher after a while. “My name is Mrs. Fender.” I nod absently. When she finally turns back to the board and continues the lesson, I pull out my drawing notebook and pencil. As I doodle, I notice a girl staring at me. I turn to see the girl who’s sitting next to me. She has dark skin, and her hair is tied in two buns. She’s wearing glasses. She waves in a friendly way, and, not really knowing how to respond, I make a bored peace sign instead of waving. I was hoping this would stop her from communicating, but when I turned back to drawing, she watched.
I usually like when people do this; it makes me feel like I’m saying: “yeah, I’m better than you.” But for some reason, this got on my nerves. I sit back down, and there is a silence. “Very nice,” says the teacher after a while. “My name is Mrs. Fender.” I nod absently. When she finally turns back to the board and continues the lesson, I pull out my drawing notebook and pencil. As I doodle, I notice a girl staring at me. I turn to see the girl who’s sitting next to me. She has dark skin, and her hair is tied in two buns. She’s wearing glasses. She waves in a friendly way, and, not really knowing how to respond, I make a bored peace sign instead of waving. I was hoping this would stop her from communicating, but when I turned back to drawing, she watched. I usually like when people do this; it makes me feel like I’m saying: “yeah, I’m better than you.” But for some reason, this got on my nerves. “Yayoi,” my head snaps up. Mrs. Fenders is standing right in front of my desk. “Would you like to answer the question?” No, I think. But I can tell it wasn’t really a question. I look at the board. “Do you want me to write it?” I say tiredly. “By all means,” she says, handing me a marker. I take it and walk up to the board. Then I start to write. I show my work, even though I could do it in my head just fine. When I turn back, the whole class has turned their attention to me. Some of their mouths are hanging open, gaping at my work. Without another work, I hand the marker back to the teacher and sit back down. ___________________________________________________
