Grace: Chapter 1

They told her that she would have to go away.
Where? She whispered, so helpless in that meek shell of a teenage girl.
Away.

She walked up to the doors, two glass planes that spread before her. Arm extending, she braced herself and her body, ready for the impact that would surely take place upon entrance. The door opened with a swift squeak, and she gulped, sure that someone could hear her heart beating so quickly below her rib cage. A bright light greeted her, revealing clean hallways, and tile floors, and white walls.
Is this heaven? She wondered, eyes squinting from the bright effulgence, though of course she knew. This place was no heaven.
Looks can be deceiving.

“And you are…”
A stern old lady approached her, speaking through wrinkled lips.
“I’m… I’m Grace.”
The eyes, supported by equally wrinkled skin, scanned Grace up and down, in taking the image of a tall, black haired girl of fair skin, and slim wrists, and baggy, worn- out, second-hand uniform.
“Well Grace. Here is your schedule. Second period is taking place right now, so find your class and give the teacher this slip of paper.”
This slip of paper was bright yellow. As if Grace would get confused and hand in some other slip of paper.
She took the slip and turned around, reading on her schedule that she would need to find a Mr. Bentley in room 213. She reached the stairs and walked up, her shoes sliding carelessly over the slick tile. With every step she took toward the wooden door that read 213, the dread become greater and greater, each step harder and harder to complete. Yet the door was opening now, by the power of her own cursed hand, and now Grace stood awkwardly in front of fifty turned heads, the object of their attention.
A girl in the front row stood up, arm reaching in greeting.
“Hey Grace. My name is Jennifer, but everyone calls me Jen.”
Jen was bold. But was that surprising? Grace had trouble remembering things like that anymore. Whether it was a good thing or not to be bold, or maybe to be shy. Whether it was normal or not. But then again, Grace had never really been able to tell what was normal. But bold or beautiful or normal or whatever, Jen’s brown layered locks fell gracefully to her shoulders in an oh-so-nonchalant way. She shook the hand. Jen looked perfectly snotty with her pursed lips and perfect hair.
Jen talked with a tone of voice that Grace hated, a voice that managed to combine self- righteousness with pity, and a hint of disgust.
“Hi,” Grace returned. “I’m Grace. Oh, and I need to give you this.”
She turned away as she spoke, heel pivoting easily, and looked distastefully at the yellow paper before handing it to the presumed Mr. Bentley, a man in his early forties, who stood behind the desk. His graying hair was gelled up slightly in front.
“Thank you, Grace. You may take a seat in the back row.”
She managed to walk through the rows of students who stared without care or restraint. Their uniforms all shone with a newness that her own lacked, and she felt like a weed among roses. She could tell by the look in their scrutinizing eyes that she would be plucked from this garden as soon as possible.
Finally she reached the back row and found an empty seat. The boy in front of her turned around and smiled. For once, a genuine smile. “Jack,” He simply stated.
He had short, dark brown, somewhat curly hair and blue eyes. Could a normal person actually exist in this hellhole?
“No.” Someone seemed to answer.
Grace looked to her left and saw who had spoken.
“My name is Sarah, and I’m the Jen of the back row, if you will,“ The redheaded Sarah stared at Grace for a moment before turning her attention to Jack. “And I’m sorry Jack, but you just broke the No Speaking to the New Girl Rule.”
Bold and Bolder.
Jack turned around, facing front, dutifully.
And there goes the Wimp.
Grace just smiled to herself, knowing perfectly well the routine that had just occurred, with the staring, and excluding, and baseless hatred, and she knew the routine that would follow, where no one could care less. Every school, public or, like this one, private, had treated her the same. How could she have even hoped for a moment that this school, with its clean white walls, and superb reputation, would be any different? Grace had never had a place. Not at home, or at school, or even in life. Grace knew that everyone hated her. Grace knew that she hated herself. She knew that her breathing, her eating, her sleeping, her existing, was taking up precious space that could have been used for someone more worthy in the world. Grace knew that she was unworthy. She knew that she wanted to run far away. She knew that she wanted to die.