Misanthropy

By the time that class period had ended, I wanted to strangle someone.


The teacher in all his glory had decided that we would do group project creating a photo essay. It’s just how it sounds, an argumentative essay using pictures to get the point across. What happened to using real words? And who told him that doing this in a group would be a good idea.

I was put in a group with absolute Neanderthals. They wanted to argue the right to drive at fifteen rather than sixteen. I rolled my eyes, “How about a subject that will actually make people think rather than some copout.”

One of the boys who was wearing a letterman’s jacket looked over at me, “And you are?”

“You obviously aren’t intelligent,” I shook my head. “The name’s Hazel, something you would’ve known if you listened to the teacher when I walked in.”

They didn’t talk to me for the rest of the time. Fine by me.

As soon as the bell rang, I raced out of the classroom, hoping to leave the idiocy behind so I wouldn’t lose another brain cell. I glanced back down at my schedule, finding that my next class was Art, something I was grateful for. If it was anything like my old school, I didn’t have to speak to anyone and I could draw my heart’s content. But since when did anything go my way?

Another teacher thought it was a brilliant idea to do group work, except it was in partners. We had to draw a portrait of the other person. “Jordan and Elizabeth, Cameron and Claire, Hazel and Alex-“

Alex? I was hoping that she meant a different Alex, but no. I scan the class to see the shaggy-haired twat staring at me with a smug look. I was tempted to slap it off. With a scowl, I leaned back in my chair. If he really wanted to be partners, he could drag his ass over here. And drag he did, as he appeared in the chair next to me. “If you talk to me, I will make you look even more like shit,” I grumble as I pull out a sketchbook.

As I flipped to an open page, the boy wonder had to speak, “You’re really good.”

I slam my hand down on the table, shooting a glare in his direction, “Did you not just hear me. Do I need to directly look at you when I speak so you can read my lips?”

“Jesus Christ, it was a compliment!” He protested.

“Have I told you to fuck off yet?”

“No.”

“Fuck off.”

Thankfully, he didn’t speak as I began to sketch out his face. How much of a coincidence was it that the guy I cussed out this morning would be my partner in Art, the one class I was hoping to enjoy. I furrowed my eyebrows together as I began the shading process. The only times I looked away from the paper was to glance up at Alex, who seemed to be fuming. I held the urge to smirk, as it probably would’ve messed up my mojo. “You look cute when you concentrate,” I could hear the fucking sneer in his voice.

I growled, accidentally snapping my pencil, creating a harsh dark line across his face on the paper. When my glare reached him, he gulped. I could sense the slight fear as he stared directly into my eyes. I had a talent of seeming like I was staring into someone’s soul. “Gaskarth, you have one last chance to shut the fuck up before I give you the choice of me cracking your head or your nuts. And if you don’t choose, I do both.”

Ah, blessed silence. I think I scared him enough to never speak to me again. At least, I hoped so. I didn’t need someone trying to hang off of my elbow while I was here. As soon as I put the finishing touch on his face, the bell rang. The noise made me cringe, but I still got up, ripping his face out of my sketchbook to hand in.

Alex was walking in front of me as we went to turn in our drawings, so I glanced over his shoulder to see what he did. And I nearly cringed again at the sight of it. Damn, he was bad a drawing. My head was unproportionable to my neck and top half of my body, my eyes were crooked, and my nose was way too big. Or maybe that’s how he saw me. If that’s true, he obviously needs glasses.

As I practically threw the drawing at the teacher, she looks at it and stops me, “Can you stay for a minute?”

Sighing, I agree. After all of the students have left, she turned to me, “Hazel, this is amazing. Have you taken Art in the past?”

“Yeah,” I tell her shortly. “For three years.”

“Well,” she wanders to her desk, grabbing a packet. “Around here, we have an Art showcase. It’s sort of like a competition. If you win, you receive a $20,000 scholarship. It’s a big deal, and I think you could win.”

I raise an eyebrow, “So I just draw some shit and win money?”

Her excitement seemed to falter slightly at my lackluster response, “Language. And it is more than drawing. You would have to paint, sculpt-“

I cut her off, “Look, thanks, but no thanks. I’m not interested.”

Her face fell, “Oh…at least take this in case you change your mind.”

“Fine,” I groan as I snatch it from her.

Without another word, I left the classroom. If I participated in an Art showcase, I would have to deal with people willingly. I did not need that in my life. The next two classes went by without a hitch. No one spoke to me and I wasn’t put into groups. Thankfully, it was time for lunch. I could feel my stomach devouring itself in hunger.

The school food didn’t look too bad. As I gathered my tray, I scanned the cafeteria for a place to sit. People seemed to take every table and every seat seemed to be surrounded by people. I let out a sigh of relief when I saw a table in the back corner that the students seemed to avoid like the plague. Just the place for me.

Choosing the seat that made my back face the wall, I dropped down into the seat and began munching on the food. I used this opportunity to watch my peers, seeing what kind of people attended this school. I noticed that there were a lot of potheads and a lot of “popular” looking people. I frowned when I saw Alex with a group of people find a place to sit. For some reason, he really irritated me. I just couldn’t put my finger on why.

I was able to have a few moments of peace until a group of girls waltzed over, standing right in front of the table. I looked at them, assessing the fact that they were clearly used to getting what they want. With a mouthful of food, I ask, “May I help you?”

“That’s our table,” the brunette snapped.

My eyes widen in fake surprise, “Wait, you can buy tables at this school? How much are they?”

They glanced at each other, seemingly confused about my choice of words. “What?” The girl that snapped at me tilted her head.

I rolled my eyes, “Obviously you guys aren’t too bright. I was being sarcastic.”

“Did you just call us stupid?” The redhead exclaimed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“If it looks like a duck and walks like a duck-“ I cut myself off. “Never mind, you’re probably too dumb to understand that. Yeah, I called you stupid.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” The original brunette growls.

I look down at myself in fake wonder, “I think I’m a girl who doesn’t give a shit what you guys think, so…goodbye.”

They turned their heels with scowls on their face. One of them turned around, “You’ll be sorry for this, bitch.”

“Will I be sorry? No,” I talk out loud, not caring if they could hear me or not. “But am I a bitch? Hell yeah.”

Notes