Kids my age shouldn't know what pain is. What it feels like to be hated, or crushed by the words of an adult, or have the urge to simply give up on life. Kids are meant to be kids. We're supposed to believe that there are mermaids in the sea, elves hiding in an enchanted forest, or that ice cream is what makes the world go round, and all the other bullshit. I'm supposed to believe in those, but I don't. Or maybe I can't anymore.

2007

A NEW YEAR, BUT THE same cycle continues. Or maybe life just became much more complex than it already is.

Sixth grade conjured additional lessons that no one would use in their daily lives. There are over four new equations to solve in Math, as there were in the fifth grade. I don't get it. Why are we forced to learn subjects that aren't going to help us someday? I'm pretty sure no one needs to figure out the values contained in a square root or what kind of triangle is required to fix a problem.

For P.E, the coach began testing our speed, where we had to run a mile twice a week. Those who surpassed his expectation got to run another mile during the next class. I can barely walk a mile, let alone run. Teachers are fucking insane sometimes.

Only on rare occasions are they good. Like there's Mrs. Kelly, our music teacher. It's an additional class mom and dad enrolled me in, but I was thrilled to join as I was curious to observe the methods used by the school in teaching the subject. As far as I remember, she's taught us a few chords on the piano and the melody of Marry Had a Little Lamb on the flute. I can't say I'm doing a good job. My fingers couldn't synchronize with the keys, and I kept forgetting the chords. Regardless, she would always encourage us by saying, practice makes perfect.

It's basically a motto that applies to everything in life.

The hardest part of school is enduring lunchtime. It's the only time in a day when the school comes to life. My presence had always been cursed that others wouldn't want to associate with me. For the first few months, it hurts to feel invisible. But I became accustomed to it over time, believing it was better to be a lone wolf. After all, the sun is alone too, and it still shines. My responsibility is to learn and go home. Making friends isn't one of them; it's just a bonus to make your school life less boring.

The school cafeteria isn't big, but the students behave like it is. They howl, cackle, and even stampede, forming chaos. They'd attract the attention of the canteen operators just so they could purchase something. Though often, the operators cannot meet their pointless demands, which upsets them.

I approach a table set closer to the west-side exit and lay my things on the empty seats, unconcerned because nobody will fill it. I pull out my lunch and open the top to see a colorful meal prepared by Nana.

She visited the town and stayed with us for two weeks. Usually, whenever she stays, she'll take responsibility for preparing my school lunches; frankly, I'm not complaining. She makes the best food compared to mom—even though Nana has taught her many recipes—and she makes varieties. Today, it's cheddar roll-up with chips. She also included some blueberries, strawberries, and kiwi slices.

Usually, I'd be ravenous for Nana's food, but it wasn't like that today. I have no appetite for anything but sores and bruises I'm trying to get over. The one dad had given me last night for not doing the laundry.

I lightly place the top back and lean against the chair. It warms my back in the wrong way, and I'm sweating more now.

"Hi!" A tray lands on the opposite side of where I'm sitting. I pan up to see Alexander, the boy I met at the skating rink. It scares me that I actually remembered him, even though we've only met once. Yet, I hardly recognize him now that he's in regular clothing. I could perceive his full appearance. He's a little taller than I was; maybe I'm skinnier, and not the good way. His medium-length gingered hair is now short and glistens like bars of gold under the light.

"Hi?" I wave awkwardly. His gray orbs were the only thing that never changed.

"I didn't know you're schooling here too. This is great!" He invites himself to sit down. That's a first.

"Why?"

"Because now we can get to know each other even more, and you know, be friends," he pulls out a sad-looking sandwich from the paper bag. It's one of the free lunches. He unwraps the plastic and takes a bite, making it seem like the sandwich taste better than it looks. "So, where are your other friends? I'd like to meet them!"

I blink multiple times, and again and again, unable to answer him without sounding like a complete sad loser. "I don't have any," though, no matter how I say it, it'll sound pathetic.

His chewing cheeks reduce, eyes slightly widen, but he quickly reverts back.

"Well, you have one now," he swallows and flashes the same smile he gave me the first day we met. The smile I couldn't forget.

"Thanks."

...

For the first time in years of schooling, I've made conversations with another human being. And not just any conversation but a mutual one. Recess lasted twenty minutes, and he occupied every single second. He disclosed his passion for playing Super Mario on the X-box his niece gifted him for last year's Christmas. He also shared his impression of watching Dead Silence. It kept him up all night. He has a guilty pleasure for eating cold pizza, and his mom would criticize him for being weird. Among other things, the time he barfs when riding on a rollercoaster. An unfortunate elderly woman suffered a rain of hotdogs and popcorn puke.

If he had more than twenty minutes, he'd keep going. He's a chatterbox that just won't stop. And I wouldn't mind that, if I'm being honest. It's nice being the listener. Not only could he talk, but he has an appetite of a horse. I passed my lunch Nana had made, and he finished it, leaving nothing behind. The sparkles in his eyes indicate that he loved it, or he's just hungry and would eat anything. Either way, at least now I don't have to feel bad for not finishing her food.

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask you this, but I didn't think it was a big deal until now," he drags his sleeves over his mouth, getting rid of the crumbs. His eyes shift up from mine. "Why is there a red patch on your forehead?"

I panic, afraid my wounds are unraveling at the wrong time. Without thinking twice, my palm slaps against the injury, trying to hide it, only to regret it as the sudden force was excruciatingly painful that I yelped like a girl. I believe my cheeks, too, are now burning red.

"Did you fall or something?" He suggests eyes back on mine.

"Yes," I agree faster than I should have. "I mean, yes, I fell down during P.E, and I guess it's just now starting to swell up."

"Then why—"

The bell rings, signifying it's time to head back to class. The prefects arrive, beginning their duties, and students one by one, emptying their seats and saying goodbye before meeting again at the end of the day.

"Well, there's the bell; I'd better get going," I carelessly shut the top on my lunchbox and shoved it in my backpack.

"Yeah, going to see the nurse," he stands and slings his backpack over his shoulder, just one strap. "Come on, I'll take you."

"That's really not necessary," the zip of my backpack isn't entirely done as I strap it over my shoulders. "I'll see you around, Alexander."

"No, no, no," he blocks my way, refusing to let me leave. "That is not okay, and my dad said wounds have to be treated, or they'll get infected."

When he mentioned dad, it felt like the truth could slip past my lips any moment, but his charming personality and bright smile just showed how innocent he was. And to ruin that would be a crime, at least to me.

I ponder on thoughts like this. We're both kids. Kids my age shouldn't know what pain is. What it feels like to be hated, or crushed by the words of an adult, or have the urge to simply give up on life. Kids are meant to be kids. We're supposed to believe that there are mermaids in the sea, elves hiding in an enchanted forest, or that ice cream is what makes the world go round, and all the other bullshit. I'm supposed to believe in those, but I don't. Or maybe I can't anymore.

"Don't you have to get to class?"

"Yup, but this is more important," he crosses his arm, waiting with a smirk on his face.

I turn behind to see if the other exits are open. None. It was then I realized we were literally the only ones left in the cafeteria, excluding the prefects, to which one of them was heading our way.

"Guys, get going already," she's trying to sound strict. Her nametag says Zoey, a prefect in training. Figures.

"My friend is hurt, so I'm taking him to the nurse," he grabs my wrist, and a shot of electricity races up my spine. The cold of his hand made my ears turn red. I hope it's not obvious. "I remembered specifically during orientation that we're allowed anytime to visit the nurse when we need to, and trust me, he needs to. Look at his forehead."

He is staring longer than he should.

"See, even his ears are turning red."

Fuck.

The sound of the cafeteria operators performing their duties took over my hearing. Neither the prefect nor Alexander spoke, though his hand was still holding mine. I glance up to see her flipping through a small handbook. At first, I thought she would report us for disobeying her orders, but the familiar yellow strips and massive school logo on the front page reminded me it was the student handbook.

"You're right," she shoves the book into her pocket. "Go ahead."

"Thank you," he rejoices like a kid whose mother had just agreed to buy him the toy he wanted.

He then looked at me, though I avoided the contact.

"Come on then," with my hand still in his, we exit the cafeteria and walk toward the nurse's office.

The school halls were once again dead. A ghost town because everyone's in their class while we're the only ones walking down to the nurse's office. We quietly stroll, listening to our shoes squeaks against the glossy concrete ground. It tickled my funny bone thinking we were walking on squeaky toys.

"What are you smiling at?" His voice sounds loud in these empty halls.

"The sound our shoes are making as we walk," I was grinning.

"You mean like this?" He continuously drags his shoes on the ground, creating more ruckus with every squeak. I joined him, and we're bouncing and landing in different poses, resulting in a different squeak pitch. He's laughing, and I am too. It was a moment. I think we're having a moment here.

We arrived at the front door of the nurse's office, unaware that the journey had ended so very quickly. I guess time slips by when you're having fun. He knocks on the door with his free hand before pushing it open, and we walk in. Immediately the familiar smells of old bedsheets and wooden furniture hit me. We're greeted by eye-catching posters that are hard to miss. The ones that promote a healthy diet, ways to prevent flu, and procedures taken shall one starts to feel dizzy.

I had never been in the nurse's office before. The waiting area had many chairs that seemed new, in a lime green shade, but they were never comfortable. Towards the back of the room are three beds for students with critical injuries and a multifunction bed sitting in the corner, mainly for students with minor injuries. There's the front desk where a tall glass divider stands between the nurse and us behind it.

"Hi, my friend has a wound on his forehead," he points at my forehead. "I don't know how bad it is, but could you please check it anyways?"

"Certainly," she replies before gesturing to the multifunction bed. "Wait there, boys; I'll be right over."

...

"It's a good thing you came, Jon," I couldn't focus on her words as the wound stung badly with the solution she was applying against it. "Most students who come to my office have a headache or stomachache. But you're the first to come with an actual problem."

She places the solution aside and pulls her surgical gloves off. I avoid her eyes. The same I'd do with people I did not know. They're now staring at her nametag, Sophie.

"Why is his so special?" I heard Alexander next to me.

"It's a cut, and it must have been from something sharp by the looks of it. Fortunately, it's not deep," my eyes are now on my shoes. "You wanna tell me how you got that, young man?"

"No."

"He said he fell while running in P.E," he explains.

"I understand," she said. "P. E's are usually held on the field, and grasses do not give you such cuts. Not even stones."

She backs away.

"Maybe someone dropped their pencil or something sharp on the field during training," she stands and ambles to her office. "I should alert the instructors about this."

"Did you really fell?" Alexander's shoes are now in my view. I look up to see him staring at me with concern.

"Yes, I swear," I try sounding genuine, and he bought it.

"Okay, I believe you."

"Well then," the nurse returns and hands me an ice pack. "The cut should be gone in less than two days. It'll itch very badly in the meantime, but that's something you'll have to endure. And also, stay away from hot water or any physical activity that can cause stress. It'll only delay the healing process."

I press the pack against the wound, and it felt good. It's like warming your hands by the fireplace during a blizzard.

"Thanks," I meet her eyes for the first time but quickly pull back.

"You're welcome. You take care now, okay?" She taps my shoulders. "Alright, I guess you, boys, better get to class."

...

She wrote us a note to hand to our teachers saying we'd visited the nurse's office and there was no need to send us to the principal's office. Although, I know a few teachers who would still find an excuse to do so.

"My class is that way," he points behind him.

"And mine is somewhere back there," my thumb points in the opposite direction.

"Guess we'll split here then," he did a light pounce, an expression that could light up a dark room or perhaps even the world. "See you after school?"

I smile, and this time, I fix my gaze on his iridescent eyes, shimmering like the sea.

"By the entrance."