“The best days of your life,” they said.

As I sit in my worn old school desk, I recall this phrase. Every adult says it, “high school is the best time of your life and you just don’t know it yet.” I sit in the same seat for the seemingly millionth time and I scream a silent earth-shattering no. This can’t be it. This won’t be it. There has to be more to life then monotonous routines and wars with self-esteem.
I scan the dull white room. The tiny area is filled to the brim with desks but barely any are filled. The dim light of the cool day is pouring through the window and it makes me shiver. Winter is near. I think of last year at this time and the troubles it brought me. “Why is high school so hard for me?” I think.
I look to my left and I see my friend of 16 years. I watch her work diligently, silently. Struggling to show everyone that she is smart too, that she is more then the ‘Pretty Twin’ title she has grown up with. “She really is beautiful,” I think as she works gracefully. Not only is she pretty but she has the relationship to envy. Yet, she struggles with the fact that he’s a dead end and still she adores her adorer. She wishes she felt as pretty as people tell her she is.
My eyes move to her counterpart across the room. The future valedictorian- poised and respectably pretty. Sitting small with her arms in her pockets and her legs crossed. Her extra small sweater hangs from her bony frame. Her always-flawless ivory skin is now tight over her cheekbones. It was being the ugly twin. It was being the chubby twin that wrecked her mind and eventually her body.
Over in the corner a lanky boy sits not even pretending to work. He’s the clown, the boy that teases us daily to a breaking point. Yet, secretly he is the most insecure. He’s been the boy’s whose older brother is really athletic, the boy who’s really good at singing and acting, the boy whose voice squeaks, and he’s the boy that’s never been good enough. He flicks his pencil in the air intent on hitting a girl a few rows away.
It lands right on the redheaded boy with freckles, who is talking quietly to a girl one row over. He looks over startled and un-amused. He then searches around for the offender. When he realizes no really cares that he has been hit, he begrudgingly shrugs the offense off. He overreacts more then the average person. Why? He’s the boy that has been maliciously picked on because of his flaming red hair and feminine ways. He recently got dumped by a girl who didn’t consider the relationship anything more then friendship. Yet, she never mentioned that until she grew tired of his compliments and his caring.
On the right of me, a friend and an enemy sits. She works hurriedly, like she’s fighting some losing battle. I look at her outfit that seems to match her demeanor. She wears an expensive sweater, well an expensive everything. Her blonde hair looks white as it falls gracefully down her shoulders. Her nails are meticulously painted to perfection. She want’s everyone to think her life is perfect. Well, because it is. She is an only child to parents that can afford to buy her anything and leave her alone to do what she pleases. She has a boyfriend that cares so much he controls what she says and does. She has a job doing what she loves yet she hates everything now because of it. And to top it all off, everyone does what she wants because she knows how to manipulate people. Yet she knows what she’s doing, the pain she’s caused to herself and others.
I wane out of my daydreaming and look up as the room grows louder and everyone watches the clock. It is then I ask to go to the restroom. I get a nod from the silent and solemn teacher and push through the ancient door. I walk down the hallway glad for the break from tedium. I open the squeaky door to the bathroom and I go directly to the mirror. I try to ignore my flawed skin, the bags under my eyes, and my tangled ramen noodle hair. I ignore my chubby torso and look into my eyes, the green golden orbs that have never done me wrong. I remember my battles- my depression, my fair-weather friends, the bullying, and the hospitalization. The memories that keep me from sleep and haunt my dreams. I shake my head and think about my hopes, my plans. “I’m going to travel the world, I am going to help people, I AM going to make a difference, I AM going find love, I AM going to find someone who never makes me feel worthless, I AM GOING to grow old and learn new things everyday, I AM GOING to graduate and start my life, I am going to live my life, I AM GOING TO LIVE!”
After reassuring myself, I step away from the mirror and return to halls. The bell rings and the students flood out. I dodge the hollow forms on the way to my locker. When I get there, I turn and gaze at the chaos. I see the wounded pretending, I see the wounded being wounded again, and I see the wounded wounding others. It makes me feel sick. “The best days of your lives,” they said.