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here we go again with the story. sorry for nothing yesterday or the day before, not that anyone looked or cared << my neck is killing me from the day before last, bad waterpark trip gonk oh well, here's the next bit...
i think today i'm too lazy to mess with indents and colors [sorry] i just want to lay down again where my neck won't kill me...

Velo: As I walk up the concrete stairways, I take a glance down at my schedule. I am to report to a Human Biology room #2038 on the second level for my first class. I've always enjoyed Biology and the art of learning how we work as humans. Next up was a Calculus class. Not bad. Then I have lunch for an hour and 30 minutes. After that was Chemistry class and following that was French. Not so bad, although I’m completely positive than I never signed up for Calculus. I never thought math was necessary after Geometry, hence why my previous grades in the subject weren’t the best. As I proceeded into the building, I overheard a conversation going on next to me. It was between two males, who I assume, judging by their features are more or less my age.
One of them was wearing a red and black jacket and seemed to be carrying a ten-dollar bill. His expression was sharp and cold. He avoided eye contact with his partner, who did not share his expression. Instead, his face appeared as if he 5 years old and just got caught with his hand in a cookie jar.
"Here, take this. It should help you pay for your lunch"
"But…I don’t need it. I was going to skip lunch today…"
"When will you ever acting like your mother!? Don't you see, you don't need to skip lunch anymore? Not with me around."
"I suppose."
I stopped, and let them pass. What could that be all about? But before I could indulge myself in more questions, I heard what sounded like crying. I looked around for what could ever possibly be emitting the noise. And that’s when I saw her.
Saying sorry: I had turned about several times before realizing that the sobbing was distorted slightly, as if it was an echo, perhaps from one of the classrooms. A student being bereaved by a teacher? I didn't think I wanted to be involved in such an argument, so I started forward, only to find myself proven wrong and driven to sympathy at the same time. Walking toward the flight of steps to get to my next class, I walked past the alcove beneath them, where I saw the tearstained face of a girl who was obviously distraught, but trying to calm herself and hide her self at the same time. It was working primarily because the rest of the students quickly averted their faces, perhaps ashamed of whatever made her this way? Why was she crying anyway? I decided it was of no purpose to leave her there alone, and shoved aside my desperation with life to be of curiosity toward the affairs I had seen in the recent moments. The boys could wait, I wanted see what I could find here. Perhaps this would be someone who could understand my thoughts. Perhaps we could help each other.
Velo: "Um, hello?" I said as I approached her.
"Go away ... I'm fine" She replied, wiping her face with her wet sleeve.
"Is something wrong? Perhaps I can help-"
"You wouldn't understand! Just-" She looked up at me with a glare. "Just leave me alone." With that, she
walked away into the girls’ bathroom. In the place she was standing, on the wall, was what looked to be bloodstains wiped off poorly and in a rush.
Interesting. Something I wouldn't understand? As I turn around I notice a composition notebook atop the lockers. Its seem was wet and I immediately took the assumption that it belonged to her. She must have left it in her rush. Should I leave it here or ... before the other option could be played through, the warning bell rang. I was going to be late on my first day! I grabbed the book, assuming she forgot it, and decided I'd returned it to her when I see her again. If I see her again.
Saying sorry: My first calculus class provided a bad omen for the rest of the year. I wasn't interested in the class, even if I had supposedly selected it. To prove worse, I was late the first day. The professor let me sit, thankfully, but I can't imagine I will be eligible for favors or teacher's pet even if I saw myself putting effort into the work. My mind wandered, I suppose I took notes, since my notebook wasn't empty when I left the class, but if they were actually notes or just scribbles and doodles. I won't know until I try to review them. My mind was elsewhere, thinking of the girl with her tears and bloodstains. Had she been injured? Or could my darkening mind see a more desperate person than I was, someone hurting their self to prove the world was not all bleak monochrome and monotone progression? I worried about her, running off to the bathrooms, angry at the faintest test of curiosity. What was her name? When would I see her? The class whirled by without my awareness and all I had managed to do, to my dismay, was ponder this girl for whom I had no name. My most sincere intentions at lunch were to completely forget about her.
Or perhaps not. Perhaps instead I would find her and try to find out what it was I wouldn't understand. Perhaps I could tell her back things I wouldn't expect her to understand. My weary mind still hopes for her, or someone else soon met, to be able to understand my thoughts.