Chapter Text
“Bottle, I’m afraid you’re going to have to cut your hair.”
Bottle was sat in front of her Head-of-Year’s desk. She had been taken out of class to be “spoken to”. She wasn’t too bothered by the situation, thankfully, but the teachers’ complaints about her hair did strike a nerve. Bottle had incredibly long hair, almost down to her ankles. She hadn’t cut it since she was six or seven and had let it grow ever since. It was never too bad; her hair was pretty thin after all, which made it easier to manage. Although the school clearly had a different idea.
“But why?” She complained in her usual high-pitched, almost whiny, voice.
“It’s far too long. You or other students could easily trip over it, it could get really dirty easily from the floors-“ The teacher began, but Bottle cut her off.
“Are you calling your own floors dirty?” She giggled, putting her pale hands to her mouth.
The Head of Year sighed, “Do not interrupt me,” She scolded, although Bottle still kept her amused smile. “What I’m saying is it could cause risk to both you and others. Especially with your school trip next Monday.”
Right. The school trip. Bottle had entirely forgotten about that.
“Please cut your hair as soon as possible, or you won’t be allowed on the trip,” The teacher said sternly.
“Mhm!” Bottle nodded. “Got it!” After a long pause, she added, “Can I go back to French now?”
“Yes. You may.” She responded.
Bottle leapt out of her chair and skipped out of the office, down the halls and back to her French classroom, her long hair waving behind her like a cape. She really did like her hair, it’d be a shame to have it all cut off. Yet the milky waterfall that was her hair, was also full of split ends. It wasn’t too noticeable at a glance, but if you really looked at her, it sure was. She hadn’t minded for the last couple of years, but now she was in secondary school (and had been for quite some time now) people just got harsher and harsher. But in all honestly, she didn't care that much; although it was still upsetting to have someone insult you for something you can hardly control.
Bottle had been too caught up in her own thoughts that as soon as she entered the doorway to her class, she tripped over her own hair and fell flat on her face. Maybe that was another reason to cut. She was used to tripping, but in front of her entire class? And her French teacher?
To her surprise, no one seemed too bothered, aside from the teacher, who had yelped as soon as Bottle had come toppling in. She was so surprised that her British accent had slipped out. The French teachers at this school had a problem with pretending to have a French accent, no one really knew why.
“Deary me! Tout va bien?” She asked, getting out of her seat to help Bottle up.
Pushing herself back up and brushing the carpet fluff off her clothes, she tried to think of a response. Yet, she had entirely forgotten what tout va bien meant and had to take a guess.
“Uh, bien?” She said, unsure.
“We can take you to the nurse’s office if you’d like, dear,” The teacher suggested politely; She was never this nice.
“Oh no, no, don’t worry! I’m fine,” Bottle tried to laugh it off, although her classmates seemed pretty done with her already.
“Well, if anything hurts, don’t be afraid to let me know.” She responded, turning back to her desk.
Bottle nodded, her face slightly warm with embarrassment. She awkwardly took her seat at the back of the class. It was next to a window, right in the corner, although she had to sit with Pie. She was one of Bottle’s old friends back in Year Seven, although they rarely even spoke anymore. Come to think of it, Bottle didn’t really have any friends anymore. She was willing to talk to everyone, but not everyone was willing to talk to her.
“Hey, are you okay?” Asked the boy who sat in front of her, who had turned around. It was Pen. He was another one of Bottle’s old friends and was by far the nicest out of all them.
Bottle giggled, “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about me!” She smiled, waving her hand dismissively. It was nice to know one of her classmates actually seemed to care about her, since all the others just looked at her weirdly as she fell. Especially that Liy girl at the front of the class; she was another old friend, and seemed to dislike Bottle the most now. Her often silent way of judging people always made Bottle shiver.
“Faire taire, vous deux! I’m trying to teach here!” The teacher silenced the two of them, forced French accent and all. She seemed to have entirely forgotten Bottle’s great fall just a moment ago.
“Sorry, Miss!” Bottle apologised; Pen only lowered his head in embarrassment.
“That is Mademoiselle to you, young lady!” How was she meant to remember that?
The rest of the lesson went by fairly slowly, as many final lessons did. Bottle was awful at French. She was good at most lessons, but languages would never stick, no matter how hard she tried. So for the past two and a half years, she’s just had another period to let her mind wander off.
Except this time, it hardly wandered off.
It focused on the same two things. One of which, of course, being her hair. And the other one was how grateful she was to have someone care when she fell. Excluding the teacher, that is. She didn’t count. It was basically her job to care.
But finally, it was 3:10: the end of the day. When the teacher finally let them out of their seats, Bottle pushed back her chair and picked up her bag from under the table. She had to leave it there when speaking to the Head of Year, for some reason. They were usually meant to put their bags under their desks, but still.
She pulled out her classic sunhat and put it on her head before swinging her bag over her shoulder and heading out. Her hat was a pale yellow with a blue and white dotted ribbon around it. She always wore it out, no matter the season. However, when putting her bag on, she always had to make sure her hair was out of the way. Maybe that was another reason she could do with it being shorter.
As Bottle made her way out of the back entrance of the school, she heard a familiar voice behind her.
“Are you wearing a sunhat?” She turned to see the same boy from earlier. It was odd that he was talking to her so much all of a sudden. “It’s January, for goodness’ sake.” He laughed.
“Of course I am!” Bottle chuckled back, “It’s not like you can say anything.” She gestured to the blue cap that Pen always wore. Back in year seven, he always used to get into trouble for wearing it inside. He always claimed he was used to it, but Bottle knew he was actually worried when he got detention and his old friends weren’t there.
Bottle knew Pen was close with some other people in primary school, but they all ended up in different classes. She didn’t see him talk with them as much anymore.
“Oh yeah,” Pen said, realising he too was wearing a summer hat in winter. “Anyway, uh, did you hear we’re getting a new seating plan in art?”
“No, why?” Seating plans never bothered Bottle too much. Since she had no friends, nor anyone she hated, she was happy next to anyone. Although it was a little awkward when she had to work with someone from her old friend group.
“My mom told me I was gonna be next to you,” Pen explained, “And we’re gonna have to be partners on the school trip.” The school trip was to a manor of some kind, to study for art.
“Oh, great!” She beamed, and wrapped her arm around Pen’s shoulder. “I’m glad it’s you and not anyone else!” Bottle joked, her voice in the same discomforting tone as always.
Pen laughed awkwardly, “Uh, yeah. Anyway, I need to get on the bus.” He said, pulling away from Bottle and scurrying ahead of the crowd.
“I’ll see you on Monday then!” Bottle called back with a wave, (despite the fact Pen wouldn’t even be able to see).
She wondered why Pen was so keen on getting to the bus early. It wasn’t like the driver would leave without him, or like he wouldn’t get a seat. The two of them went on different buses; Bottle probably lived pretty far away from him, seeing as they both went to their respective local primary schools.
Either way, Bottle made her way to her own bus, and stepped on. She showed the bus driver her pass, and he scanned it, allowing her to take a seat. All the empty rows were full, so she had to sit next to someone.
“Can I sit here?” She asked an older student, who had their bag on the seat next to them.
“Oh, sure.” They responded, moving it to their feet.
Bottle recognised them as a friend of Bell; they had light blue dyed hair, half tied up into a ponytail. She couldn’t remember what Bell had said their name was, but oh well.
She watched as the rest of the students filed in and took a seat: some forced to sit with people they didn’t know, and others sitting with their friends. Bottle wished she knew at least anyone on her bus that she could sit with, yet all of them were year eights or elevens, none of whom she had ever talked to.
The bus ride was fairly boring. She had to deal with the younger students screaming and throwing things across the seats, or the people behind her talking about their crushes. Love was always such a confusing thing for Bottle.
Most of the time, she spent looking at her hair. It was a shiny, silver colour, and very, very thin. She always wondered why it was like that; most people only got silver hair when they were old. But when Bottle decided she wanted to grow out her hair all those years ago, it was because she loved it. She used to love everything about herself and others. But as she got older, she did begin to realise how much everything sucked, so she put more of an effort into thinking about the bright side of as many things as she could.
Aside from her hair, Bottle also thought about the school trip on Monday. Today was Friday, which meant she had two days to prepare herself. The school trip was something she had entirely forgotten about until school started again on Wednesday. Having a trip so close to the start of a school term was always a little weird to her.
Bottle leaned into the aisle and tried to look out the front window. Thankfully, she was almost home.