Chapter Text
The buzz of an alarm clock cut through the silence of an early winter morning. A hand reached out from under the covers, doing its best to try and cut it off, giving up, and yanking the plug out of the wall, as the last thing Illi Mcmillin wanted to do on this Monday morning was put on the ill-fitting uniform to go to a new school in the middle of the term. Her mom had promised she would make friends; she doubted it. At her last school, she never made any.
They moved 18 hours away to a shitty suburban home in New Jersey for a job that paid enough for her mom to support two high schoolers by herself, at the expense of leaving everything they knew behind.
Shivering, she stood on the freezing wooden floor, bending over to pick up the uniform that had been haphazardly laid out the night before, after their mom had made a last-minute trip to the school to pick up their uniforms. The vacuum-sealed bag she was handed said Male Uniform in big, bold letters. She stared at it for a while, letting the memory burn its way right into her brain, right into the part that screamed against her skull in times like this.
She sat at her desk, glaring back at her reflection in the mirror: the tie, the loose pants, the white collared shirt, the crest of ‘Saint Matthew's Academy’ emblazoned on the right chest. She brushed her hair down, fighting with the bangs to lie flat, nearly covering her left eye. Her mouth hung slightly agape as she applied eyeliner to her eyelid in a way that her mom would describe as a panda eye. She put on a necklace, a small tree-shaped something her mom had given her after breaking the news about moving, black stud earrings that she had owned since the seventh grade in her ears and black Doc Martens that barely met the school's shoe standard; she felt half prepared to face the day.
Mikey sat at the kitchen table, headphones shoved in his ears, the sound of drums leaking out of them; he looked about as miserable as she did. On the contrary, their mom had the biggest smile on her face, the worry showing in her eyes; she was just as nervous as they were, all alone in a new place.
“Ready to go?”
Mikey stood, grabbing his bag, and Illi followed suit; the march to hell- or the car, in this case. She couldn't keep still, fidgeting in the seat, pulling on her hair, anything to keep her mind off of having to walk into school. Still life doesn't care about your feelings. Soon enough, she and Mikey were standing at the check-in desk
“Michael and ****** Mcmillin?”
The lady at the front asked, her voice annoyingly high-pitched. Illi shuddered; no one had called her ****** in nearly a year besides a bully or two from her old school.
“Yes, ma’am”
Mikey answered for both of them; he reached out, taking the schedules from her hands and handing Illi's to her: Math 2 501, ELA honors 200, Lunch 000, Chemistry 144 last; she could handle that. Mikey nudged her shoulder
“Same lunch period”
At least she wouldn't sit alone like last year.
“Yeah”
He frowned at her response, or lack of it, giving her a final glance before heading off to find his first period. Based on the sign posted above the stairwell, the 500 hallway was upstairs, not like she had much of an option to go anywhere but up, forced to follow the flow of kids rushing down the halls towards their classes.
505,504,503,502,501 a cranky old man stood at the front of the room, his brow furrowed. She assumed that look was his old man brain trying to figure out who the hell she was.
“****** Mcmillin?”
He croaked out. She stared at her shoes
“It’s Illi”
Her voice cracked; she sounded stupid. She had practiced saying this in the bathroom mirror the night before: “illi, illi, illi,” she had muttered in the mirror; her confidence was all gone now, with 20 prep kids staring at her a few whispering behind their hands.
“That's not the name on the roster. Take the empty seat at the back there next to Frank, please”
She looked at the crowd of kids, a seat open at the back next to a kid who had his head buried in his arms, asleep, maybe black hair covering his face; they would stick out; black box dye in a sea of bleach blonde and neatly braided ponytails. She sat, pushing her bag under the desk; the kid's head snapped up. All of her rage about the name faded away; brown eyes stared at her. Their softness seemed off, accompanied by sharp features and facial piercings.
“Frank, ****** go into the hall. Frank, explain to Mr Mcmillin what we're learning.”
Her face flushed with anger; the rage flooded back. She practically flew into the hallway, boots stomping on the tile floor. Does she look like a fucking “Mr” to him?! Frank walked out into the hall behind her, carrying her bag in his empty hand.
“You forgot this”
He mumbled. She took it, sliding against the wall, sitting with her legs kicked out. Frank sat next to her, opening what she assumed to be his textbook by the number of doodles in black pen on the cover.
“Illi, right?”
She nodded, her stomach lurching, overwhelmed by the happiness of the first person not to call her ‘******.’
“We've only really gotten through the introduction, like page 25.”
He glanced over at her, giving her a once-over
“Our teachers shit, so don't expect to pass this class.”
She stifled a laugh, looking over at him. His head was turned away, but she could see the ghost of a smile on his lips.
“You’re not a dickhead like the rest of the boys at this school. How’d you end up here?”
She questioned. He turned his head; it looked like he was seriously considering this question
“Same way you did; my parents enrolled me. It's pretty bad here; the other kids are horrible.”
She nodded, peering at the white space of his textbook; there were so many intricate drawings she’d have to ask him what they were later.
“At least I know there's one tolerable person at this school.”
She said, looking over at Frank; she could have sworn there was a pink tint to the tops of his ears.
“You're not to bad yourself, Illi”
He muttered, avoiding her gaze.