#phoebe stuff

The car rattled as it sped down the road. Melody was happily chatting with her mom up front. Phoebe sat in the back, staring out the window and pretending the raindrops were racing. These car rides always bugged them. Not only was it the agonizingly slow drive to hell (West Middle School), but it was on the way to the first day of her seventh grade year. At least she’d know the building this time, but still, that place was their own personal worst nightmare. They were left to suffer and struggle alone with nothing more than their wired earbuds with only one working ear that weren’t even allowed in the hallways.

Melody was excited, as she usually was. That girl, Phoebe thought, didn’t have the capability to feel anxiety. Not like Phoebe did. With how packed Melody’s life was, the countless activities and clubs she’d be participating in, it seemed like she didn’t have time to feel much.

She hopped out of the car when it slowed to a stop by the front door. They were early, upon Melody’s insistence, so there weren’t quite as many people as there ought to be later. She showed her ID, which she’d gotten printed at the open house, as she entered the building. Immediately after, they shoved it in the side pocket of their backpack and made their way to their homeroom. Melody waved to her as they parted ways. Phoebe weakly returned the gesture.

The signs on the wall of the faces of jaguars and words like “pride”, “community” and “respect” mocked her as she walked down the hall. Hanging in the main hallway were a set of framed photos of eighth grade classes in past years. Their mom was somewhere there, but they didn’t bother to find her.

When she arrived in room 232, the teacher - her math teacher from last year, a tanned older woman with a love for butterflies and a tendency to wisecrack, pointed her to her spot at the back table. She took her seat, took out a pen, and started to draw on her arm. They drew a robotic design, one that trailed up from their knuckles to their elbow.

Homeroom crept by slowly. They did icebreakers, despite all being well aware of each other. The obnoxious football boys - specifically an infamously loud pair who liked to single out Phoebe for being quiet - had unfortunately been seated next to each other, making everyone miserable.

Next was algebra. The teacher greeted her at the door, a balding, perfectly-boring looking man in glasses, a blue polo and khakis. When she walked in, Ginger, already seated in the back, waved to her. Ginger was a classic scene queen - she had big black hair she’d clip patterned extensions into, lots of different belts, and a pale face enhanced by heavy makeup. She had a generous, tall figure and big brown eyes, and she’d reapply her makeup whenever she got bored of class. She was an eighth grader, a year above Phoebe. The two of them were just on the cusp of being friends.

The teacher's impossibly dry voice described every last bit of the syllabus. Ginger gave her a look, rolled her eyes, and smiled - "isn't this boring?" was the message she interpreted. Phoebe laughed a little to themself and nodded in response. Ginger never failed to make them smile. Something about her felt distinctly special to Phoebe. Something that set her heart aflutter.

Then came art class. Melody had signed up for the same class - she’d insisted they pick an elective to do together, and Phoebe liked art well enough. Melody waved a hand and patted the stool beside her at the wooden table, making a hollow thunking sound and extending an invitation she couldn’t reject.

The teacher was a young blonde woman who seemed eccentric (as all good art teachers are, at least a little). She was smiling brightly with perfectly white, straight teeth. She wore a jumpsuit patterned with orchids and a gold rope chain around her neck.

The class was given paper to fold into tent shapes. The familiar name tent get-to-know-you was probably Phoebe’s favorite - it didn’t involve much talking to other people, and it could be as low-effort as she wanted.

They looked to their side. Melody, on her neatly folded orange construction paper, wrote her name in elegant cursive. Phoebe, on her yellow triangle, simply scribbled hers down with her pen.

The teacher pulled up a slideshow about herself and went through each slide, and Phoebe found herself distracted - it honestly didn't matter that much to her where her art teacher went last summer or what college her daughter was going to.

“You really aren’t supposed to draw on yourself like that,” whispered Melody, gesturing to Phoebe’s arm. “It’s bad for your skin.”

“I already did it, didn’t I?”

The rest of the day passed by slowly - lunch was hell, as it usually was. Phoebe didn’t have much of an appetite, so they chose to simply skip it, which Melody scolded her for. At least it was nice of her to care. Throughout the day, the only things she really tended to feel were anxiety and apathy, which wasn’t unusual for her, but was still a bit alarming.

The bell rang for the end of the day, and Phoebe took a seat on the ground in the shade to wait for their mother’s car to pull up and bring them and Melody home. Melody came out shortly after and took a seat beside them - she tried to make conversation at first, but eventually simply pulled out a book, noticing Phoebe didn’t seem to be in the mood to chat.

Phoebe got to her feet as the old Buick rolled into the parking lot. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and walked to the car, Melody close behind her.

They opened the car door and set their backpack on the seat beside them before sitting down in the car.