Private School, Public Panic

The first day of school always smells strangely artificial. Floor cleaner. Paper. Perfume. Humidity trapped inside old classrooms during summer, and underneath all that, panic. Invisible but absolutely present. I arrived too early because Mom believes being late is morally suspicious. So naturally I spent fifteen minutes pretending to reorganize my bag while silently observing everyone entering the courtyard like nervous animals entering a shared habitat. Some girls already looked perfectly assembled. Hair smooth. Bags expensive without trying too hard. That particular expression rich teenagers have where they look bored before anything even happens.

Very reassuring atmosphere.

I kept thinking: maybe nobody notices when someone feels uncomfortable. Then immediately realized this is completely false because noticing discomfort is one of humanity’s favorite hobbies. The teachers all did that strange first-day performance where they pretend to be friendly and terrifying simultaneously. Prof. R. smiled while explaining rules which honestly made him more frightening somehow. And then H. sat beside me.

Quietly.
Like it was obvious.

She has the calmest face I’ve ever seen on a person our age. Not cold. Just composed in a way that makes everyone else suddenly feel louder. At one point she apologized because her Italian isn’t perfect and meanwhile she speaks three languages and I can barely survive Latin. Life is unfair in very creative ways. By lunch break the classroom had already divided itself socially with terrifying efficiency. Humans really do form tribes immediately. It takes about four hours.

The loud boys colonized the back rows.
Certain girls attached themselves together like synchronized accessories.
Some people started flirting instantly because apparently emotional humiliation is a hobby.

Meanwhile H. and I talked about music and train stations and how classrooms always feel colder near windows.
Which honestly felt much more useful.

NOISE
Remember me,
Eclipse