Nessa's Story Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

I arrive in a long yellow bus, a few other kids and me. I don't talk to them, of course. I never talk to other kids. Not when it feels like they're always talking about me. 

I don't what I was expecting when I was told that the school was in the mountains, but I was definitely expecting a lot more snow. There is some snow, here and there, in sparkly patches, but for the most part, everything is an emerald sea. 

Everyone piles out of the bus, but I stay close to the side. I don't like touching people. I don't really like people. 

There seems to be a long walk to the building that assumes the school, with more emeralds and tons of footprints. I can see the grandiose building from here. The double-story is made of brownstone, with a newer looking addition made of grey stone. There's even a balcony and a brass dime built into the original part. It makes me want to find a flying carpet. 

We start the walk. 

I push down the sleeve of my jumper as a few kids brush past me and I feel electricity on my arm. 

"What do you think is over there?" an accented voice asks me. 

All I can see are the pastures made of jade, but I don't think she's talking about that. 

She pushes a tangle of sandy curls out of the way so she can squint at whatever it is. "It looks like a sport's court."

Once she said that, I could see what she was looking at. It's a large concrete slab that does indeed look like a sport's court. Only it's chock full of odd contraptions and playground equipment. 

"For a nuclear war," I mutter. 

She laughs, "You're funny."

I look down, "Thank you."

"I like you," she holds out her hand. I shake it, and if she gives me her name, it's fuzzy. I don't give her mine. 

"Well, now we've fallen behind," she says. And I don't have any time to respond as she grabs my arm and ruses me into the moving crowd. 

"Don't." I feel claustrophobic among all the tangled limbs. I keep bumping into them.  

I lose the other girl. I panic. I put my hands over my ears, and somebody puts their own hands over them. "Are you okay?"

"Don't," I say. 

"Okay," he moves his hands. 

I look up at him. I don't know what gets to me more, the concern in his brown eyes, or his brown eyes. 

"Are you okay?" he bites his lip. 

I shake my head. He's wearing a red zip-up sweatshirt that looks really warm, and I want to ask him if I can wear it. My knit jumper just isn't doing it anymore.

"Don't like new places?" he lifts a corner of his mouth. 

I shake my head again, "I'm claustrophobic."

"Oh," he looks down. "I'd say I'm claustrophobic too, but I'm just not." He looks back at me, and I look away. 

"Uhm, what usually helps it?"

"I- I don't know," I say. "I usually stay away from situations that elicit my fear."

"That's always a good idea."

I nod. I caress my arm. I can't get that electric feeling away. 

"Why did you come here?" the boy asks. 

"I want to learn to be less scared"

"Hmm," he nods. "I should probably be more scared."

I ask, "Are you serious?"

"No," he whispers. "Right now I'm very scared."

I smile at him, because, for once in my life, I'm not.