January 10th, 1999 ; winter .

* It was early, the sky was gleaming blue-white. Sun nowhere in sight. Just an empty canopy of light. I pedaled my bike down the road, listening to the whir of the tires with hands wrapped securely around handlebars. The air was crisp and cold, but I was used to the temperature. I preferred biking to school. I usually did it with Angelo, cuz he hated the bus too, but he said he couldn't come to school today. I didn't know why. Pine trees bristled with a wind that brushed back the black part of my unwashed bangs from my temples. 

I sped up for the hell of it, chasing the feeling of that breeze, hands tightening subconsciously. My eyes lifted to the sky, that white abyss. Then my decisions caught up to me, and my bike tripped over something, something that bumped the front tire and sent it skidding off balance. I quickly caught myself before I fully fell, awkwardly hopping off. But I'd scraped my knee on the metal of the bike. I grimaced and kicked it scornfully, letting it fall to the roadside grass as I glanced back to see what'd caused the speed bump. Upon further inspection, couching down beside it, there was a dead bird. 

A little thing just shy the size of my closed fist. It was in proper shape, but all bloodied on its breast, grimy red matted feathers and flesh. It's eyes were closed, peacefully long dead. Beak limply half open. I stared at it for a moment and felt mild disgust. My bike tire was probably all gross now. It couldn't have been me that killed it, it would've flown away in time before it got hit. But I wondered what'd happened to it, what had left it dead in the grass by the road.

* School was a sterile jail they couldn't keep sterile. A breeding ground for filth and germs. Robbie could feel it in the air, in everything he touched. In people that passed. This place was an infection itself. He couldn't stand anyone there, couldn't stand the way they looked at him. Like he was something mutilated, deformed, out of place. The shape of his nose, the accent and feminine tone he tried to hide from his voice, his clothes. It was his own pink triangle, or stamp of poverty. After a while he'd stopped trying to become fully American, stopped trying to conform with the Abercrombie wearing, Brittany Spears listening masses. Started speaking Russian in secret with Angelo for fun, started making commie jokes just to scare people. After a while he forgot why he was so scared of rejection by the general public in the first place. After a while it became a game, laugh at the skittish stupidity of people. Their fear of the different, their astoundingly pathetic ability to repeat history and believe stereotypes.

 It was always Angelo from the beginning, the only one who'd been intrigued by that brooding freshman who seemed so awkwardly between male and female, between Russian and American. Between deeming the present worth his time, and preoccupied with thoughts. Now he weaved between students in the hallway, occasionally bumping shoulders, hearing snatches of conversations he'll never know the conclusion of and the whoops of obnoxious senior boys.

 He stopped by his locker, spinning in the combination and opening it with a creak of thin metal. There was the stain of "tranny" Sharpie'd on it by an anonymous school-goer, attempted to be cleaned off by an underpaid janitor. Other scribbles and less personal messages were left on it and neighboring lockers, from varying years and varying people. Robbie had never cared to decorate his locker's exterior or interior. It seemed trivial. And he didn't want any unnecessary attachment to the school. After storing books and shit he didn't need for now, he closed it again and readjusted his backpack to walk to his first period class. 

* His first three periods were nothing special. He mostly went through school in a dissociative haze, especially because Angelo wasn't here to make it worthwhile. History was his last class, and it was common knowledge the teacher generally didn't give a shit so Robbie usually slept through it. But recently a student he hadn't noticed before piqued his interest.

 She was a freshman, which was probably why he hadn't seen her before, with warm brown skin and unruly dark curls that reached the end of her shoulders. It wasn't her natural appearance so much that stood out, but how she dressed and acted. Most freshman were meek, the transition from middle to high school was tough, but everytime Robbie saw her get picked on or messed with she stood her ground well. She'd tilt her chin up and smartly give a retort of her own. Which didn't stop anything, but it was interesting to watch. 

Today she wore a particularly obnoxious outfit of galaxy print jeans, a green graphic T-shirt of some band Robbie's never heard of, and a pink checkered belt he recognized was from Hot Topic. Robbie was dying to know, out of cruel curiosity, what her deal was. He swooped in and stole the seat next to her's as kids slowly trickled into the classroom, encouraged by the warning bell. She glanced over at him suspiciously but didn't say anything. As the class started Robbie remembered he wasn't the best conversationalist, but he was also blatantly unapologetic and stupidly stubborn. "Nice shirt." He commented under the drone of the history teacher. He absolutely didn't mean it, but he hoped it'd start a conversation. Her big dark eyes flickered over to him again and lingered. "Thanks," she responded brightly. "You like MCR?" Robbie vaguely thought that sounded like a gun type. "Uh...no. I just thought it looked cool." He replied dryly. She mumbled an 'oh' and the discussion hit a wall. Robbie was immune to awkward silence, but he would've liked to dig a little more. "What's your name?" He asked, toying with a pencil on his desk. "Violet." She answered promptly, looking at him expectantly once more. "Robbie." He returned. She smiled at the exchange, and her eyes fell to his shirt in turn. "Christmas sweater in January?" She questioned lightheartedly. Robbie shrugged and couldn't keep the corners of his own mouth down. "Guess I'm just feelin' festive." He said, knowing full well it was only because he didn't have enough sweaters.

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