My breath was lodged somewhere in my throat as I struggled to breathe and release a whimper inside my blankets. But still, it wouldn't matter even if I made a sound or bleated like needy sheep; this was Maslow High School, and I was the most hated and popular new student. News of my arrival had spread like wildfire, and a certain cook told people he noticed my eyeballs were black like those of a reptilian lizard when I was picking my supper.Being famous was a good thing if people liked you, and you were also beautiful with golden hair that tumbled on the waistline. On the contrary, I was far away from those. Maslow High School was a prestigious school that stood on a plateau, only the rich children came here, and my case was different. I was a charity case from the orphanage. All the clothes I wore once belonged to people who decided they didn't need them anymore and would rather dispose of them in my old home.I was a sympathy and charity student here because of a scholarship everyo

The whole school was soaking with excitement and anxiety about everything that had happened. By lunchtime, they couldn’t take it anymore and burst through the doors of classrooms like tea seeping through a sieve. Brian was the boy who seemed to have a heart, and Charles was the other bully with a heart darker than sin itself. Charles had made sure I hit the ground, while Brian wanted to give me a chance, perhaps out of pity and guilt.I hated pity and sympathy. They are what had gotten me here in the first place, in this mess. The saddest children were offered a chance; the rule seemed to apply at Mellow orphanage and children’s homes. I was one of the quiet ones who hardly spoke and gave out the bare minimum in day-to-day activities and class. This was a second chance. The sympathy was mainly because I had epilepsy and kept having convulsions and seizures, which had to be the source of the sympathy.I had stopped living and trying a long time ago. My seizures were bad; I did not make

It felt like I was drowning, yet I was never taught how to swim. The feeling engulfed a person when they were in the middle of the ocean, and no one was coming.“Come on, here,” the teacher repeated, handing me over the whiteboard marker with authority soaking his tone.I turned around to face the board and looked at the sum before closing my eyes tightly, just in case a miracle decided to happen, just in case all the rosaries that had been thrown at me during lunchtime decided to make sure some superpowers helped me to figure out what to do.Y= mx+c, I scribbled first before standing back.My tongue still felt heavy, and I could still feel saliva pooling at the base of my mouth, under my tongue. After my seizures, I couldn’t talk well until I settled down after two or three hours. The woman from before wouldn’t let me sleep and insisted I come to class.The sum in front of me had decimals, fractions and a number raised to power seven. I couldn’t handle it even if I tried. How the hel