The confessions of a Teenage Outcast

Description: Mila is what you call average. Nothing more, nothing less. She tends to hide out in her room or as she calls it, her sanctuary. She doesn't expect anything from anyone, not even her parents, but that's another story altogether.
Mila has never been close with her parents; they've always had something else on their minds. Mila has never come first.
January has come, a new year, and in school she meets dark and mysterious Jayden. She can’t help but loathe him for his instant popularity.
And soon, when he finally speaks to her they are not the words she was expecting.

(This is based on the request from Evangilina)


2. Unimpressed

Sluggishly, I drove my car into the school parking lot. As usual, I had the space furthest away from the building, forcing me to walk about a mile. Call me lazy. I parked, pulled the keys out of the ignition and grabbed my books off the passenger seat. Another reason why I would choose my father over my mother was that he had bought me a red car. My mother wouldn’t have thought twice about it, the selfish woman.

I dragged my feet along the path, hating the long day that loomed ahead of me. Further up the parking lot, several girls that I would call Barbie’s, climbed out of their convertibles and hurried to meet their boyfriends. Jennifer, the bitchiest, shot me the finger before planting a whopping kiss on her footballer boyfriend. Her golden hair fell over her shoulder in shiny strands and her red nail polish gleamed under the rising sun. Most people would die to be her friend; they would say she was so stylish and glamorous. But if you ask me, her pink tartan skirt only just covered her fat arse and her black camisole was too tight. She needed a new wardrobe, perhaps one that would actually fit. Such an abomination to the female population – is she purposely trying to look trashy? The only thing that did look good was her black stilettos – not that I’d wear them of course, but you get the idea.  Believe it or not, we were friends at one point. We used to do everything together, until she got a pony for her thirteenth birthday and thought she was too cool for me.

The parking lot cleared as the first bell rang. I scurried up the steps and into the reception. After pacing down several corridors, I reached my form room. My day had started of badly but of course, it worsened.  As soon as I came through the form room door, Jennifer threw an entire cup of blue slushy at my face. I gasped as the hundred or so pieces of ice hit me with colossal impact. The class burst into hysterical laughter as I stood, dabbing my face dry with my sleeve.

“Why do you look so down, Mila?” Jennifer snickered before taking her seat. She suddenly became surrounded by worshippers whether they were actually her friends or not, I didn’t know. But did it matter? I turned around, threw open the door and fled. I crashed into my form tutor, Mrs. Evans on the way out.

“What is it, Mila?” She asked, concerned. Her eyes widened as she registered the shards of ice in my hair and the tears building up in my eyes. “What happened?”

“Forget it,” I muttered and pushed past her. There was only one place I could go to get away from Jennifer and her many disciples - the art room. I lumbered through the door to one of many art rooms. Mr Ash frowned at me with anything but sympathy. “Mila, you need to toughen up,” he sighed, holding a handful of brushes under the running water of a sink.

“Do you mind if I stay in here through form? I have art first period anyway,” I said, grabbing a fresh canvas and some acrylic paints.

“Whatever,” he muttered and handed me a paint brush. I started painting a midnight sky as tears began to leak from my eyes. Soon, I would make sure that Jennifer got a taste of her own medicine. Just you wait. Form and half of first period had past. The classroom was full of students sculpting, sketching or painting. I stood back and viewed my painting – Swan Lake.

“Ah, Mila,” Mr Ash sighed, shaking his head. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Sir, I put a lot of effort into this,” I interrupted, frowning at him.

“Yes, that is obvious from the techniques you’ve been using but you have not put a lot of thought into it. I want to feel emotion; I want to see something of your soul, Mila. When I saw you lumber through that door an hour ago, I hoped that today you would finally show how you feel in your painting. To be a true artist, people need to connect with your work. If you do not paint something that shows emotion, then you will fail.”

“But Sir I-“

“No buts, Mila. Paint something honest and you will pass. If you don’t...well you won’t be getting out of this school anytime soon.”

“Senior year is not what everyone makes it out to be,” I muttered as Mr Ash trailed off. He was a middle aged man who was balding and he thought he had the audacity to be so...vindictive. You are a sour old man who finds it entertaining to criticise my work, I wanted to shout in his face. But something moral inside my head had stopped me. Screw you, angel. Bring me the devil, I'm going to hell anyway.

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