Removing the Mask

“McKenzie?”

I look up at her through the curtain of my brown hair before answering.

“Yes?” I can’t keep the annoyance out of my voice.
They always pick on me
. I didn’t even have my hand up, but they always pick on me. Doesn’t matter where I sit or what I do,
they always pick on me.

“What is the answer?” She starts walking closer to my desk. All she’s going to find is an empty page of graph paper where I was supposed to write the answers to the questions on the board. My eyes flutter to the interactive whiteboard to find a blank screen.
What was her question?

“
Do you want me to repeat the question?
” I grind my teeth together at her patronising voice. Why do teachers always assume their better than the students? I wrote the book currently peeking out of Stacey’s bag and she’s
patronising me?
But then she doesn’t know that, none of them do. How could they? It’s not my name on the cover. 

Slouching back in my seat, I meet everyone’s gawking gaze before returning my attention back to Mrs Bloom.  “Why bother? I wasn’t listening the first time, what makes you think I’m going to be listening the second time round?” I say in a bored tone and watch her blink in surprise.

Her gaze rips through me but I keep my gaze indifferent. That look doesn’t make me cringe anymore. 

“Miranda, what’s the answer?” She turns her steely gaze to the girl sitting in front of me. Miranda glances at me, and answers meekly before hunching over her desk hiding behind her own hair. I can sympathise with the girl, having everyone’s attention on you like that can make you want the floor to open up and swallow you whole. I’ve been on the TV so many times now it doesn’t bother me anymore, but I know what it feels like and I feel for her.   

Mrs Bloom’s voice becomes a buzz in the background as I focus on the music coming through the earphone I’ve got in my ear. My hair covers the wire well, but I’m still lucky she didn’t see it. My finger taps to the beat of the song and I stifle the yawn that wants to take over. Allowing my head to tilt forward, I close my eyes while my body relaxes into the hard plastic chair.

“Miss Prince!”

I jolt upright in my chair and look up at the very unhappy teacher standing over me.

“Am I boring you?”

“I’m asleep in the middle of the day, sitting upright in an uncomfortable chair. What do you think?” I blink and internally wince. I need to learn to keep my lips zippered.

The group of guys that sit on the other end of the back row start sniggering but then cough to make it less obvious.
At least they find this amusing.

“Excuse me?” She looks at me with a look of disbelief but then outrage at my choice of words.

“I’m not going to repeat myself.”
Shoot. Me. Now.

Just when I think the sixty year old in front of me is going to blow a fuse, the bell rings sending everyone scrambling to get their books and belongings.

In the chaos I manage to slip out the door without another word from Mrs Bloom. One day my mouth is going to get me in worse trouble than an after school detention that I’m probably going to get handed when I next walk in there.

I loathe the journey between classes. Walking down a hallway packed to the walls with students, all elbowing each other to get to their next class makes me feel claustrophobic and volatile.  

I walk against the wall, occasionally slipping through a crowd slowly piling into a classroom.

Every teenager goes through a stage where they think school is hell on earth; I haven’t finished that stage yet. I’m still the girl that sulks at the back of the class. Though I don’t blame the world, I blame the name that’s written on the book stuffed into Stacey’s bag and recently been added to the school’s library.

Just as I’m about to slip into the girl’s bathroom, someone slams into my shoulder, crushing me against the wall and sending my head sideways to slam painfully against the plaster, narrowly missing the framed picture on the wall. I expect them to turn around and apologise profusely, instead they lurch into the swarm of students before I can identify them. The sudden loss of their weight pinning me to the wall sends me sprawling across the filthy hard floor. There are a few yelps of surprise as well as a large amount of laughing while I struggle to get to my feet with a pounding pain in my head and an intense pain in my shoulder.
So maybe this wasn’t an accident…
I think sarcastically as I stumble into the empty bathroom. 
   

In the mirror I find a large lump on the side of my head and then when I take my shirt off to reveal my tank top, find an angry looking bruise forming on my shoulder and part ways to my elbow.

The worst part about all of this is I don’t know who did it. If I do find out though, I’ll give them a black eye to remember! 

***

When I walk into class, the teacher takes one look at my head before sending me to the nurse’s calling me
‘stupid’
for not going straight away.

I sit in the chair with an ice pack on my head while listening to the music coming through my earphone. Surprisingly it doesn’t hurt my head. When the door rebounds against the wall hard enough to crack concrete, the pain in my head spikes leaving me to wince and watch as Gina comes into the room in her games kit with a bloody nose dripping crimson down the front of her shirt. I wonder if she’s left a trail of blood all the way here. 
              `             

“Wow…”

“Shut it Ken.” Her lip curls and she glowers as she’s guided to sit on the bed across the room by the nurse.  

“What happened?” I ask as I pop a couple of pieces of gum into my mouth.

“Football.” Her nasally voice makes me smile.  

“You never play.”

She always gets out of playing because she hates it, she’s like me, crafty. 

“No shit Sherlock! I got hit with one!” She sneers and I roll my eyes.

“Who spat in your coffee?” I say it under my breath but she still hears it and turns her murderous gaze on me. 

“You did when you opened that big fat gob of yours! Keep your trap shut Ken or you’ll regret it.”

The nurse says nothing as she fixes up Gina’s nose. Neither Gina nor I speak until she’s about to leave.

“You know who body slammed me against the wall?” I raise my eyes brows.

“Yeah, but I’m not telling you anything.” She stomps out the room leaving me to shake my head.
How was I ever friends with her?

Rubbing my forehead, I close my eyes while taking a deep breath. I tell myself what I tell myself every time she does this: Once more, then never again.

Why does she do this? I’ve told her more times than I can recount, but she doesn’t listen almost like she doesn’t want to. Why though? Why does she force me into these stupid,
pointless
interviews when she knows I’m going to kick up a fuss? What does she get out of it?  

Ever since M Z Pristine became my Pen Name,
she
has become the thorn in my side; with everything Mum does where M Z Pristine is involved the thorn goes deeper and become even more painful.

I don’t want to be getting dressed in clothes I don’t like and shoes that make my legs and feet scream; I want to be provoking the beast of the dungeon I call my school, if I happen to get in a fight in the process, so be it. I
’m already familiar with the deputy head and now the headmaster: Mr Jones because of my sometimes blunt refusal to do work.

Can’t I graffiti a table instead of my face? Who knows how many tables I’ve defaced over the last couple of months, a biro and a pair of compasses can keep you amused during boring lesson any day.

I hate that my jeans are
super
skinny and that they make me worry about things as simple as bending down; the thought of flashing my knickersmakes me laugh now, but I don’t think I would if it actually happened.

I don’t think I will ever get used to the feeling I get when I’m getting ready to be
her
; I don’t get butterflies, I get a stampede of elephants charging round my stomach like it’s a racing track. 

I’m careful as I scratch an itch on my scalp, trying to not dislodge or disturb the blond wig of straight hair resting like a crown; one that mocks me every time I look in the mirror.

The idea of being able to burn the mask that keeps M Z Pristine and I separate is enough for me to put it on; the double sided tape inside is just as irritating as it always is.

I can do this; I just have to slave through a few hours before I can come home and do whatever I want. I could even go for a run; I haven’t done that in a while. It’s cold and I’m tired but maybe it’ll do me some good. Or I could do the exact opposite and slug out on the sofa.

My mind goes onto auto pilot as I change my earrings for something with a little more class; Mum wouldn’t approve of the little round devil studs.

The necklace I’ve loved for so long clinks into the dish on my dresser; just to be safe, someone might recognise it.

Slipping my feet into the awful shoes, I teeter my way down the stairs. Mum passes me without a glance as she talks into her phone and rushes into her room to get changed. 

I know Dad’s about somewhere, so I start my search in the kitchen. He works as one of the E
nglish teachers in my school and called in this morning claiming we all had food poisoning so we couldn’t make it in. Come Monday, we’ll walk in fighting fit and they won’t blink an eye. 

He sits at the kitchen table with his student’s homework spread out in front of him, obviously marking it. 

“Hey, Daddy.”

He looks up at me before looking down at the work in front of him with a chuckle. “Your button’s undone darling.”

Fumbling to do it up, I feel the slight heat in my cheeks. “Oops, sorry; they’re just
way
too tight.”

“Then why are you wearing them?”

“Hell if I know. This is the last time though; I’m never doing this again.”

“She’s not going to like that.” He leans back in his chair,
understanding my meaning.

“I’v
e had enough, you of all people should understand that,” I let myself drop into the chair across from him.

“I do understand, but she’s isn’t going to be happy and we both know that like we know our names.” He clicks his pen before jotting something down on the page
in front of him before reaching for another.

“There’s a reason why she acts the way she does, you need to keep that in mind.” He looks me dead in the eyes as he says it, drilling it into my head for what has to be the fiftieth time.

“I’d be more reasonable if you actually told me why she acts like a-” I break off when I hear her heels coming down the stairs. Her footsteps lead off into the study allowing me to carry on. “Can you please just tell me?” I plead with my eyes and watch him sigh before nodding.

“Sunday, while she’s out with Trisha.” I nod in ag
reement, no chance of her coming back unexpectedly. While she’s out the house and with her sister, Dad and I can have a proper talk.

“What’s happening on Sunday?” Mum walks through the doorway fiddling with her earring.

“W-” I don’t know what Dad’s about to say but when lying, it’s best to keep it simple; I of all people should know.

Crossin
g my fingers under the table, I smile at Mum. “Sorry, it’s a surprise.” I mock glare at Dad and he puts a sly smile on his face. It may be on his face but it’s not in his eyes.

Grabbing a drink, I slip it inside Mum’s bag; I don’t carry one much to her disappointment.

“Try not to shake your bag too much or we’ll both be in for a laugh.” I go to grin at Mum but catch myself when I realise she can’t see it. She shakes her head.  

“Hilarious, Kenzie.” She says deadpan as she slips
a bottle of water into her bag next to my Red Bull.

“I know, I’m just a bucket of laughs aren’t I?”
I grin though I know they can’t see it; the mask pulls painfully at my skin but if I keep doing it, it’ll hurt less when I smile later.

“When you walk in with your button undone? Yeah love, you’re hilarious.”

I grimace and glare at D
ad when Mum’s not looking.

“You what?” Mum turns to me, “you forgot to do your button up?”

Rolling my eyes, I cover my mask covered face with my hand.
Of course she would take this seriously.

“It’s not like I was on camera! So what if I forget to do my button up in my own flipping house! Who gives a-” my mind catc
hes up to my mouth, “-monkey’s Uncle?”

“Why didn’t you do the button up when you put them on? Have you forgotten how to dress? Do I need to teach you again?”

Gritting my teeth at her condescending tone, I look from her to Dad and back.

“Do you have a memory problem you
’re not telling us? Because this is the third pair of jeans you’ve bought that are so small I can barely get into them. If you’re going to buy me clothes, get them in
my
size and get ones that I’ll actually like for once, not these pink frilly things that you
know
I don’t like.” I storm past her and up to my room to finish getting ready, knowing we’ve got little time before we have to leave.

I know I sound ungrateful, but a girl can only be ignored for so long before getting the hump; if I insult
the clothes she buys me, I get a rise out of her. It’s better than nothing.

I’m a lie because I’m being someone I’m not. Mum’s a lie because she keeping something from me. We’re both as bad as each other.