Sarah Mayspring (sg_sarah) wrote in supergleerpg, @ 2011-11-28 11:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | !type: thread, -2011: november, character: jadyn ishii, former character: sarah mayspring |
Thread - first day jitters
Who: Sarah (open)
When: 11/28; monday morning
Where: School
What: Public school is nothing like private school. She doesn't miss the uniforms, but she does miss the order. At least the one on the outside of her head.
Warnings: Nonsensical musings.
For the first time, in a very long time, Sarah felt out of her depth. She stood on the sidewalk outside the high school, watching the people mill around like worker ants; only they were more like unruly meerkats really. Her book bag was clutched to her chest, as if it would protect her from the chaos around her. Public school, it would appear, is nothing like private school. She doesn't miss the uniforms; the oddly lengthened skirts and the tights, the flimsy little blouses and their ruffles, the useless noose, she just hated it all and routinely got into bother for altering her attire in any manner. Her mother wasn't too taken with her chosen attire for the day either. Inappropriate; she heard that a lot lately. But she'd conceded that on her first day, perhaps, she'd try a little 'normalcy' for once.
It meant pants, boots and a tshirt, but Sarah could persevere for one day. So no, she doesn't miss the uniforms, but she does miss the order. At least the one on the outside of her head.
Madame Fairweather's had a system; in one door, out the other, up three stairs but down the back. Not in the morning and not in the afternoon, but in the evening with class in tune. Can't shout or scream, there's no need for blame, just one way out and no way in. She misses that and she's not even in the building.
Bumps happen, she understands that perfectly fine. But five bumps on the way to the office in which to gather the documents and schedule and she's starting to believe she's actually at a carnival and this is all a lie.
When her shoulders are bumped again, this time her bookbag opens up and her belonging scatter out. She is not a bumper car and she'd like them to realise this. The bell rings to signal glass and she hopes desperately that they don't use Monsieur DuMont's method of punishment for tardiness while she scoops up her books and pens.