Short story writing part 1

Nobody knew her dreams, least of all the teacher at the top of the classroom, slowly and momentously boring her class to death. Nobody knew her desires, least of all the boy sitting across the room from her, with the bleached blonde hair and the sweet smile and clean white teeth. Nobody knew her name, least of all the girl sitting right beside her, trying desperately not to allow her smooth skin to touch her leg. Nobody knew her, least of all herself. The person inside the skin, the mind inside the head, the feelings inside the heart.

Stevie sighed deeply and tried desperately to keep the sobs and tears inside her small frame. She didn’t want anyone in her English class to see her cry. The boys were also macho, the girls all so perfect. She often wondered, sometimes aloud, sometimes silently why she was put in this class. No-one was her friend and no-one was likely to be.

She turned her face away from the other students in her class. Looking out window, she let the teacher’s voice wash over her, trying desperately not to involve herself in anything that was being said. She knew the topic that was being discussed and she also knew that the teacher would expect her to either answer the questions put or add something meaningful to the discussion. She was over the thoughts and expectations of this class. That was the problem when she was placed her.

Hoping the bell would go quickly Stevie started to think. She started to think of everything that had gone on that morning at home. She remembered her father’s thunderous face, she remembered her mother’s tear stained face and she remembered her own fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of her family’s demise and the knowledge that she couldn’t change the future.

The yelling had become the one constant thing in her life. She never knew which parent was going to be at home when the bus pulled in, usually it was her mother but occasionally it was her father. This always made it a really bad day. He only every wanted to complain about her mother. The way she wouldn’t clean the home, the way she cooked his meals, the way she drove the car and on and on it went. Sometimes, Stevie wondered if she was her father’s own personal psychologist. She wanted to escape this and the shouting.

Glancing away from the window, Stevie heard her teacher say,
“Do you all understand?”

Stevie blinked hard, she had missed the task in her own private daydream. What was going to do? To ask a question would reveal her but not asking the question would mean that she could fall behind. And then she glimpsed the essay question on the board and she understood what was required, picking up her pen and flicking it slowly on the book in front of her.

The teacher looked at her, smiling slightly but allowing her green eyes to bore into Stevie’s mind. Stevie smiled wearily back, she knew her teacher knew something about her situation, all the teachers did, but how much she was unsure. That was part of the problem, they all thought they knew about her here, but no one really did.