Most of the day passed in a blur.
I threw myself into my lessons, trying to drown out the whispers about yesterday's incident. Every time I walked near another group of students, the murmurs seemed to start again, making it feel as though the whole school was talking about me.
It didn't really work.
I also already had my first maths lesson with my new teacher.
She seemed nice.
Too nice.
She smiled a little too often, checked whether I was following along every few minutes, and kept asking if I was comfortable. It felt less like she was teaching me and more like she was trying to make up for what had happened yesterday.
She probably pitied me. No teacher had ever paid that much attention to me in either of my lives.
I knew she meant well.
I just wished everyone would stop looking at me like I would break down the next second.
Now it was lunchtime.
Walking into the cafeteria made my stomach tighten. But I didn't let this stop me.
Yesterday, I went home before lunch.
Groups of students kept glancing in my direction.
Some whispered.
Others laughed.
A few even pointed.
Logically, I knew most of them were probably talking about Mr Hubert. Word travelled fast in schools, and the comments I'd overheard that morning had actually been in my favour. Most people seemed impressed that someone had finally stood up to an unpopular teacher.
But logic had never been particularly effective against anxiety.
Every laugh sounded like it was about me.
Like they were talking about how I overreacted or had a ridiculous breakdown at school.
Every glance felt directed at me.
It was strange.
In my previous life, I hated school lunches.
Eventually, I stopped eating at school altogether.
At first, my stomach protested. Going from three meals a day to only breakfast and dinner wasn't exactly pleasant.
But after a while, my body got used to it.
It was easier than explaining to my mother why I always came home hungry.
The truth was...
I had nowhere to sit.
Everyone else had friends to sit with.
I didn't.
I remembered pretending to eat as quickly as possible, hoping to leave before the cafeteria filled up.
Sometimes groups would ask if they could use my table because they couldn't find enough seats together.
Some even asked politely.
I'd politely nod.
Then they'd spend the entire lunch talking around me as though I didn't exist, even if some of them were my classmates. At first, I even tried joining their conversations. I'd make a comment or ask a question, hoping to be included, but they'd always give me a short, polite answer before immediately turning back to each other, as though I wasn't even there.
Other times, people weren't so polite.
They'd loudly complain about having to sit near "the weird kid."
Or ask if I'd already finished eating while staring at the half-full tray in front of me, making it painfully obvious they just wanted me gone.
Sometimes they'd throw food.
Always pretending it was an accident, then laughing.
I still remembered picking grains of rice out of my hair in the school bathroom before going home and telling Mum I'd simply been clumsy.
Even if most people didn't actively bother me, as long as I kept my head down, avoided eye contact, and didn't draw attention to myself, they mostly left me alone. Most of them weren't trying to be cruel. They were simply living their own lives, barely noticing I existed... until they did. Then I'd become the punchline to a joke or the target of some careless remark before they moved on and forgot all about it.
I don't think people realise that pain doesn't always come from one big act of bullying. Sometimes it's dozens of little moments that seem harmless on their own. A joke here. A thoughtless comment there. Being ignored. Being forgotten. Feeling like you don't belong. None of those things seem like much in isolation, but when they happen over and over again, they slowly pile up until they become something much heavier.
At the same time, I don't really blame most of them. Most people were just bystanders. Why would they risk upsetting their own friends over someone they barely knew... someone who was worthless? It was already normal to treat me like that anyway. Besides, every now and then there were nice people who surprised me with a small act of kindness. Sometimes they'd return my quiet "good morning" out of politeness. Sometimes they'd ask me a question about class. Those tiny interactions always surprised me. The fact that someone had willingly spoken to me at all felt like an act of kindness. Tiny moments that probably meant nothing to them, but stayed with me for a long time.
Even so, there are some moments I'll never forget. Moments when a joke went too far. Moments that hurt so much that, even after all this time, they still hurt whenever I remember them.
Still, no matter how hard I tried to make myself invisible, there were always moments I couldn't escape. Sometimes people would make nasty comments straight to my face, knowing I'd never have the courage to answer back. Other times they pushed things too far, and I'd spend the rest of the day desperately trying not to cry. On the worst days, I couldn't even face being around anyone. I'd lock myself in a bathroom stall, waiting until the break was over before I dared come back out.
Eventually, avoiding people stopped being something I did instinctively and became something I planned. I had the entire school memorised. I knew which bathrooms were usually empty at different times of the day, the best moments to leave one hiding place and move to another, and the patterns of the students down to the second. I timed everything so I could slip through the gaps in the crowds without being seen. It became a routine. Every movement was carefully calculated around one goal: reducing the chances of anyone noticing I existed.
At least...
That was how things had been in my previous life.
This life was different.
Mostly.
Instead of eating alone, my biggest problem became wandering around the cafeteria with Carly, both of us spending half our lunch break searching for somewhere to sit. We always dreamed of sitting with the popular kids.
But dreams have a funny way of staying dreams.
Every table would already be 'miraculously' full.
People would glance at us.
Quietly place a bag on the chair.
Or tell us they were saving the seats for their 'friends'.
Then look away.
We'd stand in a corner, slowly eating whatever we could while pretending we weren't actually looking for seats.
Then, halfway through lunch, Brad would finally finish his class.
The two of us would give up and the three of us would reunite at our usual table.
If you could even call it that.
It was tucked beside the toilets and only a few feet from the rubbish bins.
Every time someone opened the bathroom door, it slammed into the back of my chair.
It was, without question, the worst table in the entire cafeteria.
Which was probably why nobody else ever wanted it.
I stared across the room.
At the popular tables.
At everyone laughing with their friends.
At seats that were never meant for me.
Maybe...
Instead of wondering whether there was a place where I could belong...
Perhaps I needed to carve one out myself.