by Amelia Smith

Created on: April 20, 2009   Last Updated: December 17, 2011

"Well, that's brilliant!" thought an extremely disgruntled Sarah Peters, "I'm pretty sure I was just called stupid for the fifth time in this meeting." She tried her hardest to block out the disgustingly monotonous drone of the so called "professional." The complete Narrow Stairs album played through her head, while she reviewed her schedule for that day.

"Religion, Geo, Writing, Music, Science..." she mumbled a little too loud.

"Excuse me?" asked the psychiatrist in the highly expectant "teacher tone." The one in which the speakers voice increases about two octaves, hoping for something substantial to be added to the conversation. Oh, how she hated that tone.

"Nothing," Sarah replied through gritted teeth. She focused on staring into the psychiatrist's cool green eyes. They held no life, no interest. Sarah was quite convinced they shared the same thought, "Why the hell do I have to be here?!"

*

After the first hour of her day was completely wasted, Sarah dragged herself back to one of the few places she actually despised, Clarenceville High School. The mood in that disgusting building was enough to make the happiest person crawl into a corner and hide. The pee-yellow walls along with the stairway that had the lingering stench of smoke and sweat permanently attached to it only added to her already self destructive mood.

Wishing she could be invisible, Sarah knocked on the door of room 205, Canadian Geography. As the door opened she felt 60 eyes crawling over her, and her cheeks burn. The class passed (to her great surprise), with such haste she found it impossible to remember anything she had learned. Recess wasn't so successful. Sarah's closest friend, Hannah Myers, sat across the table from her. Hannah tried her hardest to depict Sarah's thoughts, emotions, something that would give her the slightest knowledge of her friend's apparent distress. Sarah kept her visits with the psychiatrist to herself; she didn't want people to know how bad things had actually gotten, so Hannah was still unaware when the sharp ringing of the bell startled the friends as they said goodbye and parted for third period. "Writing," Sarah thought. "Excellent, keep my head down, iPod on and I'll get the motive I need to get through this day." Her plan was working quite flawlessly until Mr. Fitzgerald (commonly known as Fitz) started making his "progress rounds." She covered her work, hoping he would skip her like usual, but there was something about that day. Nothing seemed to be working

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