Thick Air

Meggi used to be the one who kept things light. Witty, charming, made everyone around her laugh without trying. Then Prague happened, and she came back different. Now every small noise gets a hissing Psssst and the mood just dies. School was eating her alive.

André had decided he was the savior of justice or something. He’d kill anything remotely good that didn’t come from him. Loud at his own jokes, but the second someone wanted to actually listen in class, suddenly it was a problem. And there’s plenty more where that came from—the whole class is a minefield of pettiness and resentment.

I know I don’t take school as seriously as maybe I should. It’s never been as important to me as it is for others. I’m the type who resists the system, doesn’t fit the mold, hates the predetermined paths people lay out for you. Whatever. I had no solution for any of this, and I’m not going to find one in whatever weeks are left.

But this tense, dying-days energy is starting to get to me. The whole class is starting to get to me. We came back from Prague buzzing—I thought I’d actually be happy there—and now everyone’s drained, ready to snap. Aggression and spite just hanging in the air like smog. Actually, smog would be better than this.

And now the weather’s decided to join in, adding its own miserable flavor to everything. Just constantly irritating at this point.