melancholic

adjective

1. feeling or expressing pensive sadness

2. suffering from or denoting a severe form of depression

Back at school after my morning appointment, I arrive at my business studies class. Before Ms Pointer, the teacher who hates me, demands to know why I am late, I quickly pre-empt her with a note from my Doctor.

"Ms Pointer, this is a note from my specialist, Dr Styles. Please excuse my tardiness this morning. Also, this is the one page outline for end of semester business studies project, due next Monday. I have a lot going on over this coming weekend, please excuse my handing it in early. I will see you next week." I placed both the papers on her desk where she was sitting, turned around and hobbled back out of the classroom. She finally broke out of her stunned mullet look.

"Ms Twice, you must take this medical certificate to the head office for your records. Please take this back."

"Its OK, Ms Pointer. The office already has a copy of this medical certificate and asked me to bring you this copy. If that is all?" I didn't even turn around as I spoke.

"Hmffph!" She was slightly miffed that I'd out witted her again. Any little thing to have the last word.

"Good day, Ms Pointer. Until next time." I couldn't help the last polite sounding last word. It was anything but polite.

I didn't used to be this snarky, know-it-all, curly headed teenager. Yes, I've always had dark brown curly hair, but the snark and intelligence? I inherited those from a lifetime of pain and hurt and the putrid smoke of broken dreams. Blah, blah, blah. I really want to roll my eyes at myself. I sound so pretentious, even in my own head.

The bell rang for the end of class as I'm heading towards the library for my study class. The school corridors fill up with pubescent teens, chatting and squealing, generally making me feel so old. As I hobble along on my crutches with my school bag on my back, I draw a mix of looks, both curious and nasty. The girls glare and sneer at me, whispering behind painted fingernails, giggling as I pass them on by. The boys... I think the boys were more curious than anything, with a few of the older guys looking interested. I ignore them all.

I'm a pretty girl. I always have been, right up until the time when my step sister caused the fire and scars resulted across the left side of my face and shoulders. Then I was always looked at with fear and disgust. I haven't forgotten how that all felt, being ostracised and condemned even before anyone even introduced themselves to me. Don't get me wrong. I think that I am as vain as the next 17 year old girl, but my double life has given me a greater perspective on almost everything, and the strains, problems, worries and first-world-problems that kids in this city experience... They have nothing on my last life.

I am over teenage angst. I ignore them all.

In terms of friends and people who I could give a damn about in this city? I can count them all on one hand, maybe one and a half, if I count Mrs H and her husband. I think it is pretty tragic, until I remind myself that in my last life, I didn't have anyone, not a single friend or family member who stood with me in the end.

Lunchtime finds me at the courtyard sharing my lunch snacks with a moody, leather-clad Jackson. We don't talk the whole lunch hour. He's sitting on the table top again, pinching my snacks that I've put within his reach. I eat my home prepared lunch, then work on completing homework and writing emails.

[Black Pheonix: HcakerFreddy, you up for a one month programming contract worth ten grand? App build and design, database type platform for an Antiques and Art App. Locally grown and operated for on-sale. No upkeep once sale is complete. Small server contract for promotional purposes, but once the app is sold there's nothing more to do. Interested?] I leave a message for my hacker friend and hope he's interested. Beg that he is interested. I really need his help.

Them I email my lawyer outlining my current needs. I list potential investments that I need Mr Anderson to look into for me. Offers need to be made, contracts need to be drawn up. And yes, all this before I even have any money to invest. I'm still working on that.

I mentioned before that I have a few start-up companies that I need to invest in. Four of them. One is a clothing line, two tech based companies, and a baby care product range that is Eco-friendly that will be picked up by a celebrity who visits the city, buys the product off-handedly, then raves about it online for the world to see.

There are two businesses that design building components that will sell well, but because the companies are rivals, I think I need to stay away from them.

"Hmmmm..." I slump in my throne chair, chin on my hand. After thinking about it for a bit, I lean back and look up at the sky over head, watching birds sail through the up-drafts created by weather over the mountain ranges nearby.

"What's got your brain working overtime, Lills?" A husky voice knocks me out of my thinking. A large hand lands on my head as Jackson picks up my bag and hands it to me.

"Investments and future securities, the usual. Trying to figure out if the risks of investing in a company with strong opposition is a stupid idea or not. I think I need to find something else."

"Don't think too hard. You'll hurt your brain. Bell's about to ring."

"Really?" I turn and look behind me and watch Jackson walk out of the courtyard, waving over his shoulder. "Thanks, see you tomorrow, Jackson."

"Maybe," I hear him murmur.

"He's so moody. Like a prickly porcupine in leather, with hidden Labrador tendencies," I mumble to myself.

"Did you just call Jackson a Labrador?" Liam pops up in front of me, just as I'm settling my bag on my back and pulling my crutches in place.