Anthony

It was junior high, third year, ninth grade. English class.
    Romeo and Juliet. The one day I did the reading.
    The desks in Mrs. Sherley's room were arranged in a half-circle facing the board, two rows deep. My partner, a mousey girl who sat on my right, was absent that day.
    What was her name again? Kate? Katelyn? Something like that.
    Oh well, it's not like it matters much anyways.
So, she was absent. The Kate girl. And there was someone in her spot. Another girl.

It wasn't necessarily that strange of an occurrence, but it was enough to make me feel a little off. Our seats were set, and even if they weren't, nobody in our class had the habit of changing their seating order. Moreover, though I wasn't a social butterfly, and constantly forgot people's faces, I was pretty sure this girl was not in my class. However, it was true that she looked familiar enough that I couldn't help but take multiple glances in her direction.

Mrs. Sherley walked into the room, clapped her hands, as was her habit, and the class started. I put the girl out of my mind. She was probably a transfer student, or someone visiting. It didn't matter either way. I most likely wouldn't be talking to her anyways.

Today was discussion day. Which was why the seats were set in a circular fashion. What this meant, was that the entire class period was dedicated to talking about various subjects in whatever reading we had recently finished (in this case, Romeo and Juliet). Everyone had to talk at least three times to get the full amount of points for the exercise.

In other words: it was a pain.

I kept quiet, inwardly rolling my eyes at nearly every comment and argument. Whether the whole story was about teenage hormones and stupidity, or a beautifully tragic romance, it didn't really matter to me. I never understood either of those things anyways. The sentimentalists arguing for the 'purity' of the story, and the logical crowd who curved them with the silliness of the characters actions both missed the point.
The point was, that they were dead.

They were dead, and they weren't coming back from that.
No matter what their family did after that, it couldn't justify or explain anything.
It's all over once you're dead.
Everything. Anything. Game over.
So what did it matter, anyways?

The grade didn't matter to me. I hadn't placed my value on a simple letter in a long time. So I kept quiet.

...

    "But, if Romeo and Juliet were willing to go so far for one another, even if it started out as infatuation, couldn't you say that it changed into true love?"

The sentimentalists.

    "Hmm, I don't think so. I mean, I doubt that Romeo wanted her to die just because he did, or that she would if she was dead. I mean, they didn't even put any thought about how the other would react in such a situation."

The logicists.

    "Yeah, and what about their families? Would 'True Love' really mean dropping everything just for one person? I think they were just selfish."

A momentary pause. A few grunts of admission here and there.
Sentimentalists regaining their bearings. And-

    "Or maybe it was the family that was selfish."

I jerked up. The voice was close, but unfamiliar.
It was the girl next to me.

    "Their families didn't seem to really care much about either one of them. Or, even if they did, didn't really care enough to put any value on what they wanted, or who they were. They cared more about themselves and their old-age argument, and seemed to treat the both of them as more of a treasured object than a human being."

...no. You're wrong.

    She was wrong.

    "So, maybe it wasn't just their love for one another that drove them to suicide. Maybe it was their family. And if that's the case, I don't see how their feelings would matter in the end at all. Who cares if they were selfish? Their family was selfish as well. So what does it matter?"

    "...It matters"
huh?
    "Of course it matters. What are you, stupid?"
What?
    "Even if their families were somewhat selfish and unwilling to understand, that can't justify killing yourself- those two things are not equal! Do you think that just because your family hurts you, it's okay to reject any possible feelings they might have for you, and treat them the same as a stranger? Or an object? Do you think it's okay to throw away your life for something as stupid and delusional as 'true love'? Or for any reason, not even bothering to think about the people left behind? There's no justification for that. There's not any pretty words for that either. It's just plain irresponsible! You can't just write off others wily-nily like that!"

Everyone in the class was staring at me. Mrs. Sherley was frozen, with her eyes wide open.

The girl stared at me, forehead tense.

Oh. Oh. It was me.
I was talking.

    "Yes you can."
The girl stared at dead in the eye.

    "You can definitely write others off. Most of them don't even deserve to be kept around. So what about a family's feelings? You'll eventually leave them anyways, if they don't leave you first. Why should you care about someone else, when they don't even care enough about you to warrant it?"

She spoke to me. Her whole body exuding dominance and control, facing me like an adult would a child. I see, so I was the child here.

I hated it.
I hated her.  

    I opened my mouth again to scream at her, when Mrs. Sherley suddenly unfroze and butted in. No doubt, worried about the sewage like atmosphere that had taken over the class. That I dispensed. That I was the fault of.
   
    "Anthony, are you feeling alright? Do you need to go to the nurses office?"

    Ah, yes, she knew. She knew about it. And that's why she was sickeningly sympathetic. I could smell the pity coming off of her in waves every time I appeared in front of her. I wanted to scream. I wanted to-

    I shook my head.
    "No, I don't feel that well, Mrs. Sherley. I might need to go home early. I'll stop by the nurses office on the way," I said.

I gathered together my books and backpack, the quiet, rustling noise of it permeating through the entire classroom. Without looking at anything, I walked my way to the door.

By some kind of cursed curiosity, I chanced a glance back at the girl who had stolen the place of my partner. I must have been wondering if she was smirking in victory, glad at my defeat. What was her facial expression like?

But she wasn't smirking. Nor did she look ashamed of her part in my outburst.
No, she was looking at me, confused and unsure. As though she was wondering what kind of species I was. Wait, no, that wasn't it- was it-,
But I didn't have time to make sure.

So I walked out the door.

I never saw her again.