“Oh Great, You’ve changed your hair again! Go on then, brief me on your latest personality. Wait, no— let me guess. You’ve changed your name to George and only speak to penguins, have therefore decided to move to the Arctic, and you’re going to kill your math teacher on the way because of that one comment she made on your insane hair colour choices!”
Cora, my older sister/guardian/resident 23-year-old, is ranting again. I sigh, mussing my newly ice-blue hair. Despite what she thinks, I do not, in fact, dye my hair every third Tuesday of the month, and the personality quirks that come with it are definitely not my fault either. They’re not!
“First of all, I woke up like this, and you know it. Also, Penguins live in Antarctica, and that wasn’t my math teacher, it was your mom’s friends daughters schools principal,” I say, sitting down at the round table, and pouring myself some cereal.
“What was the point of that chain, Aaron? You know well and good that all my ‘friends’ go to your same school.”
“Whatever,” I grumble through my mouthful of cereal. Cora looks like she wants to start another argument, so I get up and leave.
It’s June, so it should be pretty hot outside, but as I sit on the curb, waiting for the school bus, I can’t help but shiver. I wonder what that means. My hair never really affects anything except my personality. Like, two months ago, I woke up with hot pink hair and basically fell in love with every girl I saw. Before that, almost a year ago, when my hair had turned this really deep grey, I was a full-blown teacher's pet. One time it was white and I was so introverted that all my friends thought I’d died.
Anyway, you get the idea, so it doesn’t make sense that I feel so cold in June, and yet my personality doesn’t feel any different. Maybe the new trait is scepticism? Or Paranoia? Maybe a form of extreme idiocy? Honestly, who knows, I’ll just have to figure it out, I think, as I step onto the bus.
…
Okay, breathe. Deep breaths, this is fine, everything is just fine! All I have to do is remember how to breathe.
I’m curled on the floor, in a corner of my science class, and I can’t think straight. I think I blacked out for a while, and I’m pretty sure I’m crying. My cheeks are wet, and my breaths are coming in short gasps. Side effect of anxiety.
I’m trying to survey the mess I made, but my vision is too blurry. But I saw enough before. Everything is frozen. The people, the walls, the floor, everything.
Another wave of panic washes over me, and I’m once again struggling to breathe. God, I wish I’d thought to bring my meds. I really wish I’d had that foresight.
And then I’m curling into myself again, knowing I'm going to blackout from lack of oxygen when a pair of hands jostle my shoulders and suddenly my feet are off the ground and someone is carrying me away away away.
And all I can think, in that moment, is stupid, stupid hair that got me into this mess. I’m probably going to be arrested. What if everyone in this room is dead. What if everyone in the school is dead. I start to shake, and the person holding me puts me down, slaps my face a few times, whispers repeatedly, urgently,
“Aaron, Aaron, listen to me, can you hear me? It’s fine, it’s not your fault, everything’s going to be okay.” I know that voice, I swear I do, but I can't figure out who it belongs to, and my eyes are squeezed shut and they refuse to open. I hear a sound like a pillbox being shaken, and then suddenly there’s something in my mouth and the person is pressing a bottle to my lips and asking me to drink, drink Aaron, please swallow this.
And I do, and my eyes open, and kneeling in front of me is Cora, looking more concerned than I’ve ever seen her.
“Wh—What are you doing here?” I hiccup. I can feel the panic attack fading slowly, although my heart is still racing, and I thank the universe for anxiety medication.
“I… have a lot of explaining to do,” She sighs, glancing down the hall. “But this isn't a good place. Come on, we have to go.”
I shake my head, trying to find words to explain that I can’t go, I have to fix my mess, and she seems to understand before I can even open my mouth.
“Someone’s on their way, they’ll fix this, but you’re unstable in this state and I need to get you to base.”
She doesn’t let me argue or ask questions, instead leading me straight out of the school and into her car. I’m too dazed to realize what’s happening, so she buckles my seat belt for me. And then she drives for an untold amount of time. Maybe 5 minutes, maybe a day, heck, maybe she drove for a whole month and my hair has changed again, but I can’t tell.
Eventually, we reach downtown and she leads me into the basement of a rather unimpressive brick building, and there, lounging on chaises and couches, eating their lunch, is a group of impressive teenagers with a rainbow of hair colours.
And when they see us, they freeze and they push someone foreword, who kneels in front of me and smiles, and says,
“Hello, Aaron, I hear you’re body has settled!” He turns to the crowd, then. “Everyone, welcome our newest addition: Aaron, the ice elemental!”
Then I promptly pass out.
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