The Weight of Popularity

The familiar scent of freshly waxed floors and chalkboards enveloped us as we walked into our first class. The sound of students chatting and teachers setting up their lectures created a sense of normalcy, but I couldn't shake off the anxiety lingering from our encounter with the popular girls. Hange seemed to sense my unease and tightened his grip on my hand. As we made our way to our seats, I couldn't help but notice the curious glances from our classmates. Some of them stared openly, their eyes scanning me from head to toe, while others whispered to each other, their faces filled with a mixture of fascination and fear. I felt like a sideshow attraction, a freak on display for everyone to gawk at. Hange's hand on my shoulder was a comforting presence, but it didn't completely dispel the feeling of being an outcast. Our teacher, Mrs. Tanaka, greeted us warmly and began to take roll call. As she called out my name, I felt a surge of embarrassment and anxiety, my heart racing in anticipation of the cruel comments that often followed. But to my surprise, Mrs. Tanaka's voice was kind and matter-of-fact, without any hint of pity or condescension. Hange leaned in close, his breath whispering against my ear. "You're doing great, baby," he whispered. "Just breathe and focus on the lesson." I nodded, taking a deep breath as I tried to calm my racing thoughts. But just as I was starting to relax, I heard a faint rustling sound coming from the back of the classroom. It was a piece of paper being passed from one student to another, and as it made its way to my row, I caught a glimpse of a crude drawing of me, scrawled in messy handwriting. The drawing depicted me with exaggerated features, my eyes and mouth distorted into a grotesque grimace. I felt a wave of shame and humiliation wash over me, my face burning with embarrassment. Hange's grip on my hand tightened, and he leaned in close, his voice low and menacing. "Who did that?" he growled, his eyes scanning the classroom with a fierce intensity. The student who had drawn the picture, a boy with a messy mop of hair, looked up from his phone, his eyes wide with fear. "I-I didn't mean to offend anyone," he stuttered. Hange's expression was unreadable, but his voice was laced with a warning. "You'd better apologize," he said, his eyes never leaving the boy's face. The boy nodded hastily, his face pale with fear. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. I felt a pang of sympathy for the boy, who looked like he was about to collapse under the weight of Hange's gaze. But Hange's expression softened slightly as he turned to me. "Are you okay, baby?" he asked, his voice gentle. I nodded, still feeling a little shaken but grateful for Hange's protection. As the class continued, I tried to focus on the lesson, but I couldn't shake off the feeling that I was being watched, that the popular girls were waiting for their chance to strike. The sound of the classroom door opening and closing, the rustling of papers, and the murmur of students' conversations created a sense of chaos, but Hange's presence was a steady anchor, keeping me grounded. I glanced at him, and he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. In that moment, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. With Hange by my side, I knew I could face anything, no matter how daunting. But as the class drew to a close, I couldn't help but wonder what other challenges lay ahead, and whether I was ready to face them. As we gathered our belongings and prepared to leave, I caught a glimpse of the popular girls watching us from across the room, their faces twisted into cruel smiles. I felt a shiver run down my spine, but Hange's hand on my shoulder was a reassuring presence, a reminder that I wasn't alone.