prove you're not a robot
New girl.
She's the new girl.
(Her shoes polished, hair brushed, teeth cleaned -
A stiff uniform and her heart in her mouth, stomach in her throat.)
She stands in front of a mirror and wishes she was someone else.
New girl.
Tying a ribbon around her hair, the thought of no one knowing her name never seemed so terrifying.
.
.
.
The letter came in the mail on a Tuesday in late January - a signed white envelope with official labels, shiny and Special.
You've been accepted to attend Vocaloid College of Music Arts in Tokyo, it said, from March 2017.
Her parents smiled with pride and her uncle pat her shoulder. Her best friend couldn't look her in the eye, glued to the screen of her phone, texting someone she loved more.
It was like a dream come true.
But also a nightmare in itself.
And it sunk in her chest like heavyweight. The further she flew from Okinawa, reality bit at her toes.
Watching her breath fog the window, the thought of no one knowing her name never seemed so terrifying.
.
.
.
Her aunt lives in Yokohama, a two hour commute to-and-from. It's far, but it's something, she tells herself.
The early spring air hits her cheeks as she walks through shiny gates.
A famous conductor is erected in the courtyard.
People turn to stare.
A stranger.
Her uniform feels wrong. Her skirt scratches at her knees and she feels out of place.
New girl.
New girl.
Her eyelids flutter, someone's saying that.
"Hey. new girl," he says. A boy, tall, blue hair and blue eyes. He stares at her as she flounders, but doesn't walk to meet her.
Her voice sticks to her teeth and her lips pin themselves shut. She offers a smile. He doesn't take it.
"I have to show you to the office to get you signed in. I'm Kaito, your class president."
Kaito walks away and she follows, nothing but a fish out of water.
.
.
.
Is she really good enough to be here?
Her, and her scrawny hands that struggle to reach the octave - her, and her nasally voice the choir teacher criticised once in fifth grade - her, and her lack of charisma, her wobbly knees, her shapeless body, her average looks.
They all stare, here.
Maybe she doesn't look the part, or something. Maybe she doesn't look cut to be a famous musician.
Kaito's staring at her.
"Did you say something?" he asks.
"I did?" she asks back.
He keeps staring at her, but his mouth closes.
.
.
.
Her homeroom teacher is strict and stoic, like her father. He pushes wiry glasses up the bridge of his nose, narrows his eyes at her.
"So, you're the transfer student."
"Y - yes."
"We rarely get transfer students in the higher grades, here. Mainly due to competition - spots rarely open up."
I know, she comments in her mind.
Kaito has disappeared, somewhere.
"I hear you have exceptional talents," the teacher says. He offers a grim smile. "I hope I can see them live."
She bows. "Yes. Thank you."
The first bell chimes, much too average for such a prestigious school.
.
.
.
Like how every horror story begins, she has to stand in front of the class and say her name.
Someone laughs.
She can't see who.
Kaito sits in the middle of the front row, looking bored. Next to him is a girl with pink hair, her gaze very sharp.
On the other side as another girl with green hair, smiling.
She tries to smile back.
The teacher shifts in his chair. "Would you like to tell us about yourself?"
"Oh - um." A pause. "I play piano, and a bit of violin and guitar. I sing as well, sometimes…"
She trails off as a boy shuffles into the class from the back door. He's scowling about something, headphones in his ears, but when he looks up at her, his scowl seems to intensify.
"Len Kagamine! Late on your first day! What's your excuse?"
While the boy slumps into his seat, he rolls his eyes and pops out his earphones.
"You'll have to stay back 15 minutes to make up for wasting my -"
She gets the feeling she should take a seat.
So she shrinks away from the front of the class, away from the prying eyes, and sits downs in her allocated seat - directly in front of that boy.
Len.
Or something.
.
.
.
"Oi, new girl," someone says.
She lifts her head, seeming to have already adapted to her newfound, yet unwanted nickname.
Her classmates snicker, crowding around.
"Do you know?"
Her lips turn down in confusion.
"Know what?"
They laugh again, nudging each other.
"You're sitting in her seat."
A girl speaks - this time, she notices it's the pink-haired girl from before. She reaches up to adjust her headband, then sets a perfectly-manicured hand down onto a desk.
"You're sitting in her seat, but you'll never be her. You'll never replace her."
She feels her smile falter.
"Her? Who?"
Before the girl can answer, another voice cuts in from behind.
"Luka. Fuck off."
She turns her head back to stare at the boy, Len.
He doesn't meet her eyes. But he takes extra care to meet everyone else's.
"Miku doesn't exist anymore. So get over it."
Luka gasps, offended. "You get over it, Len."
The pair glare at each other. The rest of the class is already bored, dispersing to eat their lunches.
Eventually, Luka growls and leaves.
Len still doesn't look at her, but she feels inclined to say something - anything.
"Thank you."
He places an earphone into his ear, and with no hesitation, says, "Don't talk to me."
.
.
.
"Miku was the prettiest and the most popular girl in school," the green-haired girl rambles, leaning against the desk. "She'd released like, four singles and only just signed a contract with that really well-known record label, Crypton."
She slides her textbooks into her bag, zipping it shut. The green-haired girl introduced herself formerly as Gumi, appearing at her side after homeroom finished to spurt some random information.
She must've been looking confused all day, or something.
"But what happened to her?"
Gumi feigns surprise, as if she didn't already know.
"She, like, died."
"Oh."
She looks down at her desk. Miku's desk. The dead girl's desk.
"That's like, the only way we get spaces, I guess."
Gumi watches her.
"Hey. What's your name again?"
You mean, you've been talking to me this whole time and you have no idea what my name is?
She doesn't say that aloud, though.
"It's Rin."
Her name is written on her indoor shoes and all over her stationery for everyone to see, but it seems no one has eyes. Or are just choosing to ignore her name, in favour of 'New Girl'.
"Oh, right. It's nice to meet you, Rin." Gumi offers a smile. "I'm sure everyone will warm up to you soon."
She thinks back to Len and Luka.
"I don't know. I hope so."
just an experiment (that I may delete but we'll Never Know until that happens) 8,)