She is a young girl, not older than 10 years old. She has a petite frame, that of a child even younger than she, allowing for a steady stream of questions regarding her age. It makes her rather upset, being questioned, because she knows her age. However, she chooses to remain silent. The adults, she knows, would not be happy with her backtalk. She will be a proper, obedient daughter for her parents; she knows the consequence of rebellion. Therefore she will not protest. She will not protest, even when her rage threatens to burst; not even when her dissatisfaction brings tears to her eyes. A young girl she is, though certainly wise beyond her years.

Presently, she is worried. She contains herself well, as expected, despite the situation she has been forced into. Her face is set into a blank mask as she walks down the new, yet somehow familiar hallway. She observes the pieces of poorly drawn art attached to the walls. I wonder, she thinks, I wonder why all school hallways look the same. Someone should tell those students that their drawings are terrible. It's unfair to lie to them.

"Sorry, Mrs. Yamanaka. I'll have to call you back. I'm taking Sakura to her class."

She hears the constant click-clack of her mother's heels on the shiny vinyl floor. The sound echoes throughout the hallway, drawing the attention of those within the classrooms. Within one room, she catches a brief glimpse of a teacher's glare. Her mother does not. She was never too fond of the sound of her mother's heels, but she cannot drown out the noise. The sound begins to reverberate throughout her body, causing a shiver to tingle her spine. Click, clack, click, clack, click, clack, like a metronome, never increasing nor decreasing in pace. From the corner of her eye, she sees something bright pink in color. Her footsteps pause as she turns to view the source. It's one of those terrible drawings. It might be a butterfly, she thinks, it's not as ugly as the others. Her mother continues walking.

"Oh, I don't know why I have to be here! Sakura can take care of herself. She doesn't need me to baby her! This isn't kindergarten, my god. Well, I-" Mrs. Haruno, noticing her daughter is no longer beside her, removes the phone from her ear and turns around.

"Sakura! What are you doing? Do you really want to be late?" Clacking her tongue, she resumes her previous position and brings the phone back to her ear. "I really do need to go now, Mrs. Yamanaka, we'll talk later- Okay, goodbye."

Sparing one last glance to the drawing, Sakura turns away. Her footsteps continue towards her mother. The click-clack of the heels only serves to fuel her worry. She worries that, as usual, she will not be able to make friends; her peers are typically not too fond of her. Rather than friendliness, she receives contempt and distaste. Her pale, pink hair and viridian eyes often bear the brunt of the insults. Her reserved nature certainly doesn't help. She is an invader, they say; they already have their friend groups, and have no need for anyone new. Someone that transfers to the school in the middle of the year will always be an outsider. Her mother stops walking. They stand before the door to her classroom.

"Let's not waste any more of my time, Sakura. Come on."

Her mother pulls the door open, and Sakura is afraid. For a split second, she feels the mask slip off her face. She cannot let her mother see. The now slightly subdued click-clack of heels startles her from her fears, and the mask is back in place. She follows her mother into the classroom, observing her surroundings. Carpeted floors. Desks. More poorly drawn art. Children her age. A woman stands from her place behind the teacher's desk.

"Oh, my! You must be Mrs. Haruno! I see, it is so wonderful to meet you!" The woman moves to her, reaching out her hand.

"Yes."

"And this must be your daughter, Sakura! Oh, goodness, what a beauty she is!" The woman smiles, hand still reaching forward.

"Yes. I can leave now, correct? I'm very busy. I had to take out time from my schedule for this."

"Oh, um, yes! Yes, I'll take care of everything from here." The woman, looking confused, drops her hand back to her side.

With a brief nod of her head, Sakura's mother exits the classroom. Sakura can hear the click-clack of her heels from the hallway. She glances around the room, meeting the questioning gazes of her new classmates. Inside, she is angry; she is angry at her mother for embarrassing her. She, too, wishes she could have come alone. Her chance of making friends is much lower now, she thinks. Her anger continues to boil under her skin, though her face is still blank. The woman smiles at her, taking her hand to guide her to the front of the room.

"This is your new classmate, Sakura Haruno. Please be kind to her! It's never easy to start over at a new school."

The woman directs her to a desk, in between a blond-haired boy and a black-haired boy. The blond-haired boy seems to be overflowing with energy, quite obviously eager to speak with his new neighbor. The black-haired boy, seemingly unimpressed, views her from the corner of his eye. She stares straight ahead. Her anger has not yet ceased, so she wills herself to calm down. Funny, she thinks, that my worry has been so easily overshadowed by my anger. She releases a breath. The blond-haired boy next to her finally bursts.

"Hi! Your name is Sakura, right? That's a really good name! Sakura, like the flower, because your hair is pink! It's really pretty too, and so are your eyes, and so are you! Heh, sorry, I guess I'm talking too much. My name is Naruto! That guy on the other side of you is Sasuke, but he doesn't talk much." He seems to speak it all on one breath. The other boy, Sasuke, still reigns disinterest.

Faking a smile, Sakura speaks. "It's nice to meet you, Naruto," she turns to face Sasuke, "and you too, Sasuke."

"Back at ya," Naruto says.

"Hn," Sasuke says.

She turns her head, once more, to face forward. Her anger is still present, but it seems to have dissipated some. A result from the words of Naruto, perhaps. Regardless, she feels like she can breathe again. As her mind clears, she thinks; the word "pretty" echoes throughout her head. Pretty, pretty, pretty. He called her pretty. He didn't make fun of her hair or her eyes. He didn't say anything mean to her. This Naruto, she thinks, could be good. He could be her friend; already, he seems to be interested in becoming her friend. The last feelings of anger leave her body entirely.

"Fairy," Sasuke says.

"Huh?" Sakura questions.

"You look like a fairy."

She smiles. Her face is no longer a mask.