SWEET CHAOS

CHAPTER 4: DAY 2

Today I woke up and, as always, the world seemed like a professional photoshoot staged just for me. However, for the first time in my life, I felt truly "overwhelmed." All the maids watched me with that familiar mixture of adoration and desire while I brushed my teeth with geometric precision. I dressed, I combed my hair, and every fiber of my clothing screamed "perfection." Yet, inside, a storm was brewing. I didn't linger to show off like I did on previous days; I didn't stay behind to bask in the gaze of the staff. I simply felt disappointed.

The images from yesterday repeated in my head like a horror movie: the glances that ignored me, the coldness of the teacher, the void of being just another face in the crowd. Since dawn, I felt my ego weighing a ton; I felt as if my perfection was worth nothing in the real world.

I went down to breakfast and, while chewing with forced elegance, I couldn't stop writing frantically in a small notebook.

—"What are you doing, Alex?" —my mother asked, observing me with genuine curiosity.

—"A plan," —I replied without looking at her, my fingers tightening around the pen—. "A plan so that everyone in that cursed place recognizes me. They can't keep ignoring me. Not me..."

My mother put down her coffee cup and looked at me with a strange, almost mocking smile.

—"Why so much effort? Wouldn't you rather go play with the maids for a while or just stare at yourself in the mirror for a couple of hours? That’s what the Alex I know does. Or you could just give another presentation on how 'perfect' you are."

—"I don't need that for now," —I replied sharply and sarcastically—. "Looking in the mirror... I don't think I need it today. Now I just want to write down how I can make them pay attention to me..."

I saw out of the corner of my eye how my mother turned away to hide her face. «Finally...», she thought with genuine joy, «finally he is changing. He is no longer obsessively striving to look perfect for me or for the women he drives crazy».

I walked to school without paying attention to the luxuries of the street or the compliments of the people passing by. I was overwhelmed, writing in my notebook as I walked.

—"No, this won't work... it's too weird," —I muttered, crossing out a line—. "But this... aha! Yes, this could work... this has a lot of potential." I was talking to myself like a mad scientist trying to solve an impossible equation.

In class, the world ceased to exist. The teacher spoke about formulas and variables, but I only had eyes for the window. Down there, in the courtyard, she was there. The red-haired girl in physical education class. Watching her run, I remembered her gaze from yesterday—the way she called me "cheap." Hate and fascination mixed in my chest like a volatile chemical.

Recess arrived. I sat with the boy with the glasses, the only one who seemed to notice my existence, even if it was out of pity.

—"You've only been here a day and you already look like you've aged ten years... believe me, it gets better once you get used to it," —he said, cleaning his lenses.

—"Shut up," —I told him, feeling overwhelmed, slamming my notebook shut.

The next hour was Chemistry. The teacher announced that another class would join ours for a special experiment. The door opened and my heart skipped a beat. It was her. The red-haired girl.

—"I have requested a class change," —she said with a flat, arrogant voice—. "There was an... incident in my previous section. They seemed to 'not understand me,'" —she whispered.

The teacher nodded and announced that we should form groups of two for the experiment. The silence was sepulchral. No one wanted to pair up with her because of her aura of being unreachable, and no one wanted to pair up with me because... well, I was still just "someone else" to them.

—"Good luck," —the boy with the glasses whispered, quickly getting up from the seat next to mine.

—"Why?" —I asked, but he was already gone, fleeing like a cartoon character who knows something explosive is about to happen.

I was left alone, looking at him with rage and cursing him internally. Then, she walked toward my table.

—"Can I group with you?" —she asked.

I had no other choice. We started working in silence, but the tension was unbearable and boring. My mind was a mess because of yesterday's failure. For the first time in my life, I couldn't maintain my character.

—"I'm Alex," —I said in a low voice, looking at the tube and the flask on the laboratory desk. It wasn't a real presentation; there was no arrogance, no mention of my last name. It was a presentation... normal and somewhat dull.

Immediately, my mind panicked. «IT CAN'T BE! How did I present myself like that? She’s going to think I’m mediocre! My perfection! I just ruined it!». I punished myself internally, feeling that I had failed my own reputation.

She froze, staring at me. «It can't be...», she thought, surprised, «he is... normal? There is no trace of arrogance or 'perfectionism'». We stayed there staring at each other, losing track of time, but with completely different thoughts.

—"If you're going to be staring at each other all day, that’s what dates or jails are for," —the teacher snapped in a raspy voice.

The whole class erupted in boos and laughter while I slowly lowered my head, resting my cheek on the desk. Again... I felt my face burning with embarrassment. The rest of the class was a blur of mistakes; they only said things to draw attention from others. Two hours later, at the dismissal bell, I walked fast with the boy with glasses just to avoid looking like a lonely loser.

Here I am again... I continued writing in my book: "Error 402: Failed presentation. Lack of impact and perfectionism. How to be perfect again?". I looked at the ground with deep disappointment in myself.

—"What are you doing now?" —the one with glasses asked, peeking over.

—"Noting my normal errors and what I need to change, but 100%," —I replied bitterly, without realizing what I was saying or what I was writing.

—"Wow, such perfectionism that you even have to... 'improve' yourself?" —he said in a sarcastic voice while I looked at him with contempt, continuing to write.

We kept walking back home, not noticing that, a few steps behind, the red-haired girl followed us in silence. Her eyes widened as she heard my words.

—"Did he say... he's normal?" —she whispered to herself, with an unreadable expression, wanting to discover something hidden beneath the surface.