Page 7 of Sincerely, Butterfly

I fucking hate them all. They know it, and the feeling is mutual. They can’t stand me either.

The fact that I don’t care about vanity is what makes me stand out. I don’t care about how much money my father makes, and I don't care about making connections with the ‘right’ families. I couldn’t care less about playing nice with assholes just to gain money or power, which makes me a freak in their eyes.

Add in the fact that my dad is a mortician, and I’ve pretty much been labeled the blonde Wednesday Addams.And they say it like it’s an insult.I admire that girl. I aspire to be just like her. My weirdness and my dad’s protection make us a creepy pair that most try to avoid.

“Edgar Allan Poe?” one of the girls I’ve envisioned stabbing in the throat scoffs. “Of course, you wouldrather discuss him.”

I know better than to play into her bullshit, but I still turn around in my seat and ask the question.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

She curves her bright pink lips into a nasty smirk. “Because he was a freak. An emo madman. Didn’t he die by going insane and talked to birds or some shit? Like a crow, or a pigeon, or something?”

I stare at her, blinking slowly. “I think it would be best if you just don’t speak. Your silence is the only asset you have left,” I say, giving her the tiniest of smirks. The satisfaction of watching her face turn as red as a tomato with anger filters into my heart, giving me a warm, fuzzy feeling. “First, it was a raven. Secondly, it’s gothic, not emo. Neither of which I am. And thirdly, his death is enveloped in many conspiracies. Which is something you’d know if we studied him in class.” I turn in my seat again, directing the last sentence to Mr. Robinson. “Maybe an idea for next year.” Not that it would matter. I’m graduating in a few weeks and will be free of this place. Unfortunately, I’ll be attending the same university as most of the people in this room. Thankfully, the campus is big enough for me to avoid them all like the fucking plague.

“I will not be taking that into consideration, thank you. Now, how about you focus on the class and stop daydreaming, Miss Edwards?” Mr. Robinson tuts.

The girls behind me start giggling like his response is the funniest thing in the world. This time, I do roll my eyes.

It’s okay. This is the only bit of joy they will have in their lives. Give it a few years, and they will be shackled in a loveless marriage where their husbands will have a side chick—hopefully behind their back—while they’re forced to be a trophy wife, only brought out when needed.

I don’t worry too much over them because they will have all the money they could need to buy their fake tans, a fuck ton of clothes that they will never wear, and all the makeup they can dream of.

Makeup doesn’t cover up someone's ugly personality, though. Not saying I’m some kind of gem. I’m proudly an introvert. I hate people for the most part, and prefer to spend my time at home with my butterflies, my pet raven, Skittles, and any other little critterI come across.

Class continues, but I tune Mr. Robinson out, mostly because I can’t stand the sound of his voice, and because I’ve already learned this crap before. I only need to attend class, and I’ll get an A. Just like I’ve been getting all year. Instead of following Mr. Robinson’s advice, I get lost in another daydream about all the wonderful ways I could end his life.

When class ends, I’m one of the first ones out of my chair, bag already packed and beelining for the door. My hand just grasps the doorknob when he calls my name.

“Nola, I’d like to speak to you after class,” Mr. Robinson calls out. The whispering starts up again, and my body tenses. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, ready to just walk out anyway, when the other students shove me out of the way and further into the classroom once again. Now, I can’t even pretend that I didn’t hear him.Fucking assholes. All of them. Nothing but wastes of space on this earth.

I shoot a displeased look in Mr. Robinson’s direction, irritated by this whole situation. As soon as the last student is gone, my eyes narrow into slits. “There’s no reason for you to speak to me alone.” Not unless he wants a matching scar on the other thigh. I wonder how many stitches he will need this time? Maybe he would do us both a favor and bleed out.

His nostrils flare as he steps toward me, but I don’t move. I’m not afraid of him. I do, however, slip my hand into my jeans pocket and wrap it tightly around my switchblade.

“Listen here, you little bitch,” he snarls. “You should count yourself lucky after the stunt you pulled last week.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” I huff out a laugh in disbelief. “You’re the one who came onto me. Have you ever looked up the meaning of the word ‘no’ in the English dictionary? Let me refresh your brain. The definition is ‘answering a request or a question in the negative.’ It’s the opposite of yes. Yet, you chose not to listen, and I chose to defend myself accordingly. I’m not sure if you know this, but the Second Amendment gives me the right to own a weapon for the protection of myself, my property, and my rights.”

His normally handsome face contorts into something ugly. He’s pissed.Poor baby. I guess I buried his ego.

“I didn’t do anything wrong. All I wanted to do was talk to youabout the class assignment. You’re the one who went all fucking psycho and stabbed me,” he grits out.

“Really?” I glare at him. “Was that before or after you ran your hand up my arm and leaned in to whisper that you’d be more than happy to offer me private lessons? Or was it after when you tried to fucking kiss me?”

“I was just trying to be a good teacher!” he raises his voice, taking another step toward me.

I’m not liking how he’s slowly creeping his way forward. The door is closed, but it’s not locked. I can open the door and run if needed.

Or… you can do what you really want to do and see if the blade glides as smoothly across his neck as it did going into the meat of his thigh.

“Didn’t know that in order to learn, I’d have to be sitting on your dick. I’m a straight-A student. Don’t come at me with this bullshit, I don’t need any extra help.”

“You like to think you have us all fooled.” The amusement in his voice makes my grip on the handle of the switchblade tighten. “You hide in the shadows with your baggy sweater, using it like a shield, shutting yourself off from the world, quiet as a mouse. When really, you just want to be seen. Don’t act like you didn’t like the attention.”

I’m sorry, what? What the fuck is this guy going on about? Is he for real? I swear I’m losing fucking brain cells the longer I stand here and talk to him.

I hold up a hand, not willing to give this fucking creep another moment of my time. “I’m gonna stop you right there before you give me the‘You were asking for it’speech.”