A masquerade. That’s what school was like for most of us.

We all knew the rules to this little game we played, the masks we had to wear. It was ingrained into us; all the right talk, the right moves, the right attitudes. But we didn’t mind. The mask was a refuge, a sanctuary that guarded and concealed the truth from people we thought would judge us as harshly as we judged ourselves. The mask allowed the show to go on, and after all, the show had to go on.

I went down the rows of cafeteria tables, my eyes sweeping the sea of faces for my group of friends. Catching sight of them, I made my way there quickly. Every once in a while, before I reached the table, a tinge of insecurity would seep into my thoughts.

What if they don’t recognise me anymore? What if I’m no longer welcomed in?

My mind would throb with such uncertainty.

But the ranks still open to admit me, and I would take a seat among my friends. I was in. I would laugh and chatter on the outside, all the while convincing myself on the inside that the mask would provide me with all the acceptance and security I was searching for. And I believed that, because for the most part, this facade worked.

I was careful to wear the mask the group wore, afraid of what would happen if anyone should see me without it. I needed the safety the clique offered, and was determined to do all I could to hold on to it. I was too afraid to stand alone, and without the mask, I felt weak and vulnerable. Those were the rules we learnt to play by over the years. Break them and you’re out. Then you’ll end up like one of the loners – on the outside looking in.

They would sit alone, eat by themselves, or slouch behind their books, pretending to study. Only they’re not; their eyes betray glints of envy, and a longing to join in. But they couldn’t. There were unwritten rules about these things. Very often I’d be haunted by the eyes of the outcasts. My friends would brush it off and ignore them, but I couldn’t.

Yet what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t possibly just quit the group, walk off and be myself. What good would that do, anyway?

I would argue and reason with my guilt, but deep inside, I knew better.

Why do we even need these cliques to begin with? Why couldn’t we end this masquerade, and stop pretending to be the cool, carefree people that we weren’t? It was an impossible quest, searching for our identities in the eyes of others. I wondered what would happen if someone, just one person, chose to walk away and cast away that mask that served only to bind us from being the people that we really were, or chose to spend a lunch period with a loner. A lot of people would be free that day. I wondered what would happen.

My mind argued that surely I wouldn’t be up to that task. I figured there was one good way to find out. I got up from the lunch table.