She kneels down by the wall. Her grey skirt spread out on the floor, and people have to be careful not to step on it. Her curly hair is down on her back; it has a fair colour, as pure as the water lilies in the pond outside; the colour is complimented by her navy alice band, and the sparkly dots on it shine like the diamonds on a tiara.

.oOo.

I sit next to her in Biology. To the left of me is Jess, my best friend; and to the right is her, Marianne. The fallen princess – what more could I say?

I can’t determine Marianne’s popularity. It’s true that everyone in her group adores her. If you look down from the balcony of the Science department, and see a group of people following one single girl, that’s Marianne.

.oOo.

Her file obviously fell onto the floor, and now it lies beside her, broken and wide open. On the inside cover are lyrics, scribbled down with purple and pink gel pens.

Lithium, don't want to lock me up inside.
Lithium, don't want to forget how it feels without...
Lithium, I want to stay in love with my sorrow.
Oh, but God, I want to let it go.

.oOo.

At the beginning of the year when everyone dashed out to choose their seats, I very naturally chose to sit with Jess. Marianne cat-walked over to me, her high heals hitting the floor rhythmically; “Does anyone sit here?” She asked. I said no, and so she sat down.

I did not understand why she would choose to sit next to me; we were by no means close friends. But come to think about it, no-one in the Biology class was close to her, so maybe she just chose me randomly, as she would anybody.

Jess and I talk non-stop, yet I think our Biology teacher is more annoyed with Marianne than with us.

“Marianne, where are your notes?” “Dunno.” “Where’s your file?” “Don’t have one.” “Why not?” “’Cause I’m special.”

“Marianne, are you chewing?” “Damn.” Stands up, cat-walks over to the bin, gets rid of the chewing gum and cat-walks back. “Excuse me?” “Yeah I was chewing, get over it.”

.oOo.

Her notes from Biology, Chemistry, Physics, Spanish, Latin, Geography, RS and… basically everything else, are now all over the place. Her file dividers read “sciences”, “languages” and “shit”. She picks them all up in a random order, and attempts to file them away. Then she realises that she can’t, because the file’s broken, it would not close.

.oOo.

For a while she wanted to move schools, “I don’t like the foundation of this school. I’m moving to the Convent.” No-one bothered to ask why someone like her would prefer a Catholic school than an Anglican one – she didn’t. It was only her excuse to get away from here. But about a week later when I asked when she was leaving, she said, “I’m not leaving anymore. I’d hate it anyway. I hate every school.”

She was forced to “get organised”, so she bought a single file and put everything in it. Trust me I’d tried that before, the file would only break. But I didn’t tell her so. Because in her own words: she wouldn’t give a damn.

.oOo.

And, as you can see now, she doesn’t. She decides to put all the bits and pieces in a pile and carry that pile of paper around school. Her face looks completely blank: not a smile, nor a frown. She slowly stands up, holding an empty file and a bunch of stuff that doesn’t mean anything to her. It’s a struggle, considering how she has her Prada bag in her hand too. She’s not beautiful, but she would be quite fashionable, if she wasn’t made to wear this dumb uniform, or to go to school at all.

.oOo.

Although we have each other’s MSN, we never talk online. There’s always this awkward silence between Marianne and I – for instance, in class. She looks largely unhappy in Biology, and sometimes I’m worried that it’s because of me. But for most of the time, I don’t quite recall her existence and turn away from her, talking to Jess.

I know in this lesson, and a lot of other lessons, she’s alone; she’s away from her friends. Sometimes she talks to herself. I would turn around and stare at her, and she would shrug her shoulders and say, “Yes, I’m talking to myself.” And occasionally, “Yes, now I’m singing.”

I wonder what I can do to or about her. I can’t feel sorry for her, because she’s a princess. But that just makes my sympathy even worse, because she’s fallen.

.oOo.

How can I pretend that I don't see
What you hide so carelessly?
I saw her bleed
You heard me breathe
And I froze inside myself
And turned away
I must be dreaming

We all live
We all die
That does not begin to justify you