The girl sitting in front of her who was chatting animatedly to her friend went home to her alcoholic dad who would hit her with no reason every night, hit her till she sank bruised and sobbing into a corner.
The guy wearing daggy clothes next to her who was being picked on by the 'cool group' went home everyday to his thirteen bedroom mansion, where we would be greeted by his personal assistant. Not his parents.
The quiet girl in the corner? She wrote and sung her own songs. She performed twice a week at the local club, without fail. Oh yeah, no one talked to her, though. Everyone thought she was kinda of a freak, sitting in her corner, alone, constantly writing in her notebook, sometimes suddenly she would start humming to herself. No one bothered to find out why. One thing was for sure, she was gifted.
That girl? She's part of the 'hip' group. Her parents are working their butts off overtime just to keep her here in an ordinary high school. She knows that in her heart. And guilt is eating her up from inside every second of every minute of every hour, everyday, but she just can't live without popularity in society. She has two jobs, her pay which is supposed to be used for their electricity bills, which she uses instead to buy every stick of her lipstick, every pot of her lipgloss, and every compact of her foundation. Little does she know tonight she's going to go home to no lights and no stove.
And that dude? The one picking on the guy with daggy clothes? He comes home to- well, he doesn't have a home. When his mother left his father, his father thought it was his fault, and kicked him out of their house. He has somehow managed his way through youth hostels and soup kitchens. He said he was homeless to anyone who asked him who had authority, he didn't want to get his dad into trouble. Because he knew no matter how much he told himself he hated his dad, he knew deep inside he still loved him even if it only was that tiny bit inside his brain.
She looked around the classroom and stared at every single person. Behind every single pair of eyes was a secret. No matter how big or small, there was one. Their personalities were like shields to them. The exact opposite to who they really were.
Like the guy sitting behind her, with the headphones on. His secret was that he had no secret. His shield was pretending he did have a secret to get people off his back. Since when did everyone stop really expressing who they truly were?
She looked around once more as the bell rang for end of class. Those smiling fake faces, the sullen, the emotionless, the boastful, the attention seeking. It was all a lie.
Thing aren't always what they seem.