3. Undettered

We entered the class, and Rae took it upon herself to sit in the very back of the classroom, glancing at me expectantly as if she wanted me to follow her. With a quick sigh, I did, seating myself a little too fluidly next to her for it to be distinctly human. I'd worked on this for nearly two centuries, and Rae had the power to destroy my work. 

She shifted easily so that she was sitting cross-legged. It was then that I realized that she wasn't 5'5", but only about 5'2". I snickered internally, also realizing that she wasn't wearing flats, but three inch wedge heels that looked like flats from the front, the way I'd seen her before. She was tiny, her skin translucent, her entire being simply adorable. 

She took out a blue pen and began to doodle small loops on the back of her right hand. I watched from my peripheral vision, taking note that she was left-handed. 

Say something, I thought without thinking about it, say something, Rae.

When I thought this, her arm shook just a little, making the loops slightly out of balance, but I doubted she noticed it. I wondered if she was epileptic, her twitches seems vaguely alike to other epileptics I had met previously. Flora was epileptic, she had twitches too. 

I wondered so much about her in the expanse of a few seconds. Her silence was mortifying to me. I was about to look away until her chocolate brown eyes suddenly glanced up at me. 

"Why were you driving this morning?" She asked nonchalantly, but with a tight undertone to her small voice, still doodling.

This question took me aback. I was supposed to be fourteen. She'd caught two of my little slips- driving and brawn. 

I shrugged, "I'm a trustworthy kid, my parents allow Flora and I to drive ourselves to school."

She nodded, not prying. 

"How'd you get here?" I asked, then immediately regretted trying to inquire such an insignificant fact; it wasn't human at all to be so undeniably curious about the smallest of facts

She looked up at me, eyes curious, and replied, "Walked," stating the word more like a question than an answer. 

I nodded, looking away and towards the door where various students filed in. In my peripheral vision, I saw her gaze falter and she awkwardly went back to doodling on her hand.

"Your sister seems nice enough," she muttered.

My eyes snapped back to her, "How do you figure?"

She shrugged, "I dropped my book and she picked it up for me."

I nodded. Classically Flora, pushing the boundaries immediately on our arrival to the new school with mortals, "She's nice."

"I adore her hair. Have you never dyed yours?" She asked, absent yet genuine curiosity waving in her voice. 

I deliberated that for a moment, then was surprised when I realized that I hadn't. Flora, however, had mutilated her natural blonde hair with every color she could think of. 

I shook my head, "No, Flora sort of trademarked the dying hair thing in our family."

She nodded, "What middle school did you go to before this year?"

Quite honestly, I'd hadn't been to school ever. My mother home schooled Flora and I up until this year. My knowledge was superior to the teachers here, because I technically had a PhD in nearly every subject available online, but as far as the government knew, it was my father who was taking the courses. Being 114 years old and physically aging about one year for every eight years,  I had plenty of spare time, but I'd decided to go to high school for the fun of it.  I thought of a random school, "Rudolph Heights, Albuquerque, New Mexico."

She seemed bewildered. She cocked her head to the side and furrowed her brow, but didn't make eye contact, "Why'd you move all the way out here to Georgia?"

I sighed, "My parents like to move. Explore new places. So does Flora, but I sometimes wish that I could set down some roots," I ambled around mentally for a moment, looking for a way to take the attention off of me, "Where have you lived?"

She set her pen down, and looked blankly forward, "I was born in Venice, Italy, then moved to Sicily when I was six months old. We moved to Moscow after that, then to Tokyo, then Quebec, then to Colombia, then Puerto Rico, then to Nigeria, then Seattle, then back to Sicily after my great-grandfather died-"

I interrupted her, "My condolences,"

"Grazie," she replied, thanking me in Italian. 

"You're welcome."

She looked at me, "You speak Italian?"

I nodded, "Bits and pieces," I lied. I'd lived in Italy for about thirty years once. I was fluent in dozens of languages, including ancient ones.

She shrugged, "I don't remember my great-grandfather anyways, I was only six at the time of his passing."

I was amazed, "You lived in all those places in only 6 years?"

She nodded, "My family has something against living in one place for more than a few months," She paused for a moment, thinking, then started again, "From Sicily, we moved to Mongolia, then to Palm Springs, California, then to Austrailia, to Quebec again because my father needed to learn a little more French so we could move to Paris the following summer, then from Paris to Ireland, then to Greenland, back to Moscow for a job offer for my mom, then to Florida, and back to Sicily again for my great-grandmothers death, then to Beijing," She paused, "At the time we moved to Beijing, I was ten," she sighed. 

I was utterly stunned; and Flora had the nerve to complain about our constant moving. 

"We lived in Ontario, Canada, then back to California, then to Syndey, Australia, then to Mexico City, and then my dad died." She spoke quickly, then tried to move on, "Then to New York, then to Ireland again, then back to Sicily because my mother wanted to behome," She sighed again. 

"I'm sorry about your father."

"Thanks, but..." Her eyes tightened, staring at the linoleum floor, "He was an abusive alcoholic. I don't miss him," she grinned, "I was sadistically happy when he got colon cancer."

I nodded, "I suppose your happiness is valid, if he was such an a*s."

She paused, "He wasn't an a*s. He just made some bad decisions, but at least he stuck around," She shrugged, "I owe him everything and nothing and I'm still trying to figure out how that's possible."

"I see," I replied sympathetically, "And you live with your mother now?"

She shook her head, "My mother still lives in Sicily with my two sisters and grandmother. I moved here last year to be with my twenty-four-year-old brother Andy. He was smart enough to take off from our family when he was emancipated at fifteen."

"How did the court decide his home life was unfitting?" I asked, engrossed in the story.

"Constant moving, mother with a history of alcoholism, and an abusive dad; what do you think?" She said sarcastically, "So he came here to live with my aunt Theresa until she moved when he was eighteen, giving him the house. I played my cards right with my mom so that she let me come here with him. She didn't put up much of a fight, so one month later I'm on Andy's doorstep with everything I ever owned in the backseat of a taxi. Enrolled in a middle school, finished eighth grade, somehow endured the summer with my brother's constant partying, and so here I am- a freshman on her first day telling her entire life story to a kid that drives illegally," she laughed, "But that's my life."

I knew exactly how she felt. I sighed. I was about to pat her back sympathetically, when she went to brush some hair out of her face, revealing almost a hundred tiny scars and burn marks on her right arm. It took me a moment to realize that due to their straightness, they were self-inflicted. She then reached the other arm back to redo her ponytail, revealing a few more scars on left arm that I didn't notice.

She wasn't left handed. She was embarrassed of her scars, that's why she kept her right arm face down on the table while she doodled.

I suddenly felt a protection over her. I didn't want her to be a masochist anymore. When she noticed me staring, she gulped and looked down. 

"Um," she sputtered, "Uh, s-sorry you had to see those," she clutched her arms to her abdomen. 

I shook my head, unblinking, "You have nothing to be sorry for, Rae."