Thirst by Ilia Bera Page B

her. She never “plotted” and she never thought about “hurting” anyone. She just wanted to be normal. She just wanted to be left alone. Was that too much to ask?
     
    Her father, because of his overwhelming social anxiety, never came to pick Hanna up from school. It was the middle of winter, and far too cold for a little girl to walk home by herself. The school’s principal ended up giving her a ride home.
     
    In the car, the principal awkwardly tried to start some small talk with the emotionally beaten up girl.
     
    “What do you like to do, Hanna?” the principal asked.
     
    Hanna stared silently out the window, watching the falling snow flutter past the window.
     
    “Hanna?” the principal prodded.
     
    Hanna remained silent.
     
    “There must be something you enjoy—Do you play any sports?”
     
    Without turning to look at the principal, Hanna nodded her head ‘no’.
     
    “What about coloring? Do you like to color?”
     
    Again, Hanna nodded ‘no’.
     
    The principal sighed. “What’s your favorite subject in school?” he asked.
     
    Hanna was silent once again, still trying to contain her tears from her teacher’s sour words.
     
    “Do you like gym class?”
     
    Hanna nodded ‘no’.
     
    “Art class?”
     
    No.
     
    “Science?”
     
    No.
     
    “Do you like any class?”
     
    Hanna was silent.
     
    “What does your mom do for a living?”
     
    Hanna shrugged.
     
    The principal was starting to see why Hanna was such an outcast.
     
    “She doesn’t tell you?”
     
    “She’s dead,” Hanna said firmly.
     
    The principal went silent. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.”
     
    “It’s okay. Neither do I,” Hanna said, before returning to her silence for the remainder of the ride.
     
    As they pulled up to Hanna’s house, the principal noticed a man standing on Hanna’s doorstep. He had a can of spray paint in his hand, and was finishing up a large, red “MURDERER.”
     
    The principal rolled down his window and leaned out. “Hey! Stop that!”
     
    The man turned around and swiftly began to run away, dropping his can on the patio.
     
    “I’ll go let the police know what happened,” the principal said.
     
    “Don’t bother,” Hanna said. “Everyone does it.”
     
    The principal stared at Hanna—beginning to understand why she was the way she was. He looked back out at the house. The tree and the house’s rooftop were covered in toilet paper. Windows were broken from thrown stones and there was spray-painted slander everywhere—on just about every square foot of the home.
     
    “Christ,” the principal muttered, “I’m sorry you have to deal with this, Hanna. No kid should have to deal with this kind of thing...”
     
    Hanna silently sat in the passenger seat.
     
    “I’m going to see what I can do about this. Maybe I could meet with your father to try and come up with a solution.”
     
    “He won’t meet with you.”
     
    “Why not?”
     
    Hanna shrugged. She legitimately did not know why. Francis hated talking to teachers—he hated talking to anyone.
     
    The principal sighed. “You’d better get inside. Your dad is probably worried about you.”
     
    There was a cold silence as the winter breeze died down.
     
    “Can I walk you to your door?” the principal asked timidly.
     
    Hanna nodded ‘no’.
     
    There was another silence.
     
    “Why do people hate me?” Hanna asked.
     
    “No one hates you,” the principal lied, trying to console the vulnerable girl.
     
    “Yes they do. You know they do. That’s why you’re treating me like this.”
     
    The principal was silent. “Sometimes people don’t like what they have a hard time understanding. It’s not that people don’t like you—it’s that they don’t understand you.”
     
    “Why?”
     
    “I wish I could say, Hanna. Have you tried asking them?”
     
    “Yes. They just laugh at me.”
     
    “Kids can be cruel. Which kids laugh at you? Maybe I can talk to their