She shouldn't have been real. In Solomon's understanding, he had tried to find some logistics within the entire moment. She came in and sprouted wings, spoke to an overstuffed classroom and sat down. Hyper-realistic ones, at that, and somehow, no one; whether they had saw her walk down the halls or within this classroom, bothered to take note. Other than him, obviously. And even he watched enough media, played enough video games, and read enough Japanese comic books to know that if he did point them out, everyone would laugh and he might get sent to the principal or the counselor's office.

Speaking of the counselor's office... he had a mandatory meeting with her during lunch, which meant that he had to eat fast.

He didn't know why, but he preferred to eat as slow as possible. He always got queasy with stuffing his face, and he'd get queasier at the thought of having a heart to heart with a complete stranger. The counselor was new. A miss Penelope Abdullah? Her name looked like a combination of two dissenting worldviews. Penelope was a classic, everyday, American apple pie name. It was also Greek. But over the years, the name had transformed from a character from Greek myth to one of the top baby names in the U.S. since the 1920's. But Abdullah was considered to be ‘odd'. Maybe not to Solomon, but after 9/11, the thought of meeting someone with the name ‘Khan' or ‘Abdul-Gaffar' was odd, even scary to the less informed. 2001 had only been just six years ago, so her name must've stuck out like a sore thumb. Or a shard of glass left on a white linoleum floor after his mom painstakingly tried to sweep it all away.

Either way, it wasn't her name or her race that was Solomon afraid of, it was the fact that he had to speak to her, a stranger. Solomon was already a introvert towards his family and friends, it took him forever for him to get used to the old counselor, so for him to have to make another effort to get to know someone who would only know him for 30 minutes a week a the most, made him sweat.

Although, it could've been all of the black.

The teacher writes something on the whiteboard, his hands already smudged with blue and green marker from erasing and rewriting with his thumbs. "Alright class, this is English II, and hopefully, I will be your instructor for the rest of this year." His awkward choice of words forced a chuckle from Solomon's throat. But he quickly silenced when he felt a pair of eyes bear into his back. He ignored them. The teacher eyes him for a small second before he grabs a stack of pre-stapled papers and passes them around. "The syllabus contains each assignment with a relevant date and the amount of quizzes and homework you'll have to complete in order to pass. If you're unsure about a paper, consult your syllabus. If you need to know which pages are your homework for that week, consult your syllabus. If you need my help, consult your syllabus and if your syllabus can't help you, then you can bother me."

"Any questions?"

"Yes, Thomas Whitehead-"
"That's Mr. Whitehead to you, young lady."

The class's collective eye shot up to the brightly-colored girl, her face nearly as bare as the board that stood behind Mr. Whitehead's gleaming bald spot. He gave her a heated look in return.
"Mr. Whitehead," she spoke up, "I don't see any office hours, or even an e-mail to reach you with. If you wanted to help us, why are you making yourself so hard to reach? Don't you think that's a little unfair?"

Her eye contact never breaks with Whitehead's, and he's almost taken aback by her questioning. Solomon, keeps his head down, knowing full well that all eyes were on her. Even so, he can still see part of her in his desk's reflection.

"Young lady, I-"
"That's Miss Makeda Dixon to you, old man." A chorus of ‘oohs' followed afterwards. Even Solomon had to finally look at her, then. She was still weirdly dressed, but her wings were gone. Did he imagine them? Or was this all a big prank that his family had planned for months with MTV so he'd win a million dollars for everyone? He wished.

"That's enough."
"Why?" God, you could just feel the steam rise from that man's ears once she said it. The room was hushed for a clear moment and then he spoke again, "One more word out of you and you're going to the hall. Got it?" Silence. She seemed to have gotten the point and sat back down. A small smirk reached the teacher's face and he turned back to write something else on the board.

"Word."

There's a pause, "Excuse me?"
"Word. I said a ‘word'. Now, I have to sit outside."
"Stand."
"Ok."
He grows bolder. The smirk on his face reappeared almost as fast as it dissipated, "Come here and follow me." She begins to leave her things to follow, but tells her that, "Take them with you. You'll also be listed as absent for the day. Maybe this will teach you a lesson for interrupting my class."

He wasn't sure what else what said to her, but once he turned to view out of the windows on the side of the class, Solomon would get the gist of his words soon enough. "Look outside!"
They argued. Rather, Mr. Whitehead had argued at Dixon while she continued to stare apathetically. No one could hear what was said between the two but what had transpired next gave a clear idea into what was thrust upon her. She threw her books down and stretched her arms outward so she held the shape of a ‘T'.

More words were spoken between the two. Mr. Whitehead had his back turned to leave until she said something that would make him turn a full 180. The next part would even shake up Solomon quite a bit. The teacher raised his hand, as if he were about to strike her across her face as a way to shut her up and he stayed that way for a long moment. His hand shook and he closed into a tight fist. He pointed at her legs and shouted another command which was satisfied with her lifting one leg away from the ground. She was to balance on that entire leg for the rest of period.

Everyone rushed back to their seats once they heard Whitehead approach. Solomon, in particular, decided to tuck his head down on his desk.

The door opened. No one dared to speak a word. Even the birds were quiet.

Whitehead cleared his throat. The sweat on his forehead seemed to make his head glow. It was a mesmerizing site for a minute before class had actually started. "Solomon,"

His head is still down. "Sit up. I wake up just as early as you do."

<...>
He snuck in glances. He noted how long her shadow seemed to spread upon the pavement or how still she was, even when it was past thirty minutes. To most of the class, the incident seemed to have disappeared from their minds, but Solomon could not shake her away from his mind.
As soon as the bell rings, he can see her pack up and shake her legs as if she were a newborn lamb, awkward and lanky. Her hair bounces behind her as she walks, the campus is filled with students and faculty members, and just as fast as she appeared, she blends into the crowd. His two other classes go off with a hitch without the strange girl's presence, but he did see her again.

Lunch had always been his favorite subject. While the food was awful, it was a time for him to clear his thoughts at the library or talk with his friends. And while he did experience a form of bullying at times in the cafeteria, most people were wise enough to sit with friends or talk amongst themselves. He got a tray of something light; chicken nuggets, one square of lime-green jello, and some limp looking mixture of broccoli and cauliflower, complete with a carton of milk.

He had picked a perfect table for himself and his friends, one that was close enough to the door that led to the school's campus and parking lot. A great escape route once it came time for his appointment. He didn't want to think about it now, instead, he had looked forward to seeing his friends again. Solomon had kept an eye out for Brian and Anthony, they often had most of their classes together, so they had always entered around the same time.

Behind him, he could feel a shadow. He smiled, a genuine one this time, "Hey guys, I-"

His body stiffens once he saw her again. The weird girl. The girl with the big-mouth, the girl who seemed stuck up, among other things that was whispered around in that hour long class. To him, however, she was the wing girl. In fact, she had those same wings on her back, once again. And like before, no one, but Solomon, had noticed.

A strand of hair leaves his band, the ponytail had held the rest of his locks in place, slung low behind his chair. He blinked at her again, as if he wanted to see if she'd respond back in a similar manner, but he found nothing.

"Hi." he said, still glancing around for his friends.
Her lips simper, "Hello, Solomon."

She placed a tray of similar foodstuffs down beside his, stealing what was supposed to be Anthony's seat, "Do you mind?"

Yes.

"No." he said. Makeda never fully grins at him. Her smiles are always soft and small, they more like smirks, but less cruel. Kinder, even.

Personally, that only made Solomon find her even more eerie.

"You know my name, right? Makeda?"

He nods, stuffing a spoonful of jello down his throat. The taste and the smell remind him of how his house's bathroom smells like ammonia and lemon-sol every saturday after they (meaning himself and his mother) clean it.

Disgusting.

"So, do you like going to this school?"

No.

"It's okay, I guess." he chews the inside of his cheek. Maybe if he chewed hard enough he could go to the nurse's office, skip the appointment, and sleep all afternoon. And maybe Makeda would disappear from his life forever. A part of himself hoped this was all an extravagant, lucid dream, or that he had fallen into a coma shortly before leaving home, somehow.

"Could be better." he admitted.

"Yeah. It could be."

They were both quiet. Makeda was more preoccupied with picking at the food laid in front of her (she'd somehow stomach the broccoli mixture), and nodded along to some invisible rhythm that played around in her head. With each nod, her wings would flutter and bop. All the while, it made him feel far more visible than he ever wanted to be.

"Solomon! Hey!" Finally, "Tony. Brian." He would been a lot more excited if they had arrived a lot earlier than they did. Both brothers take in the stranger's appearance.

"Hi, I'm Makeda."

"Hi?"

Brian swats his brother's head, "Don't be rude."

"I wasn't being rude. I just don't know who this girl is."

"Brian, Tony. This is Makeda, I'm think I'm saying it right-"
"You are."

They all look at her in a puzzled silence.

"Makeda Dixon, from my English II."

"Ohhh. That girl." Tony said, "Anthony, seriously?"

She was only here for a few hours and already she had a reputation. And from the looks of it, it didn't seem to bother her. Her smile was missing, that's for sure.

"I guess I'll be leaving, then." she collects her tray, "It was nice meeting you all."

"Weird girl, huh?" asked Anthony, "Well, I thought was kinda nice. Dressed a little funky, sure, but she seemed ok. I just don't believe how someone who seemed so nice got in trouble like that."

"You saw her, too?"

"Oh, hell yeah. Almost everybody on Wing A and B saw her stand on one leg for almost an hour." spouted Anthony after eating half of his nuggets, "I thought she looked crazy enough with those weird clothes. I guess she's a scene kid." he snorted.

"Nah, scene kids are just like colorful emos. They're suicidal. That girl didn't seem suicidal, just... proper? Kinda stuck up." Brian quiped.

"Yeah, right." He looked at his clothes. Well, shit, what did that make him, then?

"Yeah, Solomon's kinda emo, Brian. He wears all of that black and stuff." Anthony said.

"Besides, don't you have a Corpse Bride poster on your wall? That's pretty emo."

"Nah, I'm not emo. And I bet she's not a scene kid, either." Solomon countered.

"No such thing as Navajo emos or black scene kids. All of the ones I've seen are white on MySpace."

"Yeah.... he's probably right."
"Yeah, probably."

He looked up at the clock. "Shit! I gotta go." He hauled his tray and backpack, "See you in Spanish." 12:35 pm. He was already 5 minutes late for this counselor. Which made him wonder if she'd take mercy on him and let him go after ten minutes.

He could only wish.

His walk to the office was a quiet, uneventful one. Which also seemed to take forever. Whenever those halls would be empty, he always felt as if something was coming. Something bad. Solomon didn't want to do this. He didn't want to do anything. This day had already started off pretty weird. And that girl had always had a hand in it. Always.

Solomon shows his note to a secretary and he's guided to a sparsely decorated office with more boxes than chairs. Whoever Penelope was, she must've moved here overnight.

He takes a seat facing away from the office door, and once he heard it click open, he swung his head back to see whoever it was. "Hello, there."

The first thing that anyone, student or faculty member, would notice about Ms. Abdullah, other than her name, is the neatly worn headscarf that covered her hair, neck, and ears. Her lips are painted a dark moon, and her glasses have smaller frames. Her dress is modest, yet professional. He can't see her arms underneath the blue fabric of her dress, but her smile is vaguely familiar.

And then it dawned on him.

"Penny?"

She smiled. Now he'd recognized her, "Hi, Solomon."