Everyone has their own package
I sit on one of the chairs in our auditorium, waiting. There is noise all around me, but I don't feel the need to participate in the hustle and bustle. I prefer to just listen to the others, after all I don't have anything special to tell.
It is already shortly after twelve when our director, a tall, sporty man, finally enters the room. He is in the company of two adults, a blond, young woman, and an equally young, brown-haired man.
I can't help it, but I like them straight away, I think they make a happy and relaxed impression.
"It's nice that you are all here. As you all know, we are here today to do an 'anti-bullying' workshop," begins the man who introduces himself as Sören Petersen.
Sometimes I wonder if the teachers are really that naive. My grade, the eleventh, has had countless 'anti-bullying' actions since we came to this school. Posters, projects, even a self-confidence training, not that it would have done anything. Contrary to the hope of our teachers, of course, it did nothing.
You listen more or less attentively, nod your head, and nothing changes.
I used to be a victim of bullying too, so I am speaking from experience when I say this. In any case, the fact is that now that we have been divided into courses and mixed, and you can no longer see some, interest is waning. Just a few condescending looks or sharp remarks here and there, nothing more.
That's why the purpose of the event doesn't make sense to me, you should rather do that with the lower classes. Most see it the same way, but they do not complain, after all, their LK lessons are omitted today.
I'm interested to see how pretty much everyone is already busy with their cell phones. It only took a few seconds for them to continue their conversations via SMS or Facebook.
After two hours, during which a film was shown, among other things, we are released. I am one of the lucky ones who have already finished school. I leisurely trot to my bike and make my way home.
Only seconds after I rang the doorbell at our front door, despite my fifteen I don't have a front door key, my mother appears in the door. My brain automatically switches to standby, which helps not to go completely crazy. When you ask her about my school day, which has long since become routine, I answer, as I always do, with 'As always.'
I stuff a little bit of lunch into myself in silence before rushing up to my room. After my homework, this year I have decided not to do it at night like before, I sit down on the bed with my laptop.
I go to the browser and look for the woman, Sophie Koch. She interests me, I am fascinated by her positive charisma.
In addition to her 'job' as a social worker, she is also a youth and family therapist and psychologist. Pretty impressive in my opinion.Admittedly, I find psychologists strange, even if I've never been to one of them, I can't really imagine revealing my problems to a stranger. But if everyone seems as friendly as Ms. Koch, I will have to reconsider that.
I ponder my thoughts for a few minutes before I hear the entrance door downstairs.
My father is back home.
With my eyes closed, I reach on the left of my bedside table and plug in my headphones before I turn up the music and nothing of my surroundings can get through to me.
Tired, I turn off my alarm clock and shuffle into the bathroom. It's dead quiet in the house, sure proof that my parents overslept once more.
I know for sure that if I don't wake you now, you will be angry afterwards and your bad mood will be palpable again. On the other hand, if I wake them up now, they will cause me unnecessary stress again, even though I have enough time.
So I enjoy the last few relaxing minutes until it is time to go to school. By leaving the house as soon as I wake up quickly, I hope to escape her mood and even am quite successful.
It's still dark, after all, it's already mid-November and my breath throws small, pale clouds into the cold air. Inwardly, I reproach myself for leaving my gloves behind in a hurry, but now I can't do anything about that.
In the German class, my LK, we review yesterday's workshop and discuss something about it. Everyone is happy to get around class, 'Cabal and Love' is not particularly popular here. As always, I hold back in conversation, but my teachers are used to that, I just hate to talk.
Before the lesson is over, we are reminded once again that the number of the social worker is on the notice board, so that we can turn to them if we should ever need help.
The rest of the school day goes by without any significant incidents, if you disregard my imagination, which believes that I saw Frau Koch in the schoolyard. Ultimately, I conclude that it must have been a delusion, after all, there are some blonde teachers walking around here, so you can be wrong.
In my free period I read English so I would have less to do at home, because while Wednesday is my shortest school day, Thursday is the longest. Then I'll be home at twenty past four, a few minutes after my father.
On the way back I stop at a bakery and buy myself a coffee. Only when I have drunk it comfortably against my bike do I really go home. When my mother asked where I would have been for so long if she was worried, I mumble something about 'the teacher went overboard'. I look at her that she doesn't believe me, but I don't care. In the living room I hear my father typing on the PC and I mentally disconnect.
I always skip lunch on Thursdays because I don't feel like sitting down at the table with them both.I open a window in my room straight away, I like it when it's cold, especially when I can wrap myself in a warm blanket with a good book and just have peace and quiet.
Maybe I could do that again after my homework?
The psychological thriller in my hands is really exciting. The author plays with the perception and the psyche of the reader and the protagonist. Do psychologists really act as described in the book?
The next day, a girl is missing from my bio course, usually nothing unusual, but when someone points this out to our teacher, he replies that he has already been informed. I find that strange.
The girl, Alex, is three more days away from school before I see her back on the school grounds. She seems changed, although she never seemed particularly sad, but I still think that she makes a relieved impression.
A few days later something unusual happened again. It was in my third class when I suddenly passed out. At first the person sitting next to me thought I had just fallen asleep, but when I didn't wake up either, when I was sitting down from the chair, he noticed something was wrong. My French teacher had already noticed this too, and after I woke up again she took me to the staff room.
For a few minutes now, I've been sitting on one of the chairs reserved for the teachers during breaks and free periods. Every now and then I take a sip from the water glass, otherwise I am motionless. The teachers present did not ask any questions, which irritated me a bit, but the answer is closer than I thought.
Mrs. Koch and Mr. Petersen enter the staff room. At first I wonder if they want to do another workshop and am accordingly surprised when they walk straight towards me. “You are Eva, aren't you?” I just nod and look at them both up close for the first time. That's one of my ticks, staring at other people. My classmates used to find it scary, because once I've started, I last for a few minutes. Meanwhile, I think about various things and don't even notice when they say something to me. The two do not seem irritated, but turn to one of the other teachers briefly and seem to discuss something. I can finally break away from both of them and now look around uncertainly. What is expected of me now? Should i say something? Stand up? Just stay seated? I hate that, so I do what I always do in situations like this, sliding around in the chair and waiting.
"Have you already called your parents?" Asks Ms. Koch. I shake my head, hopefully she won't ruin my persuasion. It was a lot of work to convince the teachers with as few words as possible that this is not necessary.
"Then we'll bring you home, and we can talk to your parents right away.", Mr. Petersen decides. I try not to look too shocked and come up with a good excuse why this is not possible. "I'm here on my bike."I mumble, I hope that will be enough as a reason. Of course not." Even if you might not fall over again, I would be more comfortable if we could take you away. "Your colleague adds:" We'll just pack your bike in the trunk. "
I know I can't think of anything to dissuade her from her plan, so now it's time to close your eyes and get on with it. In the car, both Ms. Koch and Mr. Petersen try to get me to talk. I honor my reputation as always silent again, because I manage to answer everything with just nodding and shaking my head. It may seem silly to some that I don't answer sensibly, but few know that everything I do has a reason.
It finally got to my home shortly after half past ten, and my mother is accordingly surprised when I stand in front of the door, and then not even alone. "Eva? Has something happened?" After a brief shake of the head, I let my companion do the talking. My mother invites them in and chats them up for a cup of coffee, which she always does when they visit.
"She collapsed at school, do you have any idea why?" Asks Ms. Koch.
"Eva, have you forgotten something to drink again?" She looks over at me strictly. Grateful for this explanation, I confirm that. The two do not look particularly happy with this explanation, but still give up. Before they leave, Ms. Koch hands me a business card. "Alright. If something is, you can call us anytime." Seriously, she looks into my eyes, I can see that she is worried.
This time I can't secretly disappear into my room, my mother holds me back by the shoulder. “Your behavior lately is