Every morning
  I'm staring shadows in the eye
  Oh, good morning
  Will you just wait until I die?

 -Fallen, Imagine Dragons

 O0o0o

“Come on, hurry up!” Danielle nudged me in the ribs, leaning over my shoulder. “The bell’s about to go!” Danielle was hell-bent on my creating an account on some random website, saying that it would help ‘come out of your shell’.
Not caring that I had no intention of coming out of my ‘shell’. No intention of ever coming out of this freaking self-imposed shell.

 But, apparently, that wasn’t good enough for Danielle. She insisted that I make myself an account, and, since she was the only friend I have (or ever had, for that matter) and couldn’t exactly turn her down, I had agreed.
 Hence us sitting in front of a computer, at the school library, towards the end of lunch. She had practically dragged me here, barely giving me time to scoff down the sandwich I had packed for lunch. But, there hadn’t been any computers free.

 Danielle, who isn’t a very patient person, had tried to wait for someone to finish. But, after half-an-hour, had gotten up and stood behind a Year 7 boy, scowling and tossing her long, dark hair until he lost his nerve and fled from the library.

“I’m getting there, I’m getting there!” I huffed, tucking a few strands of my tufty brown hair behind my ear. It didn’t make much of a difference; my fringe still flopped in my eyes, sticking up in all directions. With a growl, I grabbed at the dark, wispy bangs, trying to pull them back into the ponytail at the base of my head.

 If you could call it a ponytail. My hair was short – not in the cool, spikey way, but the limp, flat, not-able-to-grow-any-real-hair way. You’d think that having hair that short would be easy to control, though.

 False!

 No matter what I did, my hair was always tangled and ratty, twisted in the rubber band I used to tie it up with. Most of it escaped the pathetic excuse of a ponytail, sticking out in random directions, screaming hey! Look at me! I’m the freak, look at me!

 As I went to pull the so-called ponytail out and start again, Danielle mewled in frustration, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Ash! Hurry, or we’ll have to wait tomorrow!” She once again lent over my shoulder, batting my hands away from my hair as she did so. “No time for hair!”

Impatiently, she took control of the computer, not noticing my flinch at the invasion of my space.  

 She clicked and typed away for a few seconds, before huffing in triumph and showing the page she had gotten on. It was bright and purple and white, and, in bubble letters, it had “Movellas” written across the middle.

“It’s a writers’ website!” she exclaimed. “You can post stories and chat to people. Basically, it’s a Facebook for writers. But you don’t actually give your real name or anything.”

 “Um,”

 “C’mon, I know you can write. Don’t even deny it – I’ve heard those English stories that you had to write a while back. They were great!”

 “Uh, thank you,” I stared at the screen, unsure what to do.

 Danielle sighed, and took the computer again. A few clicks later, she had me on the ‘New User’ page. “Okay, you fill it out, and quickly! Lunch is almost over. I just need to tell the librarian something…”

She wondered off, leaving me alone. Danielle had always been good friends with the school librarian, always talking and sharing gossip and jokes with each other. Me, I just mumbled ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ every now and then.

 So, while she was chatting away, I began to fill in all the details that were required. My email, age (14 years old) and Pen Name.

 That made me pause. I don’t really have any nicknames, or alter egos. My name was Ashley (hi, nice to meet you), but anyone who would talk to me would call me Ash. Not fondly, but just because they couldn’t be bothered saying the other syllable.

 After a few minutes of thinking, I came up with ‘Burning_Ashes’, because I like fire. It’s really warm (I hate the cold), and it fascinates me. I could be your best friend, or your worst enemy. 

 
 Satisfied with my pen name, I scrolled down to the next thing to fill out.

 And froze, my blood turning to ice.

Oh, crap.

 On the computer screen, the words mocked me. Screamed at me.

Select: Gender

 With a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure Danielle was still talking to the librarian, I clicked the arrow beside the text, dropping the box of my choices. My palms were already sweating, my hands shaking. My mouth suddenly dry, I looked over the options.

Select: Gender
 >Male
 >Female

 Well, wasn’t this just all hunky freaking dory?! Why did everything seem to want to throw that into my face?!

Why?

 Danielle laughed loudly, making me jump. I looked over at her and the librarian again. Danielle had half turned so she was sort of facing me, chucking some comment over her shoulder to the librarian, who had returned back to her desk, half laughing, half sighing.

 Shoot. Danielle would be back by my side in a few seconds.

 Panicking, I whipped around to face the computer screen. Which one, which one?! I was biting my lip like there was no tomorrow, the mouse frozen between the two options before me. A quick glance up confirmed that Danielle was making her way back towards me.

Which one?

 This was a writers’ website, right? The majority of people on here would be girls, writing sappy poems or One Direction fanfics. Go with the flow, right? That’s what Danielle always said…

I clicked – more like slammed – down on the ‘Female’ option, hoping I chose right. Then, I zoomed through all the other details in around three seconds (my fingers have never moved so fast, by the way)  and clicked the ‘Confirm’ button.

 The screen went blank, processing my details, just as Danielle swayed to a stop beside me.

“How’d ya go?”

I managed a shrug. “Uh, yeah, okay. Just waiting for the computer to load.”

She beamed. “Great! You’ll love this site, I swear. Everybody on it is so nice, and you’re great at writing! And you’re such a good person – everyone will love you!”

I mumbled something along the lines of sure, great, thanks, squirming. Yeah, I liked to write, I was kinda good at it, but meh. Didn’t really see it as a full-time hobby, I guess.

 The computer finally finished processing stuff, and logged me into my new account. Danielle liked my pen name (“It’s just… so you!”) and told me she would Fan me as soon as she logged into her account, but, before I could write my profile or anything, the bell went, signalling that lunch was over.

 Danielle sighed and grumbled, but I happily logged off and jumped from my seat. We had History next, one of my favourite classes. Only half the year level took it, so I had a desk to myself, and got to sit up near the back of the classroom. Where nobody could disturb me.

 Also, I got decent grades. For reasons unknown to me, I seemed to grasp dates and names well and memorize them easily.

 Kudos to me.

 So, with a rushed ‘see you later’ to the librarian and a wave to Danielle, I fled from the library, speed-walking down the hallway in the general direction of my locker.

 With that stupid website still on my mind.

 Had I made the right choice? Should I have even signed up for it?

 I mean, at the moment, I think I act more like a girl than I do a boy, I think. At the moment. But, then again, I don’t. I’m just… ugh!

 I have no freaking idea what the hell I am!

 Stupid, freaking website has no idea… why did Danielle even do that to me? Did she just happen to forget about my ‘condition’, or does she not give a damn?

 Doesn’t she know how much it hurts?

 Fuming, feeling the burning behind my eyes but refusing to cry, I turn the corner which will lead me to my locker.
 One thing I know for sure: My decision of what ‘gender’ I am on that website will come back to haunt me. I just know it.

 Frustrated to the point where my hands were shaking, I stomped along the rows of lockers until I reached my own.
 And stopped dead in my tracks.

 Someone had taken their purple lipstick or text or whatever, and had scrawled the word “FREAK” across the door of my locket.

 I rubbed desperately at it with my sleeve, but I only succeeded in smudging the edges of it a little bit. Kids were sniggering all around me, some openly pointing at me.

Look at the freak! Look at it, trying to clean off its locker! Isn’t it sad? Isn’t it just pathetic?

 Unable to wipe of the lipstick (it had stained my sleeve, and smelled of cherries – a brand they sold at the shop down the street) I wrenched open my locker, reaching in for my books, hiding my face.
 I couldn’t hold back the few tears that escaped this time.

 Scrubbing at my face, I grabbed my books, slammed my locker shut, and stormed away, towards the History classroom. Hopefully, for the next couple of hours, I’d get peace.

 As I turned a corner, all I saw was a flash of blonde hair before someone barrelled into me, knocking me to the ground, my books flying from my grip. I scrambled to my hands and knees, glaring up at whoever knocked me down.
 Kira stood over me, staring me down. She was in the year above me, popular, pretty, smart, and an absolute bitch. She and her friends had hated me ever since I had stepped into this school.

 I dare you to guess why.

 Hint: It’s why everybody else – well, excluding one – in this school hated me and treated me as if I was a disease.

 She smirked down at me. Running a hand through her wavy blonde hair – oh, how much I wanted to yank a fistful out – she pulled a tube of lipstick out of her pocket.

 I didn’t even need to look to know it was purple.

 Kira smiled around at her friends, who were, sure enough, crowed behind her, like some sort of gang, and she was the leader. “Well, looky what we have here!” She bared her teeth. “It’s the freak again. I keep forgetting to ask, freak – do you keep reading the road signs wrong each morning? Because I’m pretty sure the zoo is on the other side of town.”

All her friends laughed. I held back the urge to punch her on her stupid little nose or, even worse, burst out crying. I gathered my books, and stood instead.

 I pushed past them, holding my books close to my chest, with my head down. They let my past, sniggering.
“Watch out, freak!” They called out after me. “Watch out, and don’t bite anyone! Otherwise, the pest control will have to come and put you down!”

I bit back a scream, biting my lip until it bled.

Oo0o0
 Note: I have nothing against Movellas. I love the website. Just, as I was signing up, I noticed that it [did] only have two gender selections. It just got me thinking. Not everybody out there is certain of their gender, guys. Not only are there people out there like Ashley, but what about people who are transgender? Or, even, actually genderless by choice?
 Gender isn’t just black and white. Gender is, essentially, a rainbow of colours.

Also, I have nothing against One Direction or poems. Ashley might, but I do not!