That year it was my third first day of school and it was only February. My parents swore to me that this would be it; it would stop here; This school is where you belong. I went to school with my parents' empty promises. As I got out of the car, I swallowed. I could feel the anxiety slowly creeping from my throat to my stomach. Hethero Myxte High School loomed before me. My eyes were drawn to a semicircular window above the entryway—the same smile of hope and progress that my parents gave me when I stepped out of the car. Luckily I didn't see anyone outside. I still had a few seconds of peace left. The walk to the door was almost the longest walk of my life, only slightly shorter than the walk to the doors of my first school. For a second I could have actually believed their hopeful smiles, but those were gone when I walked through the door. It was no different of course. Everywhere you went, it was never different. Red men always pop champagne whenever they can feel the blues in any kind of proximity to reds. They haven't really changed anything. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an original essay At least all the cabinets were the same color. The blues were all lined up on the left side of the hallway and all the reds were on the right side. They all looked the same, strangely enough, apart from the skin color of course. In the corridor there was an invisible division that seemed to prevent the two sides from crossing each other. Of course I was right in the middle. The Blues and Reds generally behave differently but everyone always has the same reaction when they see me, and these guys did the same. Surprise, surprise, my parents were wrong. I took a step forward. My step echoed throughout the school. All their looks stuck to my face like glue: looks of confusion, disgust, and derision. I continued walking. The world was still. Someone stepped forward: a drop of water from the sea of ​​blues. "What are you?" he asked. I looked down at my hands. It was a rhetorical question. Everyone knows what they are. Some of my kind are scattered throughout the world, but there are still not enough of them to stop attracting attention. I've dealt with it before, but not from all the blues and reds at the same time. Diversity was becoming unity in the face of something else different. It should have been celebrated with champagne. "What do you think?" I said, staring at the blue again. He spat on me. I stared at my hands again, defeated. Finally the doorbell rang. People started moving. All stares had fallen, but now the insults would begin and wouldn't stop until I came back outside. “Cross-Freak-Impure-Straight-Dirty Blood-Purple,” the day continued. Every time a teacher forced me to introduce myself, at least two balls of rolled paper and an insult were thrown. At lunch every table was filled with either red or blue, never both. I searched desperately for a place to sit. Purple didn't belong anywhere, too red for blues, too blue for reds. Sometimes, when I ate lunch alone, I really began to think of myself as a freak of nature. Sometimes I got angry at my parents for creating me. Sometimes I was completely confused about how they fell in love. During the auditorium the school principal, a redhead, brought me up on stage to introduce myself. He was very proud that I was there. He babbled on about how I was the future; I was what the school was made for. I stopped listening to his speech when all the students started insulting me again. In the days.