I'm Not Looking
My next class was Pre-Algebra, which I dislike intensely. Mom says we aren’t supposed to hate anything. She didn’t say I couldn’t dislike it intensely. I just don’t understand all those letters mixed in with the numbers. Dad says I’ll catch on, but how do they expect me to add X and Y together and get a 3? It makes no sense. I bet I’ll end up with a tutor later on. Dad’s already threatening me with one if I don’t bring my grade up.
My backside was feeling better, but I was limping a little. My pride felt better, too, but it might flare up again if I saw Charlie. I tried really hard to stay invisible, but that doesn’t work well. Approaching my locker, I sorted through my notebooks so I could put away the ones I didn’t need. As I tucked my Chromebook under my arm, I turned in the direction of my next class just in time to have a group of boys sweep me backwards, around the corner and into the boys’ bathroom! I was squealing and they were laughing. Squeezing my eyes shut as hard as I could (I didn’t want to see any urinals or any boys that might be in there), I felt for the door handle and pushed. The boys were holding the door closed on the other side and still laughing.
“Come on, you guys! Let me out!” All I could hear was a lot of laughter. The blood rushed into my face. Great. “Please let me out, you guys! I’m going to be late for class.” The bell rang and the boys scattered, their laughter echoing all the way down the hall. Wouldn’t you know it? I didn’t see any of their faces. But even if I did, what good would that do? Nobody was hurt and I lived through it. With my eyes still glued shut, I pulled the door open, hoping no one saw me l...