He doesn’t call me by name, doesn’t look my way, but why would he? Here I stand, caught red-handed - literally still holding half of the tray in my hand - as always. “My office! Now!” Principal Folk screeches. Not sure how she managed it, but my mother, the failure she is, taught me one thing - to keep my pride above all else.Īpparently, that’s all a girl like me can control. Straight trailer trash at its finest, I’ll admit it all day.Īnd I sure as shit couldn’t let her get away with disrespecting me the way she did, publicly. What did she expect?Īnd, yeah, the spat wasn’t a lie, my mother is a whore. The lunch lady calls for help and everyone rushes to the asshole on the floors side because she’s ‘the victim.’ Sure, I got physical first, but she started it. People scream, but no one dares to step closer to me.
There’s no time to escape, not that I have anywhere to go. Panic grows in her eyes as she crashes to the floor. I wait until our stares connect, then quickly kick her chair sideways. The cheap red plastic breaks against her head and screams ring around me.īlood pours from the big mouthed bitch’s forehead and she shrieks, her horrified gaze flying to mine. My eyes haze, rage winning over the calm bravado I attempted to force myself into.īefore anyone can stop me, not that there’s anyone who would give a shit to, I snatch the closest tray off the nearest table and in one swift move, one hard, full swing, smash it across the side of her face. The laughter echoes, growing louder until it wraps around my throat like my mother’s hands when in a fit, choking me until I lose focus. “Maybe if she wasn’t such a slut her whore mom wouldn’t have kicked her out for sleeping with her new man.” I keep walking, and I’m almost free and clear, almost through the door and away from the trouble I surely don’t need but can’t seem to escape.īut of course, nothing in my life is simple and just before my left foot joins my right, the final step through the open door, the bitch decides she’s not done and runs her mouth. Move your feet, exit this piece of shit cafeteria, and go get high. Inconceivably attractive and treated like kings.these are the boys of Brayshaw High. Too bad for me, they're determined to make sure I do. They expect me to play along in their games of hierarchy, to fall in line in the social order they’ve deemed me fit. I didn’t listen, and now I’m on their radar. Those were the exact words of my social worker when she dropped me in my newest hellhole, a place for “troubled teens.” “Girls like you aren’t exactly welcomed at a place like this, so keep your head down and look the other way.” To the one waiting for your time to fly, be strong.
0 kommentar(er)
