"I lived a few hours away from here by car, but I only lived there for about a year. I lived across the country before that."
"That's cool," she said, still staring at my eyes. "So, I heard you were talking about a girl...Angela?"
"Yea."
"Is she your girlfriend?" she asked persistently, clearly not knowing when to stop. I paused, "...no."
"Oh," she said, almost happily. I felt like punching her, even if she did seem nice. "Well, the way I heard it, it sure sounded like you like her..." she continued. My gosh. Learn some social skills, girl. "I do," I said, attempting to bore a hole in her head with my death glare. She didn't notice. "Oh. So you mean, you like her, but she's not your girlfriend?"
"I love her," I said emotionlessly. It was so true, so incredibly true that I lost my death glare and my frown softened. "Oh," she said, sounding disappointed. The lunch bell rang. She looked up at the bell. I got up and left before she could say anything else. Well, she was nice, except when the topic of Angela came up. Which was Ok, since I really wanted to keep that topic to my self.
"So your boyfriend moved?" Selena asked, licking frosting off of her fingers from a small
cupcake she just devoured in one bite. She pulls her hair out of her thick ponytail and brushes her
fingers through her long recently-dyed-blonde hair, clearly trying to get Paolo's attention. (Paolo
is the new transfer student, and Selena's newest obsession.) I rolled my eyes dramatically and then
rolled my eyes again at how dramatically I just rolled my eyes. "Tyler wasn't my boyfriend." Selena
sighs, also dramatically. "Ok, so he's just the guy you're in love with who loves you back that you
spent every waking second with." I blinked, stared up at the whiteboard, blinked again, and then
looked back at Selena, "Wow. You're blunt." Selena smiled, "Yup!"
I walked out of the classroom and knew that I had to do...something. Anything. It had been three
weeks now, two days away from four, and I was still going through every movement of my day
emotionless, keeping to myself and boxing myself in. I glanced over at Prudence, the girl known as
'that weird emo kid' and felt pity for her. But I didn't want to become her. I couldn't live like this,
secluded, lonely, and just all around...bored-for another year. I just couldn't. So I walked over to my
locker, swung my backpack in, and slammed the door shut. The bell rang and I grinned slightly as I
headed over to the math room without any work.
Mr. Conwell cuts no slack. Ever. Under any circumstances. So, of course, he is the perfect way
to get detention. Not every kid's dream, but useful for me. "Correct your homework on your own
and then we'll take notes," Mr. Conwell said, pushing his glasses back up to his eyes. I leaned back
against my chair and kept the grin off my face. He didn't notice. He began to talk, glancing
back at us occasionally to make sure that we were paying attention. Finally, he noticed me lounging
in my chair, listening intently so that what he said would register into my head but not taking notes
so that I could get that prized detention slip. "Angela. You are doing absolutely nothing," Mr.
Conwell sighed. "Sorry. My stuff's in my locker," I said, wiping the grin off my face with my jacket
sleeve. "Go get it," he said, holding out the hall pass. My eyebrows raised. No way. Mr. Conwell
never let people go to their lockers during class. Ever. Under any circumstances. I walked awkwardly
and nervously up to the front of the classroom. I felt so out of place, so unnatural, as if someone had
a remote control to my life and was forcing everything to go wrong for me. I took the hall pass and
left the room, breathing heavily. I walked over to my locker, stared at it, and kept walking. I walked
into the girl's bathroom and washed my face in the sink. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw
mascara driping down my cheeks, smudged around my eyes. I sighed and tried to fix my makeup to
no prevail. I walked back to the classroom after a few minutes of staring at my makeup smudged
reflection. Mr. Conwell looked up, saw that I was holding nothing, frowned, looked at my face with
an angry expression, and raised his eyebrows. He sighed heavily, "Go. Sit. Try to pay attention." I
sat. But I didn't pay attention. I just came into the classroom after being given the hall pass with
no textbooks, and Mr. Conwell has not given me a detention sleep. I honestly search the room for
someone holding a remote.
© 2009
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