Disclaimer: I don't own or gain anything from this.
Do you ever have those days when nothing goes right? I do. To be honest, as far as bad days go, mine take first prize. Maybe it's like spots- everyone gets them, just not to the same extent. Some of us get a few little pimples, some of us have breakouts before going back to normal, and some of us spend the "best years of our lives" with the same facial features of a peperoni pizza, pus boiling under our skin, ready to burst out of our skin like ripe fruit.
Anyway, moving on from that slightly gross idea, there was one day that sucked particularly badly. No, I'm not being some fake, babyish little drama queen. In fact, I'll prove it to you...Imagine this: the school slut "borrows" your favourite shoes for the day, you get an "A for effort" but an F for your grade in Geography, and then- drumroll, please- you find your boyfriend making out with someone else. Finally- the the worm in the year old apple, the final grain of sand on this beach of crappiness- when Gord got his well earned kick in the nuts, I got a supposedly well earned week of detention! Think things can't get worse? Think again, because guess who else had a week's detention for fighting with a greaser? Go on, have a guess, I'll wait. Hey, it ain't like I got anything better to do with my time, right?
Haven't guessed yet? Fine. Bif Taylor.
It was raining that day, too. As the clock droned on relentlessly, I felt my will to live ebbing away. What was the big deal, anyway? It was only one little kick, and it wasn't like steel toe boots were against the dresscode. Needing to distract myself I pulled a book from my bag, my mood worsening as the title hit my gaze- Catcher in the Rye. Great- the only thing I had to keep my mind off the fact I'd been tossed aside by some sixteen year old who hated his parents and called everyone a phony was a book about some sixteen year old who hated his parents and called everyone a phony. Perfect. Why didn't whoever controlled my life just throw eggs at my window and crap in my bed? Maybe put some glue in my mascara? This day surely couldn't get worse.
"Oh, you can read, can you?" I stand corrected. The voice sneered, no surprise at the revelation that yes, normal people can read. Pulled from my mental rant, I turned my head to the rich kid, taking in Aquaberrry(nothing less for mummy's little boy), the red hair primped to pretentious perfection and the gold watch. What a poser. Bitterly amused at the blatant "I'm better than you" image before me, I scoffed, rolling my eyes to the cracked ceiling. If anything, I probably read more than him.
"Moron," I muttered. Apparently, he heard me- when I next looked up, I discovered green eyes scrutinising the laced gloves covering my hands, my neon red hair with its mousey roots, my tartan skirt. Judging me. Bastard. Well, I thought so, anyway. I didn't get preps; they didn't get me. For all I know, he was thinking about chiuauas. But I didn't know, and I really didn't care at that second even if he was building up some stupid list on why he though I wasn't good enough to pollute his air by being in the same room for my detention. Taking another peek in my bag, I grimaced. Why, today of all days, had I left my headphones at home?
An idea creeping into my head, I remembered something I'd heard. Why sit in silence when I had that secret snippet to screw with his head? Admittedly, it was a stupid thing- probably a lie courtesy of Christy- but if it cleared the boredom fogging up my brain, who cared? If it was true, he hadn't came out, so he'd be pissed I brought it up; if it wasn't, he'd be pissed I brought up a lie about him. Pissed or pissed. Win-win. I straightened myself up, a grin spreading across my face.
"So I hear you and Derby are gay for each other,"