Hated

Broken Heart

Ms. S. told us how important it is to always focus more on what we love about ourselves, and what is important in our lives, and less about what we are afraid of and things we don’t like. She clearly has never stepped in my shoes before.

She showed us what we needed to do, and who we needed to tell if we were ever bullied. Halfway through the third bullying video, it was time for 4th period. Art. Art lasts through fourth and fifth period. I guess they thought an hour wasn’t enough to express our “talent”. What talent?

I head downstairs to the ground floor where the art room is. If I headed into the 6th grade hallway I would be thrown into the quiet room right away. They think I would beat up little sixth graders. I’m pretty sure they would beat up me.

I am barely five feet tall and everyone here is almost six. Even last year, I felt like the little one. Though I was probably the one girl who had went through puberty in the fourth grade. I didn’t spout like everyone else did, but my body sure wanted to tell me how much I am going to love being a woman.

I finally reach the art room after a long two minutes. I may have had art last year, but it is still hard to find all the classes after three months of sleeping twenty hours a day. Most of the kids are already there, but they don’t seem to notice me as I sneak in. The same twenty kids are in almost all of my classes because they are honors.

I take my seat next to Heather and Daren. Heather and I made a little pact ever since Justin dumped her. Daren just likes to hang around me whenever he can. It’s like I am the only person in this entire world that he can see. He blocks out everyone and everything else.

Heather leans over to me and whispers in my ear, “How are you going to break up with that douche?” I look over to her with a half smile. It’s all I can force onto my face.

“Whatever gets the job done,” I whisper back as I turn to Daren. He was distracted by the teacher gathering everyone up for attendance check: calling me first because my last name is Avery.

Heather swung her long blonde hair as Mrs. Klap called her name second, being too good to say “here”. She blinks her thick eyelashes, ones covered in mascara. She always wear pounds of makeup on her beautiful face to hide her cheekbones which stick out like split ends. I guess 90 pounds still isn’t enough for a five foot three inch growing teenager.

After Mrs. Klap finished asking the students their names, she told us to pull out a pencil and notebook paper. I did as I was told and waited for everyone else. Life seemed to move fast and slow. Everyone moving slow, but when they finally got their crap together, everything flies by.

“Draw what you please. Anything and everything all at once. The first thing that pops into your head, you draw on that piece of paper. It doesn’t matter how good or bad of an artist you are, this will not be graded for skill. This is simply to get our minds working.” Mrs. Klap walks around the room and sits back down in her leather chair. “Begin.”

I think long and hard about the thoughts in my head. There are so many things floating around I can’t catch all of them, and the ones I catch can’t be let out of their tomb.

Anorexia. Depression. Anxiety. Death. Bullying. Suicide. Fat. Chubby. Dumb. Stupid. Annoying. Kill yourself. Just die already. Why haven’t you starved yourself to death yet?

I draw the only thing that won’t get me sent to a mental hospital. A broken heart. Broken hearts can mean anything, in this case, it means everything. Everything. My head makes everything the enemy, and the enemy can only be the thing that kills me. Like eating.

I draw the outside C’s lightly but press as hard as I can when making the break. Everyone knows the most important part of a broken heart, is the fact that it’s broken.