The floor squeaked as I walked down the hall with my bright, neon pink sneakers. It's been 6 months since I took a glass jar to the head, and I've been kept up by dark shadows at the edges of my vision for nearly a fourth of the time I've been in the hospital. Thank God Zia hasn't spoke to me yet. It was like I was waiting for her to talk to me, to make me hurt myself, even though I don't want to, at the same time.
The locker door gave out a squeaky cry as I opened it. I reached inside and gently placed my dull colored books onto the stacks of textbooks and used paper inside my locker. I felt eyes aimed at me; people were watching, staring at me, target locked. I noticed that there were beads of sweat on my hand. Have I really been nervous this whole time?
I quickly pulled out my textbooks and notebooks from the bottom of a stack, leaving the books on top to topple down onto each other, and slammed the locker door. The lock clicked to signify it had done its job, and I started walking down the hall once again, back towards where I came from. I was a sweating mess; the eyes were on me, all of them were on me, and they wouldn't go away. With my head bent down, I tried to walk as fast as I could without drawing any more attention to myself than I already did.
I was nearly halfway to my classroom when my left shoulder was jerked back. The books that I had been hugging with both my arms tumbled to the floor, several opening up mid-air and falling flat on their pages inside. A snicker and a laugh filled with condescension.
I didn't look up to see who had done it. Instead, I knelt down and began to pick up my books. That person was still hovering over me, why? I got worried quickly, and the sweat that had gone away earlier had returned now. Okay, you can do this, don't worry. One book at a time. One book at a-
"You know, Chermaine, you're a pathetic loser," a snobby voice came from above. I tried to avoid her, and continued to focus on getting my books. Last one left. Whew. A foot landed on it before I could lay my hand on it.
"Don't even bother learning, Cher. That muddled head of your's won't ever get anything in. Not with all those spooky shadows. Eh, Cher?"
I know sarcasm. I'm not dumb. I couldn't take any more, and I spoke out.
"Well, those shadows aren't as spooky as your face, Roxy," I retorted.
"Aw, dear. You really shouldn't be narcissistic and start talking about yourself. Or are those just the scary monsters speaking?"
I ignored her stupid question that was designed to anger me, "The scary monsters are asking you to lift your shoe off of my book, please,"
It was incredibly hard to try and be polite to her, especially with all the comments she's pushed into my face and ears over the past years. Roxy Hood. The most stereotypical bitch you find in almost every single school. She's picked on me every year; every time she sees me in the hallways, she makes a blazing comment that leaves a burn scar on my heart every time. Years and years of scars have scorched a hole in my heart. A few more scalding comments, and my heart will be completely melted.
"Oh no, I don't think you'll be needing this, dear Chermaine," the sweet words masked the menace behind her words. I knew she hated me. I was different-the black sheep among flocks and flocks of white ones. She didn't like the black sheep. No, she didn't like it at all.
A clunk sound brought me back to Earth. My book had been thrown in the trash can.
"Hey! Give it back!" I yelled at Roxy and her group of mindless followers.
"I'm sorry, Cher, my dear. I'm afraid it's lost to the stinky depths of the trashcan," She put the back of her hand to her forehead and said dramatically. Stupid Roxy. She thinks she's so brilliant. Her minions snickered.
"Give it back," I was near tears now. I tried not to let it show, and kept my voice strong and clear. It was difficult when you've been bullied your whole life, for being different.
"Sorry, no can do," She smiled, more like smirked, and walked away.
"Hey, Rox! Get back here!" The sound of footsteps were nearing me. I turned my head and saw him. Charlie.
What a lifesaver.
"What?" Roxy snarled in annoyance, fearsome as a tiger. She whipped her head around, and glared at Charlie.
"Come back here, and give her her book back," he spoke with an even more ferocious roar.
"Psh, what does she want to do with it? Bash her head?"
"I'll bash your head if you don't give it back,"
She scoffed, "Fine, whatever"
She reached into her bag and rummaged around.
"Sorry, Charlie. It's not in here," she made puppy eyes and started to walk away again.
"That's because it's in the trash can," I said through gritted teeth. I stood up straight again, "Give it back!"
"I don't just reach into trashcans like you do, Cher," she smirked. Then Charlie grabbed hold of her collar.
"Give it back"
"Fine, fine!" she yelled at us. Slowly, she reached into the trash can, a look of pure disgust on her face. Part of me wanted to push her whole body into the can, and part of me wanted to say that my book didn't matter. Charlie stood by me watching her, and put his hand on my back. I relaxed. With Charlie around, I didn't need to be afraid of anything.
"Here's your dumb book!" She threw it back at me, the ketchup smeared blue book flying free like a bird before landing in my arms, "Don't get in my way ever again!"
I could see that Roxy was struggling to take care of the situation, struggling to find control again. She acted like she was queen. But with Charlie, no one rules except for him. There is no other superior human being with him around.
She walked away, with her followers trailing behind her. My ear caught snippets of "that stupid guy" and "dumb bitch".
"Thanks, Charlie," I smiled weakly.
He didn't smile back, "Roxy's such a bitch. Why don't you ever stand up to her, Cher?"
I said in a tiny voice,"I try,"
"Well, it's not enough, Cher. You never know when I might miss a day of school," He sounded stern, but I knew it was just because he was worried.
"Promise me you'll try and stand up for yourself,"
"I will,"
