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blair kennedy north hills high
i was thirteen when i got into my first fight.
this girl, jenna rowland, kept pulling on my hair and she stole my favorite pen.
it was blue with a design on it.
i don't remember much or how it escalated.
i remember heat surging throughout my body, and my fists clenching so hard they turned white. i could feel my muscles tighten and my jaw clenching. i remember lunging. and i remember getting pulled away, seeing jenna's nose trickle red. her right eye immediately swelled and her lip was busted.
i remember feeling zero remorse.
my friend would later tell me that i was smiling when being pulled away. i have no recollection of it. but it would explain why the principal stared at me as if i were crazy.
i was expelled.
that wasn't my last fight. in fact, it was one of many fights.
i moved to three different schools after that. not only because of the fighting but also because of the trouble i'd gotten into with teachers and a lot of misbehavior checks.
i was thirteen, a couple weeks shy of fourteen, when my mom signed me up for boxing lessons. she felt that this would be an outlet for any anger i had inside me. i can punch and kick, do as i please without getting in trouble.
i was sixteen when we left my dad. we moved here. to reseda, california.
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"how has the move been? stressful? annoying? dull?"
i stare at the pencil in my hands, twirling it around my finger in a bored manner.
"it's whatever." i shrug, continuing to spin the pencil around my finger to keep me entertained.
the guidance counselor watches me, pursing her lips. i could tell she was keeping herself from letting out an impatient breath considering we've been sitting here for the last forty five minutes and i've refused to 'open up' as she'd continuously say.
it's been this way for the last three weeks.
"ms. kennedy, could you maybe put the pencil away?" she musters up with a calm tone.
i glance at her for the first time this session, and i wonder if it caught her by surprise considering she seemed a bit thrown off with my eye contact.
"i mean, i could." i answered, tilting my head to the side. sometimes, i feel bad for people who went into any career having to do with kids.
all we really are were smart ass little shits. who would do that to themselves?
but then i remember how shitty other people have it and i just find myself not willing to give a single fuck.
"ms. kennedy, please put the pencil away." i may have been a shitty person, but even i knew to pick and choose my battles.
