Dreaming Doesn't Hurt, Right?

Three Years Before

a/n: sorry i haven't uploaded =[ my mom took my laptop away and when i get ideas, i can't write them down. so this chapter's kinda boring and slow. but i promise it will get good =]

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Seventh grade was the worst school year.  Many would argue that it was just because I was going to a new school, but that wasn’t the reason.

                “Have fun, and make new friends, sweetheart!” my mom called out after me through the van’s window as she rolled away.

I walked through the grassy playground towards the cafeteria.  There on the cafeteria’s window, the class lists were posted.  I scanned through each list until I found my name.

“Um…excuse me, where is room D61 located at?” I asked a lady with an I.D. badge hanging from her Powerpuff Girls lanyard. 

“Oh, it’s just right over there.  Come on, I’ll show you!” she said, flashing her straight, white teeth.

As I followed her, many students stared at me.  I tried to keep my focus on the lady’s brown ponytail that bounced with every step.

“There you go.” And with that, she left.

 Again, many students stared at me as I entered the class.  I took the nearest, empty seat available.

                Throughout the day, students stared, but no one even tried to befriend me.  And as the school year progressed, so did my relationship with the students, but not in a positive way.

“Hey, bitch.” I heard Wes call.  It had been six months since I had arrived at the school.  This school taught preschool through eighth grade.  I was sitting on my desk working on a group assignment by myself.

“What Wes?” I answered annoyed.

“Do you wanna go out with me?” he asked for the millionth time.

“How many times do I have to say no? No.” I said.

“Bitch.” He said, taking my worksheet and throwing it on the ground.

“Hey! What you do that for?!”

“’Cuz you’re a little bitch.” Oh that’s it.  I’m tired of this kid.  I stood up and punched him his face.

“Haha, you’re funny.” And he pushed me.  I landed on the floor.

“Ruthbella, stop trying to get laid,” Cherrie said. “You’re too ugly.”

“Thanks for letting me know that.” I replied sarcastically.

                This always happens to me on a daily basis.  It’s either name calling, or being bullied.  Well, name calling, being hit or touched is all considered bullying.  And you may be asking yourself, why didn’t you tell a teacher?  Well, I did, but apparently these teachers don’t give a damn.

After school that day, my mom picked me up as usual, and asked me how my day was and all those questions a mom asks.  Forcing a smile, I would always reply “Good.”

When we arrived home, I ran to my room and opened the drawer.  I took out a small pair of scissors I had, and looked at myself in the mirror.

“Why me?” I cried. “Why?”  No one likes me.  I have no friends, I don’t deserve to live.  I squeezed my eyes as I slashed at my wrist.