Playing The Game

Haters and Nerds

The guy in the picture is obviously, Justin Bieber. Who I like to think as Connor Adams.

Monster by Skillet is his song.

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COMMENT!

ENJOY!

*

I stare at my reflection and notice the beads of sweat covering my flushed face.

I'm getting tired of Mondays, they seem to be a bad omen as my peers will finally see me since Fridays game. I've gone out of my way to avoid leaving my house, and deleting insane amounts of text messages. No point in lying, I'm scared to death.

High schoolers can be cruel creatures, downright brutal, I've witnessed what they can do. I fear the rest of my high school experience will be tainted by wicked kids. I'm sure their parents have already testified against me, picking me to be the new she-Devil.

I put on my boots and adjust my skirt. I grab my back pack and slide out the door.

I enter the kitchen and prepare a quick breakfast burrito.

"There's my girl." Dad kisses my forehead.

I sip milk, "Morning."

"Nervous?"

"So much so, I'm shaking."

"Don't worry. I spoke with Mr. Kent and Mr. Cole. People bother you, go to them."

"And be a rat? I've got a big enough target on my back." I say, picking out a piece of bacon.

Dad smiles and grabs his World's Greatest Dad mug. "You're a Skinner. You got Austin, Ivy and some others. You'll survive."

I brush my hair back. Dad was in high school decades ago, I didn't expect much. He thinks the students of Stonehenge High will be forgiving and we'll sing church songs around a camp fire.

I freeze when I hear the click of Mothers heels. "Jed, my daughter and I need a word."

"Go for it." Dad bites a doughnut.

"Alone."

I nod at my dad, who picks up the newspaper and leaves. Just kidding. He's waiting outside the door.

Mother sits next to me and begins tapping her painted nails.

"Well?" I ask.

"I thought I raised you right."

"You did." I sit straighter and try my best not to squirm under her intense gaze.

"Is that how you feel? I tried to raise a lady. Not some dyke who plays a mans game." Mother sneers, cutting to what she came in here to say.

I shrink under her unforgiving glare, "I'm no dyke, Mother."

She cocks a perfectly defined brow, "Yes, you are. What's next, will you be bringing a girls home to meet us? Or are you going to get yourself pregnant like that pathetic girl, Ivy? We were sitting in high cotton, Avery. You messed all that up, and for such stupid reasons."

I set my burrito down, my appetite gone, "Sorry I couldn't be the daughter you wanted." I say, the words branding themselves in my mind. Along with her cold response.

"Me too."

*

As I enter Mr. Weavers calculus class, my first period, silence greets me. I bow my head and hurry to the empty desk near Ivy. I keep low, not wanting to see the stares, but I could feel them.