Social Casualty

Chapter 9

I walk through the shiny school's gates, desperatly trying to not fall asleep while walking. It probably was a bad idea to go on a walk in the middle of the night and forget the keys in my bedroom. Just to make it clear, I got locked outside, freezing. I didn't even have my car keys so I basically spent the night in a street bench, playing in my guitar, or sleeping cuddled with my guitar, just to make sure no one would still it. Call it being paranoid, but I'm completely sure someone stole my Spiderman comic a few years back.

And now I have to carry my guitar around, hopefully it'll fit in my locker, it is pretty big. That's probably one of the few things I'm thankfull for in this school: huge lockers. Although that sometimes can be a bad thing, since I tend to load everything that has the smallest amount of space with crap. Until the other day, when Katniss saw the condition of my locker, and decided to throw every kind of garbage and papers I had stocked there over the last 5 years (a duzen of empty water botttles, millions of pamphlets, old school papers, and even a bag of chips that were already rotten). So now I have a huge clean locker to stash my guitar and the extra school uniform I left there just in case.

When walking through the hallways I receive the now usual stares that have turned into a routine since I attempted. I sometimes ask myself what is the reason this time for the attention I'm recieving. At first I thought it was because I had attempted but that was weeks ago, the shock and rumours have already died down. Then I started wondering if it was because I've been hanging out with Katniss, one of the most well-liked girls in highschool (until the pregnancy rumour started). Finnick recently informed me that there was a rumour going on that I had gotten Katniss pregnant and we were going to get married soon and flee to Mexico. 'Likely' I think sarcastically to myself. But then I realise that it's because of the guitar I bring on my back, when Principal Snow extremely discourages and despises everything that can't bring him success. Or maybe it's because I haven't showered this morning. Ups.

I droop carefully my guitar next to me as I take off the academy's shirt that makes part of the uniform and put it over my crumpled t-shirt. I'm trying to get the guitar to fit in the locker, and it really is starting to annoy me now, I know I can put it in there! When I finally manage to get the guitar in the locker, I can't close the locker's door.

"UHGR!" I grumble annoyedly. I'm about to punch something in front of me, when I feel someone slamming me againts the lockers and turning me around.

Has it ever happened to you that, eventhough you have to look down to be able to see the person's face, you still feel extremely threantened by them? Because that's how I feel right now, lifted a few inches in the air by Cato's monstruous, gigantic, muscled, buffalo like arms, that keep me pressed to the locker behind me. His face is red with fury, and he is clencinhing his jaw with so much strengh I wonder how hasn't he broken a tooth yet. I know I would have already, but then again, I'm a pretty delicate being. My muscles tighten in defense, but I know I can't just throw a punch at Cato like that- that would be suicide. And although I know I'm pretty much known for that reason, I still don't think that's the best way to die. On the other hand I've never felt so tall as I feel right now, my feet dangling from the ground as if I was hovering over the ground.

"It was you who told everyone, wasn't it? It was you, you dickhead!" he wauls at me. My defense system doesn't precisly work very well, so I do what I always do when I'm in a dangerous situation, I start stammering my words out, trying to say a coherent sentence.

"What?" I manage to say, after stumbling on my words a few times. It actually impresses me that Cato waited for me to form a comprehenseble word. He still is fuming with anger. He slams me againts the locker again, and I wonder if he is trying to put me inside it, like I was just doing with my guitar. I tightly secure it in my hand, as if this music instrument was some sort of life vest and it would save me from the beating I will be receiving very soon.