That math teacher destroyed my life. He was so petrified to have this quiet gothic emo girl in his room. Like a I was neon sign distracting the whole class. My math grades were through the roof. He still thought made his class look foolish.
He sent me down the hall and to the left, to a place I know all too well--the gidance counselor. She always told me the same thing, "speak up you'll get stepped on, you're a beautiful girl I'm shore your voice is the same."
I wouldn't respond. I would think to myself "This mat is the one at the bottom of the stack, it won't ever be stepped on, they say it's different, it's not like the others. You know what. I don't want to be like the others. I'm fine at the bottom of the stack.
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I got on the bus still mad at that math teacher. The two people I sit with talk about me to the girl behind me when I have my earbuds in. They think I can't hear them. The beginning of Fall Out Boys song Fireworks distracts me from their words I don't care about any way.
My mom texts me asking about my day. I lie. I don't tell her about that math teacher. Or the councilors pathetic words. My mom worries about me. More about me with others. In kindergarten I poked a kid with a pencil and my teacher. Well she phrased it as, "She stabbed him with the pencil." I sat quietly. Ever since then my mom worries about me with others.
