Best Wishes for Isadora *HIATUS*

When I try to forget.

For me, memories are only temporarily removed from my mind. In reality, they're like a burr on my back, hidden by my hair. It just stuck there forever. Small and barely noticeable.
But there.
People in the gymnasium turned to stare at me.
"Two miles in-"
"Fucking anorexic. Disgusting..."
"Who the hell does she think she is?"
I could feel their insults radiating off of their bodies just as I felt hot acid run through my veins.
I remember when I was diagnosed with loony disease and Isadora stayed by my side is what I'm hearing actually lies what is going on oh my god-
I sauntered over to Mr. Giovanni feigning confidence and hiding my beet red ears with my sweaty shell of hair.
"Can I-can I go get some water?" I asked. He shook his head no and his wrinkled red, bald head had never looked more like a pimple.
"I just ran two miles!" I whined, giving him a look that could melt iron.
"Why don't you run another mile and then you can learn what is the right tone to talk to me. And I'm sending my protégé out to supervise you this time, because Macy seems to have a lack of counting skills."
"I didn't know that gym class could have a protégé." I snarkily remarked, knowing that I was in dangerous territory. That wouldn't stop me.
"Why don't you run 24 laps now, Aarons?" He was more purple than an eggplant.
I flared my nostrils in rage, knowing I was turning a similar shade before I whirled around like a hurricane and went outside.
I pretended that I wasn't sweating profusely. My ego couldn't be damaged at this point.
I didn't know how I could run twenty-four laps but I knew that I would have to.
So I started-and the protégé, Tris Clarke, no surprise there- watched me intensely. Tris was a gigantic hunk of muscle, with fake blonde hair and orange skin. She had an entire half-foot on me, at a gargantuan 6'5", and never-and I repeat, never- smiled.
She was absolutely terrifying.
And despite the fact that I hadn't really spoken to any of my friends in the past seventeen days, I knew that they were giving me sympathetic glances as I slouched outside.
I was at my third mile, dying a little, when I blacked out from an adrenaline high.
I literally don't remember running any of the other laps, but eventually, Tris was chasing me trying to tell me to stop-that I was done in just twenty minutes- but I kept on going, eventually slowing down to finish my twenty-fifth lap.
The marching band director-Mr. Beltz, was watching me with interest.
He was the varsity track coach, wasn't he?
Oh crap!
I didn't ever want to do a sport. Too much commitment. Too much work. I'd be perfectly happy to run on my own accord.
But being asked to be on the track team would be a trap. Despite our shit supplies, our school sports were so elite, you couldn't even say no.
Oh shit. Shit. Ohshitshitshitshitohshit. Oh. FUCK.
That was running through my head, repeating like a broken record.
The gym class went silent as if the record needle had been lifted.
Five more minutes left in class-and Mr. Giovanni looked ready to blow a gasket.
I fled to the locker room, not saying a word.
And I hid from Mr. Beltz.

Sorry this chapter was so short I'm in class right now so I should really start paying attention.