Cleaning Out My Closet

Chapter One

Hey everybody, this is my first not epic story (meaning wars and bloodbath lol), and I gotta say I'm loving it :) Let me know what you think-is it something you could relate to? Are you ready to read more? Comment, vote, and fan!

This chapter is dedicated to CheeseOnTheSide for the amazingly cute cover she did for me. Thanks again for it :)

Jenn Proske as Ray  -------------------->

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Chapter One

I never meant to hurt you; I never meant to make you cry, but tonight I’m cleaning out my closet.

                -Marshall Mathers

If you had the ability to tell everyone how you really, truly felt about them, would you do it? No consequences, just the cold hard truth?

                Everyone’s probably thought about it. I used to have fantasies of sitting everyone in chairs around me while they listened to the truth I had to give them.

This might seem to be a little extreme, but sue me. It’s how I feel, and I’ve had some crappy things happen to me to make me feel this way. Maybe not ridiculously outrageously crappy things. Both my parents are still together. No one in my family has died in a terrible way. But, admit it. All those TV shows are wrong, all those parents who say “it’s the best years of your life”, they’re full of it. High school can be hell in a hand basket for some people.

Of course, not for everybody; there’s the Queens, the Jocks and Scholar Bees. Anymore, even nerds can be cooler than the norm. And the norm, in this case, is me.

                “And my totally frizzy hair,” I mumbled to myself, trying in vain to smooth it to my head in a somewhat orderly fashion. Of course, as soon as I got it to lie down, another gust of wet wind blows up.

                “Ugh!” I held both of my hands to my head, trying to keep my hair from getting in my lip gloss as I ran into the school. It’s not until I got close to the door and heard some snickers did I realize what I looked like-a frizz haired girl with both arms up in the air, running like a chicken with their head cut off. I turned to look at the people laughing at me, and was ashamed to realize it’s some of the jocks with a new upperclassman. I didn’t know his name yet; it was still the first week of my sophomore year, but I just loved how this is his first impression of me.

                I turned my gaze away immediately, but not before I see the looks on the jocks’ faces.

                Truth: you might laugh at me now, but you’re going to realize after high school that all the kids you made fun of are going to be the ones that actually make something of themselves, and you’ll be the worthless fat guy, sitting in a sports bar, reminiscing of days gone by.

                If only I had the cahones to tell them that to their faces.  A small smile escapes my lips as I imagine the shades of red their faces would turn.

                I walk into Mr. Ford’s class, hoping this day passes by quickly and uneventfully. For the most part, the day goes by without fanfare, and by lunch time I’m finally able to relax. I’m really superstitious, and this morning was a bad omen. I walked into the lunchroom, hands in my hoodie pocket, looking for my non-group’s table.

                I call them my non-group because we’re pretty much the undesirables. Some of us are ungrouped by choice, others by design. Take me for example. I’m one of the ungrouped-by-design cats. When I first started school here as a seventh grader, I was in my ugly duckling stage-you know, the stage when, no matter what, your makeup is terrible, and your hair is blah. Most girls have their ugly duckling stage at this age, but I wasn’t so lucky. Apparently, on this side of town, there’s no such thing as an “ugly duckling” stage. I only wish someone would’ve told me.