To Forget it Ever Happened

To Belong~1

Grade: 11, Age: 16, Location :Shit hole haha I mean- Salt Lake City, Utah.

Would it be too predictable if I said I wanted to be big in this world?

Maybe. It’s not like it’s unheard of. As unoriginal as it sounds, I want to be a star.

And If I couldn’t be a star, I ‘d settle for an asteroid or something equally as shiny. I just needed to get my name up on billboards.

I could just imagine mom’s face when she finds out. She thinks I should be an accountant. I failed math every year and I’m pretty sure the calculator my teacher threw at me last year for telling her the pythagorean thyrum was equivalent to my ass, eliminated my chances of having success with math. But my mother's reaction after I tell her I want to be an actress would probably be hilarious.

 "You're what, you’re running away to become a-a what? A star? Have you been dieting too long? There’s a chocolate bar in the fridge honey."

Maybe I could be a dancer- hey, I could break out a few moves (Acne isn't the only thing I break out). Or maybe even a singer (with a few lessens since my voice sounded a little like a group of pigeons fighting for some bread), and most importantly a legend (they’d have my name on all cereal boxes), yeah I’ll contact my people to ConAgra’s people. That girl, they'd say, is the best.

I'm going to find some sleazy guy named Herbert with a jacket overflowing with illegal items, get some knock off tickets for an unfair price, and courageously hop onto the next four o’clock train to Nevada.

I’d later find out that the tickets could have been cheaper and then I’d get my people to form a mob and attack poor Herbert.

 I hummed contently.  I was going to be the best and no one was going to stop me because I’m Amelia Shazz Frapper and I’m a star in the making.

 But right now, the entire right half of my face and my shoulder was glued to the rough and deteriorating wall of my school bus because the guy next to me was the twin of Hulk, camouflaged with a forest green football jersey. The number on the back of his jersey was barely recognizable too because you had to turn your eyes the other direction to read it.

I didn’t know his real name but around here, everyone called him Cub.

 Cub had curly brown hair that you would imagine on a mad scientist and a hideous goatee. I was sure that he was a senior because he stood out in all of my classes like an elephant with a football jersey in the room.

 He was the kind of guy that was made fun of. I found this out after we first met.

As soon as he stepped on the bus everyone slowly started chanting his name and I misinterpreted it as a sign of respect and appreciation.

So when he was walking down the aisles (more like stomping like an ogre) and people were clapping and patting him on the back as he strode to the back of the bus, I thought it was encouragement.

I was sitting alone, like always, covering my face with my hair forming a curtain around it so I would be ignored. A deep voice coughed, startling me from my game of hide and don’t get seeked. “Hey, this seat taken malady?”

I looked up at him and he seemed serious. I looked around him and everyone was gaping, hell even I started gaping.

And that’s when my stomach lurched and I threw up on his shoes. Chunks of peanut butter and toasted bread were spewing out of my mouth in a graceless fashion and tumbling and flowing like a thick stream onto his brand new sneakers that he probably got for the first day of school.