It's the first day of school. I'm in eighth grade at Blue Lake Middle School . It's cloudy and overcast and the gray lifeless clouds hang above me and seem to stretch for miles.
Walking down the hall to start off a new school year would feel good to anyone else. Not me. These halls are filled with pain. It's suffocating. Maybe because of my "undiagnosed anxiety" as Mr.Ferguson, our principal, calls it. I looked it up in the library and Google said, "a feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome." Which is completely incorrect, I'm not nervous so much as claustrophobic. Maybe I'm in denial, I don't really care. Nothing matters.
I see kid walk in front of me. He's wearing a bright pink shirt. I grab him by the collar of his shirt and lift. He's obviously surprised because the stupid look on his face makes me want to laugh. Dumbass. I push him down and he spills all his papers he was holding in his binder. I laughed and walked away.
He has tears in his eyes. I keep walking. I was looking for my first class, room 223. I'm getting closer. 201 202 203 204 205 206... my next class is English. 219, 220, 221, 222... Here it is, 223. I walk in just as the bell rang.
"Hello," cheers the teacher. I already hate this class.
"Take a seat and we'll take roll. By the way my name is Mrs. Carson and I will be your English teacher this year," I choose a seat in the back by myself.
"I want to learn all you names by Friday so when I call your name please stand up and say something about yourself," I hate when teachers do this.
Mrs Carson calls out each of the students in alphabetical order of last names. Thank god my last name is Watterson because I need to think of something to say. I can't look weak, especially on the first day. She runs through the names fast and I still don't have anything.
"Macy Vergn?" Mrs. Carson calls. I was next.
"Here. I'm May and I'm an artist" she says it quietly barely looks up from the paper she's on with a pencil. Probably drawing.
"Thank you, May," Mrs. Carson has dark smooth cocoa skin that looks like silk. She's very young, probably in her twenties, and has full curly hair that she puts up.
"Next is..." She looks down at her clip board, "Jack Watterson?"
I stand, I look at all the eyes on me. I want to just run out of the classroom, but I don't.
"I'm Jack and I...I have a big, I mean strong, I mean thick, I mean large, I mean," what am I saying? STUPID. "I mean I work out. My biceps" I quickly add. I feel the red in my checks. Stupid stupid stupid.
I feel the stares and the giggles. What had I done? I catch someone staring at me, it's a boy in a blue plaid shirt. He has brownish blonde hair, bright blue eyes and round glasses. I can't remember, but I think his name starts with an L.
The class ends and I made my way to my next class. History. Thank god all we are going to do today is the same thing we did in English. No homework except syllabi. For most kids syllabi is homework for their parents, but my parents would never sign anything. I had to forge all of them.
My last class is math. But the rest of the day seems to go by in a flash. When it's finally over, and the bell rings, I'm not exited. I walk home, which gives me too much time to think, but I still take slow steps. By the time I get to my front door I have tears in my eyes.
