All Pain, No Gain

Chapter 1

12 hours 11 minutes 32 seconds. 

12 hours 11 minutes 33 seconds.

12 hours 11 minutes 34 seconds.

Lunch.

Food.

Less then ten minutes away.

Okay maybe that makes me a sound a little like a pig in a desert with the last crumb of rotten food within a fifty-mile radius but I haven't had much to eat today so far. Don't judge me. Well if you haven't judged me by now then the members of the Barbie Dream House certainly have. I can see them, CLEARLY, taking the mick out of me, I can even hear them sniggering.

I don't know what they're laughing at me for; I'm a natural blonde unlike them. They make me want to tear out their ratty extensions and choke them with it.

Okay maybe I'm getting off to a bad start here. I'm starting to sound a bit like a psychopath with a tendency to rip the heads off Barbies on the way to the nearest fridge. I'm not usually a very angry person. I swear.

I'm just bored. I mean usually History is fun! Especially the World War One! I mean all those explosions, all those soldiers and all those trenches. Gosh, those soldiers were clever. But today Miss Ford was starting to remind me more and more of that slug from Monsters Inc that goes, "I'm watching you boys, always watching..."

But instead she was saying something along the lines of, "...But in 1916 Winston Churchill, the great man himself, funded the further production of the tanks..."

With that white wisp of hair spiked at the top of her head and that hideous purple jumper, she resembles the slug-like monster even more in my mind.  All she needs now is the scaly skin. She's already halfway there on that one too not going to lie.

“…24 of the 50 tanks sent off broken down before even REACHING the German lines...” Okay that one hurt my ears.  It’s like dragging your nails down a chalkboard.  Maybe I should invest in some earplugs…

I hear a chair scrape behind me but I don’t turn around.  I know who it-

“Looking foxy in those glasses today April,” Mitch whispers slyly in my air.  His hot breath on my neck means he’s too close for my liking and I shift uncomfortably on my seat.  My legs keep crossing and uncrossing in a desperate attempt to stop them legging it towards the door. 

It’s not as if it offends me; I mean, there are only so many insults you can get out of my last name so I’ve heard it before.  Like a hundred times.  Maybe more.

I wonder what made my ancestors decide on ‘Foxe’ as their surnames of everything else it could have been.  I swear if I could go back in time, the first thing I would do is let them know how much grief that name could give a person.

I bite my lip, holding back all the comebacks I have no confidence to say.

It’s frustrating really, I could say so many things back to him but my mouth stays clamped down while my mind fights the internal battle of whether to open it and face the pain that could follow or not. 

If I have nothing nice to say, don’t say it as Thumper the very wise rabbit once said, I try to convince myself that I’m not being cowardly, it’s the right thing to do anyway.

Of course, I know Mitch would never hurt me.  It’s just a habit now I guess.

At least no one else can witness my awkwardness considering the seat next to me is empty, as always.

Instead of taking on his challenge I simply untuck my hair from behind my ears and create a thick curtain between us.  This is one of those times where I simply thank my lucky stars I have naturally dead straight hair.