FREE

ONE

What the hell is going on with the time today? I tap my pen furiously against the single-seated school desk, watching the second hand slowly wind around the clock. One thirty can't get here fast enough. I grow more impatient as it seems like the hand purposely snails its way around. It's been 1:17 for far too long. I gave up on taking notes a long time ago; I want to get to Ms. Salvi and show her the new combo that I came up with last night.

Even though the winter show is more than two months away, it doesn't ease my anxiety to rehearse drastically. When it comes to dancing, I see it as a way of life, a soul motivating passion, which could never require too much practice. It's a part of me; my dancing makes Kendra—Kendra. Someone hisses my name from behind, distracting my thoughts.

"Kendra!"

There's a sharp tug on my long, curly hair, I turn around to my friend Daviny, straightening up in her chair with her ice blue eyes wide. Her leg is bouncing quickly as she wiggles her phone beneath the desk. I catch on immediately and pull my phone from my pocket, wondering vaguely why it hadn't vibrated.

1:10 pm: What time should I meet you?

1:13 pm: Um hello??? Hurry my mom is waiting on my answer.

1:17 pm: Ken! C'mon text me back! Class is almost over!

 I glance over my shoulder pouting my lip, then mouth the word 'sorry'. She rolls her eyes playfully and nods. Before I turn back around, three things happen all at once; our teacher, Mr. Simpson, pauses from his never ending, blabbering lecture on national debt. Daviny's eyes look past me, wider than before—if even possible, and my phone is snatched from my fingers. I whip my head back around, bewildered, looking into his face then down to my phone slipping into his pocket.

"That's the fourth time this week Ms. Racine," he says, smiling, while crossing his arms. "You won't be getting this back without a parent coming to the school to retrieve it for you. Now, would you excuse yourself and go to the main office?"

 "Are you kidding me? That's not fair!"

 The entire class is watching now, probably amused at what's going on.

"Oh it's very fair young lady—more than fair given the fact that this is the fourth time this week you have interrupted class with this cell phone. Not to mention, your mother was called here twice last week."

Alright, alright, just shut the hell up. "Okay, okay I'm sorry. Can I just have it back?"

"You can go to the principal's office," he sneers in his nasal voice.

"Mr. Simpson come on! So what, I've been on my phone; I still do all of my work. I barely miss any assignments and my notes are better than half of the class!"

"I'm not going to argue with you about this Ms. Racine." He shoots his finger towards the door. "The main office—now!"

I glare at him, shocked and seething; I can't believe he's taking it this far! My chest heaves from the anger that boils up inside me. Oh I hate him. I hate seeing his disgusting gut stuffed in those ratty argyle sweaters, strut in front of me every day in this stupid class. I hate his swollen hairy hands that have stolen my phone away. Forget this. I want nothing more than to leave this classroom.

Heaving one last angry sigh, I stand up and shove my textbook, notebook, and his fucking worksheets off the desk. The girl next to me shrieks, jumping in her seat as the books hit her legs.

"Ms. Racine! That's extremely inappropriate!"

Fuming, I swing my bag over my shoulder and march past him without another word. The room is silent, all eyes are on Mr. Simpson and I. Ignoring my mature instincts, I mutter "asshole" as I get to the door.