I crammed myself into 4th hour that Tuesday. I sat, with my head down, in the back of the classroom, scrolling through facebook. A girl sat next to me. I could tell she was new, cause she was actually next to me.
I shook my head and continued scrolling.
"Excuse me?" someone said to me
I looked up and the girl had turned to me.
"This is psychology, right?" She asked. I nodded, still looking at my phone.
I felt someone tap me. I looked up to Nell. She handed me snacks and kneeled down. "I'm leaving for the rest of fourth hour and 5th hour. Call me if you need me." Nell told me, I nodded.
She left out the classroom, leaving me with a staring neighbor.
"Is that you're partner?" The girl spoke.
"Is that your business?" I replied snarkily. "She's my baby guardian." I said after a minute.
"Oh." She said. She was quiet momentarily. "My names Onna." The
girl said.
"My names Luna." I said, awkwardly.
I stuffed my phone in my pocket, because obviously, I wasn't going to be able to do anything with her talking to me constantly.
Class had started anyway, and my depressing psychology class just went on and on.
Onna kept trying to make conversation with me, I was basically ignoring her. Here's why: I am a senior, which means I'll be leaving soon. That also means it would be dumb to make 'last minute friends'.
By the end of class, I had started hurting in places I wish I hadn't. I stood up after Onna.
"You're pregnant?" She exclaimed. I nodded and grabbed my bag.
"Yup, I am." I told her. I would've left if everyone wasn't crowding out the door like a herd of sheep. I rolled my eyes at the ground.
"My mom owns a baby store, I could introduce you to her." Onna said, in her cheery voice.
I raised my eyebrows in surprise, "That's cool. Maybe sometime later, or during the weekend." I told Onna. She smiled.
The doorway was finally free of people, I walked out.
Nell had met me at my last hour class.
"Okay so, you have therapy today instead of Thursday, because the lady is moving buildings." Nell told me, I sighed.
"Ok. " I huffed and dragged myself into class. I still had this dickhead for a teacher.
I sat near the back. Mr. Howard called my name.
"Luna?" He questioned.
"Hmm?" I said looking up from my desk.
"Read page 463 in your history book." He told me.
"Okay," I said. I pushes the pages open and began at the top of 463.
After I'd finished, he asked me what I thought of the writers perspective.
"I think she's trying to get the point across that katniss isn't just here to kill and win. That she isn't just here to save her own life. I think she'd rather spare others really. She's showing that katniss has compassion." I sighed in relief. I was close to an anxiety attack.
"Nicely said, Luna." He nodded, "but I don't believe that's all Suzanna Collins wants to see in her character."
After, he blabbed on and on about how she was telling us more about how katniss felt rather than how her feelings worked. I had to prevent myself from rolling my eyes at least a hundred times.
When class was dismissed, I grabbed my bag and walked out.
My locker had gifts I front of it. Unisex clothing, and gift bags hung around my locker. I stood next to it.
I started crying, I didn't know if I was agitated by the gifts or thankful but I know I was crying. And my eyeballs wouldn't stop either.
I slouched next to the bags, boxes, and clothes, kind of looking through them. Nell has walked up to me, "What is this?" She sounded irritated.
"I guess teenagers really like babies." I shrugged, wiping my eyes.
Nell took stuff out to the car in a rush, and practically dragged me out too.
"What is your problem?" I snapped.
"Nothing. Come on." She tried to grab me but I yanked back.
"No really?" I asked folding my arms.
"Man come the fuck on!" She yelled at me.
I stepped back. I hadn't noticed any tears had started falling until Nell lifted her head to me, "Why are you crying?" This time she said it softly.
She walked up to me and grabbed my arms, "I'm sorry." Nell whispered. I nodded. I snatched away from her and went to the car.
She got in after me and drove me to my therapist.
