I looked in the mirror. I hated my image. My personality. Everything about me. I was depressed all the time, I felt ugly, worthless and was desperate for a friend. But who wanted to be friends with a quiet, shy girl who self-harmed? They called me a freak and a whore, though I've never slept with a guy or have even dated one.
My mom was repeatedly calling my name, telling me to go to school. But, to be honest, school is a very scary place to me. I can't count the number of times people have noticed my scars and have judged me.
"Coming." I called down to her. I picked up my backpack and went to the kitchen.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs my mom complimented my outfit for some reason. I know she's just trying to be nice and trying to make me feel pretty, but we both know that won't and isn't going to work.
"Thanks," I said, obviously not meaning it because she didn't mean the compliment. I looked down at my feet and wiggled my toes. I hadn't put shoes on yet. I slipped on some white converse and took one last look in the mirror.
My long brown hair wasn't that straightened and became more wavy, but it wasn't frizzy. The only thing I really liked about me was my hair and my eyes. My eyes were a green color with blue specks.
I had on a pair of denim skinny jeans which I cuffed into kapris and I had a v-neck white shirt with a blue and black striped cardigan over it. I wore makeup, but not enough to look trashy; a little eyeshadow, some mascara and black eyeliner.
I walked to school. I would drive but I'm only fifteen. I always walk past the same houses. There was a small yellow house on the corner of the street. An old man, Henry Davis, lived there. He's been alive for 86 years and his wife died not too long ago. I always felt bad for them.
I kept walking and noticed a small bird on the sidewalk. Every time I see a bird I can never get too close, or else the bird will fly away. But this bird didn't move, as I kept walking.
I kneeled down on the sidewalk and tried to stroke the birds feathers. The bird flew away into the try above me.
"Figures," I muttered to myself. I stood up and continued the way to school. I'm a freshman at Emerson High. Once I reached the familiar green patches of grass, I walked to the front door of the school.
All of the students were talking with their friends before first period. I'm not the type of person who has many friends, so I went to my locker and got my books for my first class; French.
.......
When the bell rang for our first class to start, a new boy was introduced to the class. His name was Mason Jerry and he sat in the seat behind me. The guy was really cute and I found myself blushing a little.
"Don't be flattered," David Richards, the most popular guy in school told me. He had noticed me blushing. "It's the only open seat."
"What?" I asked him.
"He probably doesn't want to sit by you, it's the only open seat, slut," David repeated.
"I.. I know," I said looking down.
"Yeah..sure," he laughed, as a few of his jock friends gave him high fives.
Mr. Keywalker, our French teacher, came into class five minutes late, but went on right to teaching.
After a long 50 minutes of repeating the same five words in French, the class was over. The bell rang for the students to be dismissed from their class. As students were almost all gone from the classroom, I stood up to leave and I bumped into Mason. My notebook fell to the ground and embarrassed, I picked it back up and apologized and tried to walk fast out of there.
