“God, she’s so pretty,” my friend, Joshua, sighed. Joshua Hibanachi is I guess what you could call a 7th grade heartthrob, if that’s even a thing. He likes pretty much all of the girls in the 7th and occasionally 8th grade and ALL of the girls appear to love him.
“Ew! Who?” I replied. I don’t know what’s been happening to all of my friends for the past two years. I must be really special, ‘cause I’m the only guy in my grade who has never referred to a girl as hot, cute, or anything other than a cootie spreader. Girls never “check me out” and I don’t really care. I’m just as interested in “checking them out” as a 1st grader.
“Duh! Lila!” he snapped at me, falling out of his trance for a few split seconds. Lila Kent, an amazing singer with long dark curly hair and huge brown eyes, has been Joshua’s main crush for the past 6 weeks. Its actually surprising how long he’s kept this crush for; he’s usually a two weeker.
“Seriously? Sure she’s a great singer and all but, she’s definitely not cute,” I whined, pretending to gag.
“Oh, come on, Jackson. She’s not that bad!”
“She’s a girl. She runs around smelling like a Bath & whatever Works store and caking on so much useless makeup that most people can’t even find her face!” I laughed, but I was being honest. Girls do seem to always be smelling like lavender or vanilla. It’s kind of weird. Why do girls do that. You know, put on a bunch of annoying smells. It makes my nose itch. I’m not kidding, why?
BRIIIIIIIINNNNGGGG! I swear the bell shattered my ears as Joshua and I walked out of the cafeteria. I was headed to math and Joshua was supposed to be going to science, but it looked like he had gotten caught up talking with some other people. I raced to my locker. “I’m going to be late,” I thought. People trampled over me as I tried to get my text books out of my bottom locker. I hate my locker. Being on the bottom means getting run over by everyone above you, but I guess being on the top means being more vulnerable to swinging locker doors. I got to class as quickly as I could while tripping over my untied shoelaces.
“You’re late, Mr. Kitt,” Mr. Bareilly scowled as I slammed down into my seat.
“Sorry, Mr. Bareilly. Guess I just can’t add up to your expectations,” I laughed. Unsurprisingly, so did everyone else. At my school, anyone could be the class clown. Seriously, I can say something totally amateur and everyone busts out laughing. I wonder what would happen if I actually told a good joke for once. I’d probably kill everyone.
“Very funny. Would you like to solve the problem of the day? It’s you plus clowning around equals a visit to Principal Feeney,” Mr. Bareilly grumbled, attempting a comeback that had so obviously failed.
“Fine, fine. I’m quiet,” mumbled, propping my feet up on my desk and sliding my chunky black glasses off of my nose. I guess you could say I’m the class clown. Some people think that my jokes are really childish but, let’s be honest, all of us have to let the kid in us out sometimes.
Speaking of me, I’ll go on and introduce myself. My name is Jackson Bradley Kitt. I like making people laugh, hanging out with my friends, playing video games, and - don’t tell anyone - school. I live with my mom and dad, I’m an only child, and one of the shortest guys in my grade. I hate my bottom locker and my red hair and I got one of my teeth knocked out last year when when my 3 year old cousin accidentally hit me with my xbox360 game controller.
Class was a blurr. What’s a translation and what does it have to do with some type of grid? Oh well. I’ll look it up when I get home.
Homework was overwhelming tonight. I had totally forgotten to do my essay on current issues with todays youth. Mrs. Maldara assigned me to do child abuse. To be honest, it made me want to cry to see what some kids have to go through. Some kids are abused by their own family and friends. I sort of wish I could do something, but I’m just a kid, a useless 4’ 6” 12 year old class clown.
The next day wasn’t much different. Morning classes, lunch, more classes, and then walk home. Well, lunch was different. Joshua got me to talk to a girl. I can’t believe it! I, Jackson Bradley Kitt, talked to a cootie infested girl!
"She looks sick,” Joshua mumbled sounding sick himself.
“Who?” I asked.
“Avery, Avery Lipton,” he replied, still looking puke green, “The quiet girl with curly blonde hair. It looks like she hasn’t eaten in days.”
“Okay…” I said, dumbfounded. Joshua gave me a look as the color in his face began to come back in, “NO! I’m not going to go talk to her!”
“Come on, what are you, scared?” Joshua laughed, “Maybe you’ll like her.”
“LIKE HER?! Gross! No freakin’ way!” How dare he! Me? Like a girl? What kind of twisted mind does he have?
“Just try to go talk to her!”
“Fine,” I grumbled.
I reluctantly followed Avery out of the cafeteria, scared of what would happen. Had Joshua set me up? Would he?
“Hi,” I whispered.
“Um, hi,” I could barely hear her. The only reason I knew she was talking was because I saw her lips move.
“Uhh...are you okay. My friend thought you looked kind of sick,” I mumbled staring at my feet.
“Yeah, I’m just… a little hungry…” she trailed off, her eyes floating over to a group of girls who were all giggling and completely ignoring their food.
“Hey, I’m not going to finish my granola bar from this morning if you want it.”
Her eyes lit up and I noticed how big and green they are. Cool. I have just plain old brown eyes, they can’t see very well either unless I have my thick black glasses on.
“No, it’s okay,” She said as the sparkle in her eyes faded away.
“Okay,” I replied turning back to my seat. Once I had sat down, I turned back to see her tuck her hair behind ear, revealing a huge purple knot.
So these are the real life effects of child abuse, but what can I do to help it?
YOU ARE READING
Leave Me At the Doorstep
Teen Fiction12 year old Avery Lipton is physically abused by her dad. She longs for a friend because even her own brother, Julian, is scared to stand up for her. Avery continues to be hopeless, hurt, and heartbroken, until she meets Jackson...
