The Last Night

9

Oh God, what does he want now?
Aaron came lurking down the hall with his arm slung over his friend's.
Then he excused himself and walked over to me with a blank look on his face.
"You are an idiot," he said.
And I said nothing.
There was nothing I could say.
All I could do was stare and try my hardest not to cry.
"I bet you're wondering why," Aaron continued. "Well, of course, you never know the answer during class and you never, ever get a good grade! So that's self-explanatory. Well, adios!"
Was that true? Did I really not know the answer? Well, I don't know the answer right now so it must be true! Oh, God! Please don't let it be true!
I ran into the girls' bathroom. Phew! Empty.
And then I ran into a stall, slammed the door, clicked the lock, and started crying as I sat on the toilet seat.
My tears slipped into the toilet.
Oh, God! Why is this happening?
And then I looked at the stall. There was writing on it.
One long paragraph in a pink pen.
Dear Samara Cohen,
When you come to the bathroom to cry over your pathetic life, don't forget to mention me in your will. You have nothing to offer me. You dress like a slut. You're a fucking bitch. Don't even bother trying to make friends. You'll only get hurt, love. Have fun in the chambers. Maybe your grandma will be there too.
Hugs,
Marie McCarthy 
Okay, that went too far! I don't have that many tears, you know?
But is it true?
Am I really slutty?
Am I really bitchy?
Am I really worthy of dying?
WHO AM I?
Answer: I'm a scared girl who doesn't know who she is.