'You can do this.' I steeled myself up, shivering in the light early winter breeze. I self-consciously yanked my jumper over the swell of my stomach.
What were people going to say? Nobody ever would have expected me, the quiet, prim girl who always lurked in the Art Classroom, to fall pregnant at a young age. It just wasn't normal. I opened the swinging door, shuddering at the noise. It was pandemonium in there. Lockers clanged, bitches gossiped. The sound of jocks hollering reverberated down the hall.
My locker was decorated, shall we say. Filthy, vulgar language covered it from top to bottom.
bitch
slut
who'd want to fuck you?
thot
where the baby daddy at
slag
whore
bet you that the daddy left
easy
your baby is retarded
I bowed my head. I didn't want to cry, not in front of these guys. This was my life, my baby. I may not have meant to get into this mess, but I loved my baby already, with my heart and soul.
The corridor slowly emptied out. I was alone. The dams broke, and tears started to fall. I balled my fists up, pressing them against my eyes.
The slight tap-tap-tap of feet pattered down the hall and stopped beside me, in front of my locker. The mystery person beside me exhaled a little.
"Do you have a sharpie?" They - he - asked quietly. I peeked out from under my bangs, up at him.
Cute. He was so cute.
His hair was dark - auburn, really. His skin was a light honey tone.
His eyes were absolutely enchanting.
Hetrochromia iridium. The genetic anomaly that causes someone to have two different colored eyes.
One blue, one red eye peered at me. The delicate honey skin tinted a slight rose colour as he realized I was staring at him.
"Do...do you have a sha- uh, a sharpie?" He repeated, fumbling for the words to say. I nodded a little, pulling my pencil case out of my bag and pressing it into his hands.
He pulled a sharpie out, stepping up to my locker. My heart dropped. He was about to join the others.
He scrawled something before turning back and flashing a shy smile. I blinked. That wasn't something that someone would do if they had just written a degrading message.
He stepped back to my side, capping the sharpie and passing it to me.
Good luck!
- A.Z
I turned to the side, a million questions on my lips.
He was gone.
