Rebel Changed

Chapter 1

"Shut up!" I shouted as I turned swiftly around to see that woman crouching down staring at me in shock. She was covering her face. She tried to open her mouth but there I was screaming, repeatedly punching the wall - what was I even saying? My books which I had thrown at her were sprawled across the floor. Suddenly, I realised what a terrible thing I had done.

The door to the classroom opened slowly and a teacher who had never taught me walked past.

"Sarah, what's happen-?" but she froze when she saw the blood flowing from my hand . Both our eyes met and I could see she was scared of what I might do. I was scared of what I might do as well. I stepped back holding my arms.

"I'm-" I opened my mouth to explain myself however it was in vain. The teacher had sprunt to the staff room just at the end of the corridor and immediately a couple of teachers who had free periods due to the year eight workshop rushed out concerned for their colleague - and what that dangerous student might do.

I watched as my English teacher was escorted somewhere.

"Mira! Mira!" a voice echoed in my head.

"Huh," I said. It was my French teacher: Madame Samuel, "Come with me,"

She almost had to drag me up the stairs to the learning support room. I was too engulfed with that dreadful feeling I had thrown away my future - I had broken the dreams and hopes of my parent as well as flushing down their pride.

I was led into the learning support room which had only seen from the outside. I never had to go into it and as I entered I was immediately greeted with blank colouring pages and crayons.

"Would you like to sit there, Mira," Madame Samuel instructed. I nodded taking my seat. She waited just outside of the room as if to provide me with some private space. I just stared at my hand and could see the dark bruised on my wrist and compared them to the fading scars on my arm.

In the classroom, I had been fine, smiling and enjoying the activity we were doing. It was a snow day and the class was scarce. I had got up to stick blue-tack on my posters when she told me to hurry up. She kept ordering me to hurry up not understanding that I had to not prepare just my poster but my friend's as well. She had told me something but then shouted at me because she had meant something else. "Don't you have any common sense?" she had asked. I remembered my dad teaching me about the importance of common sense when I was younger and when she had asked that I felt as she was insulting him. That was when it had hit and my patience was stolen and I turned. I closed my eyes as if trying to forget will erase the event completely from history. Yet, I knew it would be there - forever in my record. The lunch bell rang pushing me back into the present and reality.

I hated colouring - it was too pedantic yet right now, I knew that my mind was racing so quickly that unless I took my mind of my thoughts now, I would probably end up in tears or worse lash out in anger. Slowly, I shifted my attention from the suspension that was probably awaiting me to filling the dark outlines of the flowers.

No sooner had my green crayon touched the paper that the head of my year, Mrs Reaver and the student support manager, Mrs McLeon. Mrs Reaver was angry but I was used to it - she was also my P.E teacher and I knew she hated me because I was terrible at it. I had never spoken to Mrs McLeon before but she had a softer and more sympathetic look than my former P.E teacher.

"Mrs Reaver, would you bandage up her hand?" Mrs McCleon said.

"Sure," she said as she reached for the firsts aid box and begun to wipe the blood on my knuckles. It stung but I didn't care.

"Mira," Mrs McLeon called and I was happy she was the one to talk.Mrs Reaver continued to look at me.

"Yes," I said a bit shakily.