1-800-OOPS

One: She's fucking the P.E. teacher.

Stained dye on the marble countertops. Stained dye on my hands.

Dyed pink hair.

Perhaps a rebellious act, perhaps I just enjoy having pastel pink hair. Perhaps, it's the alcohol running through me. The intoxication. The thing I cling to most nowadays.

Or maybe I just want change. Maybe being eighteen isn't as easy as I thought it would be, or as I hoped it would be.

I squeeze my hair over the bathtub and watch the dripping pink dye swirl together and slowly slip down the drain along with my sorrows.

"Ms. Carter, are you ready to go?"

Grabbing the now stained gray towel, I shake my hair into it, trying to get rid of the excess dye. Clumsily, I plug in the hairdryer and finish it off. I run my hands through my shoulder length hair, shaking it like a dog.

The person that looks back at me in the mirror is now a pink haired girl. My brown eyes slightly dull but there's still a spark there, one I refuse to lose.

"I'm a bad bitch." I sing along as a smile graces my face, my dimples appearing.

"Coming," I yell as I dash downstairs.

//

I honestly think jail might be better than high school. I am actually considering my options here. Say I rob a store, what'll I get? Two years of jail tops. That easily makes up for a single year of this tortuous place.

I picture the grimy walls and moldy trays of food that I'd receive. Then I think about the boring school walls, massive amount of homework and the overpriced lunch that's most likely frozen. Yeah, jail is sounding pretty nice right now.

The other day a kid threw up all over the hallway because he failed his midterm exam. And when I say all over, I mean all over. He was like a sputtering water fountain that was broken and wouldn't stop.

Kids were running away and screaming like it was the fucking apocalypse. If some stranger would have walked in, he would have had the exact same thought.

Some of them were so unlucky that they managed to get hit with the vomit. They came out screaming, "save me! Don't let me go down this way." As they slipped on more vomit. It was pretty traumatic. And dramatic but I mean, it's high school. 

I shiver just thinking of the memory. I don't think i'll ever be able to drink out of a water fountain anymore. Why did I have to come up with that analogy? 

I on the other hand made it unscathed. I watched it all go down from outside the school doors. I should have filmed it. Bet it would have gone viral on youtube.

Now that I think about it, how did that kid manage to project that much vomit? He wasn't even that big. He must had really bombed that final. Poor kid.

"Morning." My best friend falls into step beside me. She hoists her silver chrome backpack up so it's on both her shoulders. She takes one look at me before bursting out into laughter. Her blonde hair falls around her face. I give her the finger and turn my face away. She grabs a piece of my newly dyed hair and twirls it with her finger. "Oh honey, what did you do?"

"Shut up," I roll my eyes. "It's not that bad, Mel," As I approach my locker I fumble with the lock. I bang on it a few times, getting the attention of some of the students.

"What?" I snap. "If you have something to say, say it to my face," The students look away, scrambling away from the hall.

She leans against the locker and raises a brow. "Carter, you look like a cotton candy cloud."