A Long Walk to Wifi

A LONG WALK TO HOME

People calling me "North Carolina" was something that I had gotten used to in the past few weeks. After moving from the Suburbs of New York to Arizona—I had a whole new crowd to deal with. It all started in English, when Mrs. Texas had pronounced my name wrong. Then, everyone started calling me that the next day.
Great, I thought. My name is Carolina North, and I have been expelled from my High School. It was after three boys had came into the women's bathroom, and had started to taunt me for my name. The taunting had turned into something different when the three of them had started to line up next to each other, and move closer.
I tried to escape the bathroom, it was almost predictable for what was going to happen next. The boys hunched together, making it impossible for me to get out. So, I did something that I thought I would never do before.
Carolina North was a good student. Carolina North hated blood. Carolina North would never—but all of those thoughts flew out of my head when the whole school heard three loud screams. I looked at what I did, and I had had my hands on my eyes. All I could see was red running from the boys' arms.
What else did I see? A red Swiss Army Knife on the floor, pointed toward the boys. I, Carolina North had committed my first homicide. I ran to the boys to try to help, and began crying. After the screams had emerged out of their mouths, kids rushing from every classroom piled on top of everything.
It was a risk to do this, but I scrambled throughout the crowd, pushing kids closer to the knife. They could never know that I did this. They would have to search years, months, days for them to be able to find out who did this. They would never suspect the shy new girl.
But that still didn't comfort the thought of them finding out. I texted my mom to come pick me up because kids were drinking alcohol. Works every single time. But home wasn't any better. My current situation at home was something that no one could relate to.
Every time I told my Mother how I felt, she would just nicely tell me to shush, and that it wasn't mental or physical abuse. She tried to shove the idea down my throat that everything was just find, and that I make things up because my imagination takes control of me sometimes.
She replied: "I'm sorry, sweetie. Can't pick you up. Dad and I will have to come pick you up after school." But, I didn't want to listen. I was still haunted. I had also tried to convince my parents I had OCD or some type of mental disorder—but they said that's all BS and that everyone is built the same. Wrong.
I pushed threw the crowd, which was screaming now—and made my way for the back door. It was right next to my locker, hence the name I made for it "Carolina's little exit." I pushed the door, as the wind blew in my face, and pulled my body outside.
It swung shut, as if someone was controlling it and wanted to put me in another risky situation. The sun was bright and shining, and the trees with their green leaves were swaying ever so slowly. I had to walk across town if I ever wanted to reach my house, and that's exactly what I did.
But, I remembered that a protest was being held in the park (across from the block that leads to my house,) and it wasn't peaceful. I slid my red hood on, and ran to the park; and sure enough people were throwing flames, bottles, and the like.
I had tried to push through the crowd as I did at my school, but this crowd wouldn't budge. "Hey! Hello!" Someone yelled, waving at me. "Who the—" someone else yelled. A man with a long beard and long, wavy brown hair turned to me. "Hey, Lil' Lady! You ain't supposed to be here!" "What?" I cupped my hand around my ear.
The task at hand at became impossible. "I SAID YOU FREAKING AIN'T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE!" I looked at what his hand was gripped onto, and sure enough—it was a bottle of whiskey. "Sir, I need to get through—my house is just around the corner." He shook his head, and tapped the person next to him.
He gave the man a brick. He smashed the whiskey onto the brick, and turned to me. "This is a dangerous game you playin,' little lady." He pointed the bottle toward me. The Brick Man grabbed my throat. Just like the boys at my school, they were an obstacle, and they couldn't be dealt with.
"Let me go!" I murmured. "Help!" I screamed. "HELP! HEEEELP ME!" He moved the broken bottle toward my toward my neck. The broken glass had started to skim my neck, and I ran.
After I ran for what seemed about forever, I tripped and fell down. Something started hurting, and I could see blood beginning to drip. Oh. No. I felt my neck, and I had forgotten about Bottle Man.
I held my neck, and realized I was far away from my house. Uhhhhh. I started to weep, until I heard the breaks of a truck behind me. I didn't want to look. I heard the sound of loud music fading, and gum was spit right in front of me. "Get in!" The person commanded firmly. I turned around; praying it wasn't who I thought it was. And surely enough, it was my Dad.