Bones

Chapter Three

    Monday mornings suck.
    Seriously, they truly do. Having to wake up early after two days of sleeping in and pushing off your homework.
    They're also a reminder that no matter what I do, I will never be able to escape the unfortunate tragedy called high school.
    Okay, I have to laugh at the fact that I just sounded like an overdramatic, depressed teen from some eighties movie.
    In all honesty though, Monday mornings are known all over the world as the worst part of the week for a reason.
    I head straight to school after getting dressed, skipping the kitchen in hopes that my mother won't see me.
    The parking lot is filling up quickly, and I find myself praying that there are going to be parking spots left by the time I get to the front of the line.
    Three minutes before the bell rings, I find a spot right next to Claire Taylor.
    Both the most loved and most hated girl in school.
    She's straight out of a movie, picking on the girls who weigh even ten pounds more than her. She brags about how her parents own one of the biggest gym chains in America, and gets her friends free memberships.
    Claire hates me, and she has ever since her best friend hooked up with me last year. Her name was Scarlett Wilson, and my god, did she fit the name.
    She had dark red hair, I'm convinced she dyed it that color simply because of her name.  She wore this beautiful dark red lipstick, something creamy that smeared all over our faces when our lips met.
    Neither of us cared.
    Claire decided that no one in her group was allowed to be a part of homosexual activities, and ended up shunning Scarlett. I was on the back burner, not even worthy of all of her hate.  Eventually, Scarlett transferred to another school and Claire turned all of her attention to me.
    Surrounding me with her minions, pushing judgmental notes into my locker, and publicly embarrassing me was only the beginning of it.
    Like I said, she's straight of a movie.
    I pull my car into what's left of the spot— Claire is truly a horrible parker.
    The cold air bites at my skin, though I'm not quite sure whether it's actually the air that's so cold, or if it's me.
    I bundled up this morning in a long-sleeve shirt, a sweatshirt, and a jacket on top of that.
    It's almost October, only a couple of days until people start talking about which Disney princess they'll make scandalous this year.
    The last time I dressed up was when I was nine, when Alex, Lillian, and I dressed up as animals. Alex was a bunny, Lillian a cat, and I was a dog.
    But not really, more like we each wore one color, and then ears that corresponded to our animals.
    Now I can't stand going shopping for Halloween costumes. The girls in the pictures on the front of the cheap plastic packages are the definition of sticks.
    The back section of the grocery store that they transformed to fit hundreds of costumes only holds outfits that I'm too big for.
    It isn't like I'm saying they won't have my size in whatever slutty costumes there are to choose from. But the cheap, itchy costumes only look good on girls 100 lbs or below.
   And that's not me.
    I'll stay in bed again this year, avoiding the typical high school parties where the asshole teenage boys target the girls that look innocent.  They pass the blunt to the girl who's never smoked before, only to take advantage of her later.
    While all of that's scary and all, don't get me wrong, I'm scared of sexual assault to, the thought of being around the huge bowls filled to the brim with halloween candy scares me the most.
    Basically, Halloween parties are the same as other high school parties, only there's candy and less slut-shaming.
    Therefore, my bed is my safest bet.
    I'll watch some crappy horror movie to get in the Halloween spirit.
    I'll replace the usual candy with slices of  cucumbers and salt. Wash that down with two cups of green tea and then drink water until my stomach sloshes.

    Math is such a stereotypical least favorite subject. I've never really understood that, my least favorite is English. In math, there is always one correct answer, maybe a few correct answers.
    You can follow a specific algorithm to get to that answer. When you're writing an essay in English, there's no telling how many different ways you can write something that fits one specific assignment.
    For some people, that's their favorite part of English.
    I would rather just sit down and work through some math problems.
    However, I believe I am slightly biased towards math because of my teacher. Mrs. Smith and I have always had a good relationship, ever since the ninth grade when I asked to eat lunch in her room one day when Alex was out sick.
    As much as I love Mrs Smith, I try to avoid her room as much as I can. I'm not avoiding her, just avoiding being roped into the standard awkward conversation that takes place when a teacher is concerned.
    They ask you why you aren't eating lunch in their room anymore, or if you're still eating lunch at all. They say you look tired and sick, and that you've looked that way for a while.
I always reply with, "I know." Then I leave after getting the last word.
    As a teacher, aren't they required to do something? Isn't it their responsibility to look after the students?
    Those questions are as close to a cry for help as I'll ever get.
    Maybe if the answers to all the questions I have could be answered mathematically, I wouldn't be in the situation I'm in right now.