There it was again. The shrill ringing of the bell that made my life drag on. Day by day, I was losing more and more of my frail mind. "Damn..." I sighed, cussing under my breath. The flood of happy students around me made me want to puke up blood. God, what I wouldn't give to be "happy" again, even if it wasn't the happy I felt just a few years ago. It's September 12th and I'm trapped in this fish bowl of fakes, posers, jerks, and jock straps yet again. Me. My black pants, black sweatshirt, and black shoes. These people and their high, happy hopes of being something bigger than a McDonald's cashier for forty years. Me and my hopes if flying just under the radar.
"McKenzie!" Well, there goes flying under the radar. I turn and stare my oldest friend, Heather, in the face. "McKenzie! I missed you all summer! Why didn't you call me?"
"I was busy and really wasn't in the mood to go to fake central everyday for three months." She pouted,
"Mac, you need to cheer up! We're Freshman! Can you believe it?!"
"Hardly." I rolled my eyes and huffed my brown bangs out of my eyes. Heather stared at me over her glasses and twirled her blonde ponytail in her fingers. I looked up to the warning bell. "I'll see you at lunch, bye, Heather."
"See ya, Mac." I threw a glance back at her disappointed eyes as I walked towards my first class of the day. Math.
****
I walked into Mr. Ramsay's class and took a seat in the farthest corner. Perfect. A window for daydreaming and dark corners to go unnoticed. Kids flooded into the room and took their seats. The majority staring and snikering when catching site of me. I looked around, so many cheerleaders. Perfect hair, perfect eyes, perfect teeth. Perfect everything. Then, there's me ugly, gross, a stick.
Mr. Ramsay walked in and hushed the class. He seemed pretty young. Maybe, early thirties, late twenties. He was slightly handsome, I turned and saw most of the girls gawk and look to their friends. Don't get me wrong, he was good looking, but I'm not going to freak out about it. He cleared his throat and wrote his name on the chalk board. "Good morning, class. As you can see, I am Mr. Ramsay. Mr. R works just as well. Welcome to Freshman Algebra." He smiled. I heard sighs and whispers from all around. This year is going to be ridiculous.
****
I walked down the long hallway to my locker. I spun my combination carefully, 12- 26- 09. It opened with a congradulatory click of enthusiasm. I noticed a small paper flutter to the ground. I looked around. Just a sea of kids. Nothing suspicious here. I picked it up and unfolded it.
"Die razor hussie"
My heart stuck in my throat and my breath caught in my chest. Everything was a blur. How can kids be so cruel? I felt the tears in my eyes. No, Mac, not here. I slammed my locker and rushed to the nearest bathroom. I swung open the door and heard a sound that made my skin crawl. The sound of someone vomitting. I turned to leave, but the toilet flushed and the stall door opened. Crap. I was face to face in a small space with my middle school tormentor. Janie Rose. The prettiest girl you could ever lay eyes on. She didn't need make up to be gorgeous.
"What are you staring at, Sanders?" I blinked.
"Are you sick?" She stared at me with wide eyes.
"Why do you care?" I didn't know what to say next. I shrugged,
"I don't know." she laughed and threw paper towel in the trash can.
"Just what I thought, razor hussie." she shoved past me.
"Bulimia."
"What did you say?" she glared at me with the most hateful eyes I'd ever seen on anyone.
"B- Bulimia... If you aren't sick, it's the only logical explanation... I mean, to stay perfect, you need to do some drastic things, am I right?"
"Shut up! I am not a bulimic freak! What do you know about perfect? You're so far from perfect, it's funny! You're just a pathetic razor hussie! Just... Go... Die!" She stormed out of the bathroom with force. I fell back against the wall and sunk down to my knees. I buried my face in my arms and let the tears fall. My name is McKenzie Sanders and I am a dedicated razor hussie.
****
I walked into the crowded lunchroom with my brown bag clutched close to my chest. I looked around for a glimmer of hope. And, there she was. Heather waved to me from across the room. "Mac! Over here!" I hurried to where she was sitting and pulled up a chair across from her. "Isn't this amazing? Oh! I love being a Freshman! My teachers are so cool! I can't wait for the other ones! How was your day, Mac?"
"Oh, you know, middle school outcast attempting high school. You've seen the shows..." Heather frowned,
"That bad, huh? Well, don't sweat it! You and I have our last three classes together." Heather's smile made me smile, a little. She made everything better, even in the smallest way possible.
I emptied my lunch on the table and stared, was I hungry? I sighed and gathered everything up. I walked to the garbage can and dumped the armful into the trash. I sat back down and faced a puzzled Heather. "Not hungry, Mac?"
"Just, you know... Jitters, I'll be fine tomorrow." I faked a smile and looked down. I heard people whisper things about me. From the jocks, to the goody goodies, to the cheer squad, everyone had one phrase on their lips. Razor hussie. What was a razor hussie? I looked at Heather, "Hey, Heather?"
"Yea, Mac?"
"What's a razor hussie?" She shrugged,
"I don't really know, somone who uses a razor a lot? Why?" I shook my head,
"No reason, just a name floating around."
"Well, I haven't heard it, is someone making fun of you, Mac?" I scrunched up my face, shaking my head. Nice attempt at being convincing.
"No, well, not that I know of." I cleared my throat. They all were, every last one of them. Heather, if I told you, would you wanna be my friend still?
****
I walked into the art room. Finally, my last class of the day. I found my way to Heather and sat next to her. Our teacher, Mr. Vaughn, walked in. He was an older man, forties, thinning hair, short, and very round. He smiled, "Welcome to the best class you will have this year!" A bit cocky, are we? Heather beamed with happiness. She was always so expressive through art, especially painting. I sat back and listened to Mr. Vaughn drone on and on about amazing artists like Van Gogh and Picasso. Before I knew it, the bell was ringing and students were filing out of the room, buzzing with excitement. "Oh, Ms. Sanders, could you come here for a moment?" Really? My first day and I'm already on the "bad kid list".
I turned and walked to his desk, "Y- Yes?"
"I have a quick question, your father, he is a contractor, correct?"
"Yea, that's correct."
"I need a favor. Could you give him this note, please? It would mean a million." He smiled.
"Yea, sure, I'll give it to him."
"Thank you, McKenzie."
"No problem, Mr. Vaughn."
"Run along, hope you had a good first day." I nodded.
I shoved the note in my pocket and walked out of his large class room. Thank goodness this day is over. I walked out of the school, hoping tomorrow would be better than today.
