Women and Wolf

My New Friend Has A Terrible Fake Accent

It was a pain in the arse escaping that crowd, but I did it, somehow.
Making my way through the halls, I bump into something, or rather, someone, sending me crashing to the ground. Gritting my teeth, I stand, dust off my pants and look up.
A petite redhead with tanned skin and eyes so blue they could shock you were standing in front of me, her hand extended. I shook it firmly, surprised at her tight grip.
"Heya Buffalo Gal. The names Coralia (Core-AH-Lie-a), and yours is?" She said in a fake accent, tipping her imaginary hat after.
"Howdy Cora, the names Tyla. Sorry bout that, wasn't lookin where I was goin. Do you mind directin' me to the nurses? I gotta patch this fella up."
"It's no problem, really. Oh my lord, he's the cutest!! I can take you there if you want. I am studying to be a vet, so I can help if it's okay?"
With that said, Cora spun on her heel, her vans squeaking on the floor. We soon got there, and Coralia helped me set the fawn on the table.
"It looks to be a bad break, may not make it. I can't set it," I spoke quietly, stroking the fawns back to calm it. She bends down to check the leg, soon standing up with her brows furrowed.
"It ain't gonna live, either way. If we try to fix it, the leg will never fully heal properly and it will be an easy kill for all the wolves round these parts. If we don't fix the leg and put it out of its misery, it will be painless and quick."
"I s'pose we ought to kill it, poor thing."
We did it, gave it the shot I had in my kit. Died in my arms, it did. The last thing I saw was its big doe-like eyes glancing up at me as it snuggled into my coat. I buried it in the woods just behind the school. Coralia showed me a clearing, with a bed of Indian Blankets and Black Eyed Susans in the center.
I sat there for a while, in silence. Cora stood behind me quietly, her head bowed.
The death of it took a toll on us, the realization of being utterly helpless and useless had settled in. As Mama always says, "If you fall get right back up. Cowgirls ain't criers, we're fighters," and I stick to it.  Standing up, I dust my hands off and smile.
"Ready to go back, Cora? The late bell is ringing for homeroom. We can just say you were showin me around... thank you so much."
"Sure Ty... let's go."                                                                                                                                        

When we walked into homeroom, which we had together, the teacher looked up. It was a man in his mid-forties I'd say, his name was Mr. Rucker. When he asked me to tell the class about myself, I hesitated, before smiling and covering up my expression.

"Hi? My name is Tyla James, and I grew up on the border between Texas and Oklahoma. I am a 3 time National Barrel Racing Champion and All-Around Cowgirl. I'm 17, but I turn 18 in 2 months."

"Very interesting, Ms. James. Does anyone have any questions?"

Uh-oh. This could be bad... Scanning the classroom, I look for a seat to sit at once this torture is over. There are 2, one next to the slut we now know as Jessica, or one in the back of the classroom. The back, definitely.

Finally paying attention, someone just asked if I was a virgin and if I would go out with him. No and No.

I walk over to the seat I picked and plop my stuff down, plugging my earbuds in and opening my book. A few minutes later the door slams open causing me to look up.