The Secret Reason I'm Homeschooled

I was at the park today when two annoying little brats came up to me and asked me a question I'll only stop hearing when I'm dead. It was the question that was just as normal as breathing, and as obnoxious as a nine year old having a coughing fit. They came up and asked me "Why are you homeschooled?" and unnessicarily added "I feel bad for you, you don't have any friends!!"

I looked at them and pretended that I wasn't annoyed enough to punch them right in their stupid bratty mouths. I looked at them and said to them why I am now attending the Kaysen Residence School. Continue on reading, and you'll know exactly why I am now homeschooled....

++++++++++ ++++++++++ ++++++++++ ++++++++++

I was eight years old, sitting in my third grade classroom net to my friend, Robert. He was tall and pale with dark brown hair and glasses. The male version of me. We were both socially akward and always ended up getting in trouble together by teachers who would yell at us for being happy. We were helping each other with the most confusing social studies assignment in Elementary school history. Once Mrs. Johansen, a mean smartass teacher with short dark hair noticed us understanding our work, she seperated us, and the only one helping me on my right was an empty patch of air. I was going to fail. Again.

Once Mrs. Johansen took away our assignments, it was off to recess. I liked to spend my thirteen minutes of freetime alone, secluded and in the cool blue shade. I would often meditate, make an effort to at least try to be calm and just enjoy the solitude. But that never lasted. I would always get questioned or picked on for being alone or quiet. This time was no exception. Robert's "girlfriend" Stacey rushed over to me, her light blonde hair swaying violently as she ran. She didn't bother knocking on my invisible locked door with the invisible "No tresspassing or soliciting" sign on the front. She barged right in on my peace and quiet.

"Hey, Rhiannon, what's up? Why are you SO sad?" she chirped. She was still a bit out of breath from running.

"Nothing. I like to be alone, and I wasn't sad!"

"Oh, okay! So guess what?"

"What?" I sighed, rolling my hazel eyes around, hoping she'd get the message and leave.

"I got a new smartphone, AND my dad got his paycheck!!"

"Good for you!" I said fakely. Maybe I was being rude, but it's her fault that my peace and tranquility was broken.

"Do you want to know how much he made?"

"No, not really!"

"Oh, okay. See you later then, bye!!" Finally. Now Stacey ran off to play four square and I was able to breath. But before I could close my eyes, the bell rang. Lunch time. The fourth most horrible time of the day. Well, besides getting up, that is.

We all formed single-file lines into the bathrooms of our gender. Why the bathrooms? I have no idea. We were never allowed to wash our hands after being outside, and there are doors into the cafeteria right next to the bathrooms. Instead of doing what made sense and was actually hygienic, we were squirted with hot hand sanitizer and forced inside. No exceptions. We were given only ten minutes to eat, and the wait to get our food was about seven minutes, and it was NOT seven minutes in heaven. It was long, crowded and disorganized hell filled with demons calling out to each other. (Kids having conversations)

I was woken up by some rude excuse for a person jabbing me and pushing me forward.

"Go you idiot! The line is moving!!" I glared at him hard and told him some things in Turkish I wouldn't repeat. I saw Robert at the front of the line. He was nervously taking his lunch from a bitter older woman wearing a hair net. she was the notorious lunch lady, Thelma Sykes-Bonebreak. After him, the same woman served my friend, Georgina Flasnick her "food", along with some grape juice only the "special kids" here allowed to have. But she served her something else, too. Something that wasn't lunch. It was an evil, murderous glare filled with hatred and fury. So what she overheard Georgina say that the food sucked? It does! The truth hurts! Besides, it isn't even food.