My name, is Wilder Gwen. And I don't understand. I have no clue why she insists on telling me I'm not well, that I'm not right in the head. You wonder who this is I'll bet, she, is Mrs. Hingley. The white walls of the classroom stare back at me as she writes on the chalkboard, 9 letters. Detention. But of course the old witch only has one question for me
"Mister Gwen? How exactly does someone manage to get detention from art?"
Her voice sickens me. It makes my body churn with the burning desire to walk out of this classroom. At this point, the threat that floats over me, of being expelled from Lancaster East High School, doesn't register. I hate this place. A burning passion that fuels my hellish existence. With teachers, who's voices sound like nails on ceramic dinnerware. Not to mention jocks who waltz around like this is the combine center, not a high school. Hence, Lancaster East High School. But of course. I reply quietly to the frizzy red haired lady, with the heels longer than my neck,
"You use the paint brushes as walrus tusks, then eventually something terribly inappropriate"
I replied under my breath. If you couldn't guess the fact there was laughter, you need a head check. The seven or ten kids that occupied the room, other than myself, laughed. One girl cringed, and another was holding her phone under her desk. Oh yes, very sneaky. Loving the conversation you're having with- at this point I had to lean farther forward to see the screen. Ah! Having with " Lisa *heart, star* BFF!! " Let's just say girls annoy me, living with three girls between ages four and fifteen; I've had enough of them for my eighteen years. Now I bet you'll say I'm some sexist pig who loves to trash those of the non male gender. Please, do tell that to my three younger sisters. In fact, you should take my advice on women. You think a guy wouldn't know what a girl is like, living with fifteen, twelve, and four year old girls that practically run your estate. I know the different stages of a girl I guess. The iPhone obsessed, and vans millionaire. That's Phinn. She's 15, which I assume you figured out. Then there's the stage where the only boys you're worried about are the cocky ones that annoy you in gym class, and mud baths are for pure fun. She's my favorite. The 12 year old tomboy, Kieleigh. But of course, who could forget the littlest stage. Where your big brother is your hero, and you live in your princess dress. That's Dylanne. She's on 4. As you can tell, I've had my fair share of girls. But this is the story of how girls in fact, did change my life. Here's your fist hand account of where my life went wrong.
