Feel (Kellic)

Chapter 7

Sorry in advance if there's any typos. I don't have the energy to proof read today.

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Chapter 7

I've been avoiding the grounds completely. I locked myself in my room the whole entire weekend. Ms. Snowdon knocked on my door a few times and Frankie has stopped by, wedging things under the doorframe. Dr. Nicholls has called I don't know how many times, but I still refuse to come out of my room. Maybe I was being completely childish, or still am. I just need time to think. 

I've barely eaten a thing and I ignore the growling of my stomach. I don't want to get up and leave the room, not in this state. I'm being weak, I know, but I wasn't prepared for somthing like this. I had no idea how to handle it.

A boy I barely got to know kissed me. After I spilled the generalization of my sorry little life to him. I never wanted that to happen, never thought it would. What was he thinking? What was I thinking? If he wants to get into my good books, then he isn't supposed to kiss me. That's not how it works!

But how is it supposed to work? I was never good at making friends in the first place, so how did Hayley and I become friends?

If I think back on it...

"Kellin Quinn Bostwick?" The teacher called from up front, rifling through the attendance papers.

"Just Quinn." I answered. The teacher gave me a look but didn't comment on it.

I dreaded coming to the first day of 6th grade. I was going to a new school, a new venue, new faces. It wasn't my type of thing. In elementary, it was difficult for me to make friends anyways, and now that I've moved away from all of them, this should be even worse.

I sat in the back of the class, being careful to avoid the groups of people already forming. I know that I'll never be a part of a clique, and neither do I really want to. It was just the perks of being slightly messed up.

I opened up one of my binders and started doodling random pictures on the lined paper. My mom always told me that I was a great artist. In all honesty, I really don't think I am.

Somebody snatched my pencil out of my hand. I glare up at the person, who was a boy with messy black hair and a smirk pinned to his face. He twirled my pencil in his hand. He smelt vaguely of weed.

"Whatcha drawing there, Just Quinn?" The boy tossed me my pencil, which landed on the page, leaving a scratch of graphite over the little sketch I was earlier creating. I huff a sigh of irritation.

"Your head on a stake." I say, crossing my arms and looking at him, straight in the eyes.

He glared right back, "Oh really?" He leaned over the desk and right into my face. Yup, definitely weed.

"Really." I spit back, not daring to break eye contact.

"Well, Just Quinn, too bad for you because you won't live long enough to finish that." He lunged forward and just as I started bracing myself for the impact of a fight, a girl's voice broke the tension.

"Piss of Ronnie. Don't be a dick head." Ronnie straightened up, looking over at the speaker, who was a short girl with choppy orange-red hair. Her arms were crossed and she was giving him a look that would freak out just about anybody.

"Jeez, Hayley, I'm just playing around." Ronnie attempted at negotiating, but the girl-Hayley-was having none of his shit.

"I said piss off." Hayley took a step forward, and like a shamed dog, Ronnie scampered away. Hayley breathed a sigh of relief and glanced over at me.