She speaks to me like song lyrics.
Violet Whirley sat down in the chair next to mine at exactly 8:42am. Life Management—which is like sex-ed for Catholic kids—is my second class of the day after English homeroom with Mrs. Wright, an elderly woman who was actually part of the very first graduating class of the circle of hell I am occupying at this very moment.
This is my first day of High School and I already hate it. I hate the uniform of grey pants and white izod shirts, both of which itch like fire ants crawling all over my body. I hate the vending machine cheese Danish I had for breakfast that tasted like despair. I hate that I have to get up 90 minutes before my first class, so I can make the 45 minute drive across town for the privilege of not attending the ghettotastic High School I'm actually zoned for. I hate the Junior Varsity wrestling coach; with his helmet of ash blonde hair and unironic pornstache, who looks even less enthused to be teaching this class than the stone-faced masses that are sitting in it.
Yes, I think it is safe to say that I hate almost everything about St. Francis Catholic High School, because above all else…I hate God.
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Come As You Are
Teen FictionA coming of age saga about Houston Causey, whose High School struggles are compounded by a dark secret.
