This is the second day of running out of class. I found a spot to sit outside and was too clouded to think specifically about my actions. When bent down to sit I felt the corner of my phone poke my side. I could have put my phone in my hidden sweatshirt pocket but I couldn't risk the cover of the hidden pocket to be blown. I kept my last few loose cigarettes and lighter in there. It wasn't good for me, but wasn't that the point. I've never done any drugs, as long as nicotine doesn't count. I don't have the desire to. I Don't know why I smoke but maybe I am lying to myself.
I got up from the ground and started walking. I knew I'd have to have a talk to my parents about this. I'm more nervous than I should be. I can't go back in shit is already weird. I'm testing what I can do. I know I will cry for my actions. I couldn't help it. Nothing ever truly matters and yet I can't stop thinking. Thinking about how the tag in my shirt won't stop rubbing against me or how my shirt was bunched up in my pants because I didn't have enough time to properly tuck it in while in the bathroom between second and third period, Mrs. Murillo didn't like late students and I could never handle the embarrassment of letting her down.
I walked back to the school for my mom to pick me up. I'm not sure how to explain to her why I didn't have my backpack. I'll tell her I skipped.
