Braided

Twelve Day of Highschool

Dear Diary,

I really need to get better at writing to you.
Today after the club I went to my dance class. This teacher acts like we are training for the Russian Ballet sometimes. I mean she is Russian so it does make sense. Most days she is relaxed but today she must have missed her coffee because she was very snappy. We were to pair up one boy and one girl and we were going to learn lifts. I thought this was Dance 101, not Advanced ballet.
The guy I was paired up was shorter than me and I knew there was no way this was going to end well. He was a short overly muscular football player with a shaved head. When we were paired up he said a quick nervous hello and I smiled back. He blushed. Does he like me? I can't imagine how because I pretty much hide in the same two hoodies and they are starting to smell. I should probably do my laundry soon. His name was Jimmy and I half-whispered out my own. I wanted to tell him he had a cool name but as you know I don't speak much. First, the teacher picked two kids to demonstrate the lift as she gave out the instructions. The guy dropped her. I wasn't surprised we are not professionals. When it was our turn he went to grab me and my nerves went crazy.
My stomach dropped. I ran to the bathroom and threw up the contents of my breakfast. If I thought the school food tasted bad going down it tastes a lot worse coming up. Shawna came to the bathroom and asked if I was ok. I nodded and then she took me to see the nurse.
Of course, the nurse found nothing wrong with me. My issue isn't a physical one. She sent me home anyway. I walked back kicking the leaves. Then I saw a really big pile and I jumped in. I let myself drown in colors of red, brown and orange. Sophie would have found this fun. It's nice to drown in a pile of leaves rather than my thoughts.
When I got to the therapist she questioned me about why there were leaves in my hair and on the whiteboard I drew a picture of a girl drowning. She didn't understand and asked me to explain. How was I supposed to explain when I can't talk so I just kept staring at her teeth in that big grin of hers. She asked me if that was me and I nodded. The therapist must have told my mom I made some type of progress because we stopped for ice cream on the way home. I got the vanilla kind.