I couldn't answer.
"Search him," the man with the gun told the guy on the right.
"I- I don't have any, I swear!" I stuttered as he walked towards me.
I probably couldn't outrun them, seeing as it was pouring. I definitely couldn't fight them. All I could do was helplessly stand there.
He grabbed my shoulder and spun me round, checking my pockets. He pulled out my wallet and phone. After seeing no money in there, he dropped it, along with my phone. The screen cracked on the cement and they huffed, walking away. But not without punching me in the face. Pain spread through my body as I slid down the wall, holding my head. Blood was on my hand. He broke my nose. I fumbled to get my wallet and broken phone and broke into a struggled run down the street. I was using the collar of my sleeve to stop the bleeding, though it wasn't working well. It seemed like years, but I finally made it home. I slammed the front door open and shut behind me. I kicked off my shoes and shed my jacket in the middle of the floor. Holding my nose, I ran upstairs to my bathroom. I was probably crying but the rain blended with the tears. I felt my nose, it wasn't broken. Probably badly bruised. I scarfed down Tylenol and cleaned up my face. Pain still made my vision slightly blurry.
I stumbled to my bed and laid down. Tears trickled down the side of my face and onto my pillow. The tissue on my face catching the remaining blood started annoying me. I closed my eyes, wishing I was dead.
~Dan's POV~
I tapped my foot underneath the desk while my fingers drummed on my knee. Everything the professor said went in one ear and out the other. The numbers and symbols looked like one confusing blur on the board.
I surveyed the class. The smartest kid in school, Albert, sat to my right. The one of the most annoying girls in school, Molly, sat to my right playing with her gum in her hand making me want to throw up. In front of me sat Phil, the richest kid in school. I loathed him. My house could probably fit into his fifty times. I looked down at my torn jeans and raggedy black shirt. I flicked my brown hair out of my eyes and stared at the paper I was supposed to be taking notes on. Two barely legible sentences were written down at the top and scribbles lined the sides.
"Daniel," Mr. Duncliff said my name again. I snapped my head up and stared blankly at his face until he repeated the question. "Could you please tell me the first step to solving this problem?"
"Erm, you multiply the length of the circle part by pi," I guessed.
"Incorrect," he responded and proceeded to tell me the correct answer. I nodded like I understood and snickers rang through the classroom. I clenched my jaw to keep from killing someone.
Twenty more boring minutes of class went by until he said the word "partners". I sat up in my seat, hoping I heard wrong.
"Find one partner and work with them the rest of class," my heart sank. "The assignment is on page 289. You will be doing one through 25. If you have any questions, I'll be at my desk."
He straightened up some papers and walked to the other side of the room to his desk. I scanned the room looking for a potential partner, which is hard when everyone despises you.
"Partners?" Phil turned around in front of me.
"Wha-? Oh, sure, I guess..." I sat up in my seat. I cleared my desk and he put his book across from mine. I rested my head on my hand and wrote the number one on the paper.
"Am I the only one who doesn't understand a single thing?" He asked.
"Nope," I answered. He laughed.
"Okay, so looks to me like you need to multiply the first number by the second and then divide. I think."
"Divide by what?"
"Who knows," he scribbled something down on his paper and circled a number that he thought was probably the answer. I quickly did the same.
The rest of class was filled with awkward silence and Phil muttering numbers under his breath.
When my whole paper was filled with guesses making it look finished, I started boringly doodling on the sides of the paper again.
I turned my head to look at the clock. Eight minutes of class left. I stared at his hand drawing numbers on the paper.
"Done!" He triumphantly closed his book and put down his pencil. I expected him to turn around, but instead he asked, "who's that?"
He pointed to a person I mindlessly drew on my paper.
"Oh, I dunno," did I just draw him? "Some random person," I lied.
"Oh. Looks a lot like me,"he laughed and turned around.
I sighed as I swung my brown backpack I've had since middle school over my back. It was full of tiny rips and dangling threads, making it look look like it came out of a dumpster.
I fell onto a seat in the middle of a bus and leaned against the window, not minding the rattling when it started moving.
I watched Phil's house pass by in the window. I wonder what it'd be like to be rich. Getting anything you want, having new clothes every week, eating feasts every night...
He probably had it great. Unlike me. My small apartment had rotting, stained carpet and cracked ceilings. There were bare spots where paint had been ripped off the walls. None of the furniture matched. My room was the size of a car. I hated it.
I threw my much too big jacket on a hook by the door and swung my backpack on the floor, walking into the kitchen where my mom was cooking dinner.
"Good day at school?" She always asks that. I always answer,
"Yeah," I walked into my room onto the creaking bed and closed my eyes.
