Her Own Worst Enemy

A Bruised Smile

I quickly pace down the silent school hallway, staring at the square off-white tiles on the floor. I make sure my sweater sleeves hang far enough down to cover up the fresh bruises my father left me with. I can still hear his monstrous voice bouncing around in my skull. And I flinch every time I recall the ever too familiar sound of heavy boots hitting my fragile body. The smell of his alcohol rich breath is permanently embedded into my nostrils.

I walk into my classroom. Mr. Foster, 8th grade. The teacher and I are the only ones in the room. He glances up as my shuffling feet break the perfect silence in the room.

His eyes meet with mine, and I scan his expression, the perky smile that teachers always wear before the day tires them. I present the same face. I'm used to putting up the act by now. I'm the kid who is always happy, if I showed up without a smile plastered on my face, I'd be bombarded with 'Are you okay?' Until I was grinning again.

"Morning Storm!"

He calls. My real name is Sophia, but I hate it. It only links me with my parents, who only acknowledge my existence when they need someone to scream at.

"Good Morning Mr. Foster!"

I respond as I slide myself into my wooden desk in the front left corner. I slip the strap of my small, black backpack over the top of the plastic chair so it dangles inches off the ground behind me.

"I really appreciate you coming in early to do this for me."

He says in a happy tone that perfectly matches his grin. I agreed to come in early to help mark the science tests from last week.

"It's my pleasure to help!"

Truth is I would do anything for a chance to spend less time in my broken household. I grab a red pen out of my desk and pull my chair over to the edge of the table he's sitting at. I pull off the chewed up cap and shove it onto the end.

"Just grab a few tests, check them with the answer sheet, and write down the mark on the front. Easy as that!"

I nod and pick up the first five from the pile. I know I may not be the smartest person, but I look like a genius compared to some of the idiots in my class.

It's mainly the boys, they always have a blank look on their face and laugh when the answer to a math question is 69. But the girls are even worse. They aren't dumb, but they're always starting drama, and somehow dragging me into it. Y'never know what's going on with them.

I flip over the fifth and put it in the finished pile in front of me. I reach over to grab another test, and hit my bruised arm on the table. I gasp and grip my arm. It's so tender anything that touches it takes my breath away. Foster gives me a concerned look.

"Are you okay?"

Quick think, think.

"Yeah, just, funny bone!"

I force a laugh. He nods and laughs too. Just then, the bell rings.