Escape

- Chapter 7 -

Yes.. this chapter is a lot longer than the last. I guess you can call it a make-up for it! Please drop some feedback or send me an inbox or whatever about what you think of my story, I really need some ideas on how it's going so far! YES I'M DESPERATE TO KNOW! LETTT ME KNOWWW!

*Clears throat* ... erm, well, so yeah, enjoy.

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One of my hands halt on the door handle while the other grips on my bag suspender. I take a quiet, deep breath and twist the handle before letting myself stroll into English class. As I expect, all eyes pluck onto me, including Mr. Sheens'.

Attention: something I don’t fancy at all. Never did, never will. I rather stay under shadows.

Mr. Sheen inserts the board marker into its cap before placing it on his desk. “Ah, welcome you to join us, Miss…"

“Jones," I complete for him.

“So detention afterschool?”

“Uh, no,” I say, handing him a small slip that has the assistant principals signature across it along with a note that I felt sick this morning. I just miraculously happened to feel better now.

He grabs the paper before glancing at his wrist watch and doesn’t look so impressed. “Ten minutes left of class, but why don’t you go take a seat? Ask someone to fill you up on what we’re doing while I go run another copy for you,” he says before facing the whole class. “And you medaling kids better not create ruckus while I’m gone!” he warns irritatingly, waving some kind of paper in his hand and throwing my excuse slip into the trash.

“Mr. Sheen, that paper is supposed to go into the recycling bin! GO GREEN!” Someone from the back of the room throws their fist up as if they're supporting or going on a "Go Green" strike or something.

Mr. Sheen quickly looks around with his bald head shining under the light. “Who said that?”

Nobody answers.

Stupidly, Mr. Sheen leaves the room muttering this and that about the class to himself. As soon as the door shuts, the class creates ruckus like the teacher had ordered not to. I drag myself to my desk, dodging the paper ball that just flew past me, and slowly slip myself onto the cold seat while making sure not to stash pain in my thigh. It had gotten much better since this morning from icing it before school, but the ugly bruise still marks underneath these faded jeans.  

One boy jumps off his seat and runs to the corner of the room. He raises his muscular arms in position, carefully aiming a paper ball into the recycling bin with one eye shut and a concentrated tongue sticking out from his pursed lips.

Everyone gets quiet for him and anticipates his success.

A few seconds later, the paper ball perfectly arches over air, drawing half a circle before pounding into the blue bin causing everyone to cheer loudly for him.

“Kobe!” the boy hollers, banging on his chest proudly. “Whoo!”

And that’s school, I think to myself. Very entertaining.

I pull the blue hood of my sweater tighter around neck for comfortableness before preparing my materials for class. Somehow, I manage to run – or slightly limp – to class without Mr. Ryan catching sight of me. He’s probably wondering and worrying about me right now. A small pang courses through me, but I ignore it.  He always finds out when I lie to him and I know someday soon, he’ll know all about me and what’s behind me that cause me to be this quiet and isolated from other people. I hope that in this case, Mr. Ryan will take time to figure things out. I hope the rubber band stretches long enough until I leave off to college. Or better yet, I hope he never finds anything out. Yes, that sounds better and safer.