I run down the stairs, and storm through the door. Dad yells my name, but I don’t answer; I haven’t got anytime to waste; my phone died, and I didn’t wake up at six-thirty. I can’t be late.
I sprint on the sidewalk, I can still make it in time. Before they get there. I slip on a little water puddle, I grab the fence of the neighbors yard, and balance my self, all my sketches fly out of my bag and float through the street. My watch says it’s seven-forty-five. No time.
Hot tears slid across my cheeks, cool on my face against the wind. I couldn’t get them, my drawings. I just had no time. I hate them; for making me do this, why can’t they just leave me alone.
I open the school’s door. And I found my greatest fear was true. I was too late.
The hallway is filled with students, almost all eleventh graders.
If I walk fast and quiet, they might actually not notice me. I think to my self.
I walk through the hallway. My chin as high as possible without making me look like a ceiling-staring-freak. But nevertheless, I was noticed, and I was called tons of names, bad ones.
“Have you been crying? Li’le baby needs a hug!” A jerk calls on me. I remember my eyes must be puffy and red; from crying in the street.
“Let me hug you!” Someone else calls.
I run to the bathroom. That’s the most stupid thing to do. Ever. They might follow.
I look at the bottom of each stall. no shoes I lean against the sink. Then raise my head to the ceiling, trying to hold back the tears. I can’t.
I wash my face, twice. Then I raise my face to the mirror.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask my face. “Why are you not like them?”
“Why are you stupid? Why weren’t you just born popular?”
“I hate you!” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “I hate you!” I shout at myself.
Almost immediately, my fist lands on the mirror, shattering it to tiny and large pieces. And I crumble to the ground. I just sit there, surrounded by tens of shards of glass. I see my face in each one of them. I hate it.
I realize it. There was never any time. Not for me, no.
Wait for Paradox #2 soon.
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