I dreaded this day last night, as I stayed awake to conjour the mixed emotions I felt about going to school. I’m sick again, but now it’s in a different way.
Sick of going into hell each and every five days.
I live in Springfield, Illinois - the Prairie State, the Land of Lincoln - so overall, I live in a pretty decent place. Nothing really goes down in Springfield, at least in the district I’m in. I still feel unsafe around the treacherous walls of what I call, Lincoln High School.
Misery follows me into the building, to where the student body is nothing but enemies toward me. I feel small compared to everyone else, and I’m sure I have a figurative “Bully Me” sign just stamped on my head in red. I’m nothing but a toy. People just play with me and use me all kinds of ways.
It’s not even eight-thirty yet, and I feel like vomiting in a toilet somewhere. The pod is packed with regular looking teens just meeting up with friends, talking with friends, and fretting about whatever homework they were too lazy to do over the weekend.
Also, people are talking about the party.
Who got wasted, who got caught sleeping with who, and who crashed the party?
I am satisfied that no one is gossiping about lame Ron Mitchell being drunk and wasted in the middle of someone’s trashy living room. In fact, I was so drunk and wasted, I have no idea whose house party it was that I got drunk and wasted at.
Just pathetic. I’m desperate at this point.
The more I am hearing people conversate, I am genuinely appalled that no one has mentioned my name. But then again, why would they? People don’t acknowledge worthless people.
“Ron! Ron there you are!”
Except for her.
I look up from my current stance in the hallway and see my girlfriend running toward me.
Yes, I said it. I forget that I’m in this orchestrated relationship with a female whom I take no interest in. At. All.
Adrienne looks at me and smiles genuinely. This only makes me self-conscious as to whose watching, what they’ll say, and if they’ll start gossiping. Because being one hundred percent honest here, everyone practically knows this whole “relationship” between Adrienne and I is faker than most people’s commitment to their relationships. But on the flip side of it, I sort of think Adrienne really likes me for who I am. I have no idea why. Really, it was awhile ago that I noticed she was always ultra friendly towards me, checking up on my well-being at certain times of the day and tutoring me in subjects I already knew. I wasn’t surprised when rumor got around saying she liked the gay boy...I knew it was true myself. I decided to date her to make myself feel halfway normal, but I really see her as nothing more than another sister in a way.
She breaks me out of my thoughts when she elevates herself on her tipy toes and kisses my nose. I flinch, embarrassed at her action. She laughs a bright, sparkling laugh and this draws a little attention out of people. I turn red and move away from her.
“Come on Ron you know I love you,” she whines in that silly voice of hers. I feel her following me as I walk to the commons area, wanting to force feed myself breakfast so I can gain weight. She doesn’t understand that I don’t want her doing these things, and I hear the waves of whispers as people talk left and right about me and Adrienne being a “thing.”
“Does she not know that she’s dating the biggest fag in the city?”
“Maybe someone should tell her.”
“Is that Adrienne Conrad? She can do so much better than him!”
These comments blur in my head once I reach the cafeteria. A holler scrapes against my eardrum, blocking everything out.
“Try me muthafucka! Bring yo ass here!”
Swarms of bodies move in unison as a fight erupts in the middle of a peaceful breakfast. Phones are already recording and voices rise above equilibrium. I stand confused and slightly annoyed, as I just wanted a simple, smooth transition to the breakfast line.
Even Adrienne is not by my side anymore.
But now, there’s a fight, and I feel like it’s over in seconds. The voices suddenly vanish as I hear a deep, dominating voice bellow.
“And I’ll kick yo ass twice over if you get at me like that again bitch. Everybody get the hell out of my way.”
The swarm parts and shifts for him to move. I catch him walking through the path with phones in his face documenting the ultimate winner. Always.
I freeze when he gets near me and pauses. We meet eyes, and my heart stops. I know exactly who he is and so does everyone else at Lincoln High.
If you are anybody with a brain, you DO NOT poke the bull who will ram you with his horns.
I notice he’s still lingering his eyes on me, and I shrink against everyone else’s gaze too. Phones are now recording me, and I burn underneath all the attention.
Blake cracks an amusing smile, his lips curling at the end.
“Wimp,” he says, and walks away like he didn’t just leave a beaten boy on the floor of our eating space. That’s just the way Blake is. That’s all we know of him, and don’t expect less.
This is when chatter rises again and staff rushes in to get the boy off the floor. Blood trickles down his face as I spot the thin, red line drawn from his temple. He’s been cut badly.
And now the teachers are looking for the bull.