Monday September 1, 2008 at 11:22 pm
Sought
I was walking through the rotunda, a stretch of hallway at the end of the building that circled around several classrooms and back to where it started, looking for Derrick. It was 7:50AM, before first period, and even as I searched, I was hiding.
We weren’t supposed to be wandering around during homeroom, although it wasn’t the teachers I was avoiding. During that time, I prided myself on listening exclusively to the X and dressing like Avril Lavigne circa Sk8er Boi, and hoped that if the pottery teacher saw me passing his classroom without the little pink slip of paper that allowed roaming privileges and yelled after me to get to where I’m supposed to be, young lady, someone important would be nearby to witness my crazy rebelliousness.
When I finally saw Derrick, I was as giddy as I always was when I was with him, hopping around and acting like a fourteen-year-old, the age I was when I first met him three years prior. And as happy as I was to be talking to him, to be near him without being pulled along by a tide of the thousands of kids in our high school, I was constantly glancing over my shoulder, standing near the outer wall to achieve the best perspective down the corridor.
The bell rang and I turned to leave, smiling back at him as I walked away. Not ten steps later did my heart drop and legs freeze when the one person I prayed wouldn’t find us passed by where I was standing, his emotionless stare remaining locked on me even as I stood still and he kept going.
Shit.
For the next four hours, I sat at my desk, tense and anxious, hoping the day would end without incident despite the mistake I made that morning.
Just as I glanced out the door of my precalculus room, there he was, bounding with excitement, the same weird daze in his eyes. I left the class, ran into the hallway, and yelled his name. He slowly turned and smiled at me and I was immediately horrified, which, on his part, was intentional. If I would’ve glanced at his right arm I would’ve noticed that it was blue and red and grossly swollen, surrounding a shattered wrist.
At that moment, the bell rang, dismissing the hoards of students in the cafeteria who just finished lunch. A chubby blond acquaintence rushed up to me, proud of herself to be the first, stammering something just happened with Derrick. I think your boyfriend hit him.
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I was walking through the rotunda, a stretch of hallway at the end of the building that circled around several classrooms and back to where it started, looking for Derrick. It was 7:50AM, before first period, and even as I searched, I was hiding.
We weren’t supposed to be wandering around during homeroom, although it wasn’t the teachers I was avoiding. During that time, I prided myself on listening exclusively to the X and dressing like Avril Lavigne circa Sk8er Boi, and hoped that if the pottery teacher saw me passing his classroom without the little pink slip of paper that allowed roaming privileges and yelled after me to get to where I’m supposed to be, young lady, someone important would be nearby to witness my crazy rebelliousness.
When I finally saw Derrick, I was as giddy as I always was when I was with him, hopping around and acting like a fourteen-year-old, the age I was when I first met him three years prior. And as happy as I was to be talking to him, to be near him without being pulled along by a tide of the thousands of kids in our high school, I was constantly glancing over my shoulder, standing near the outer wall to achieve the best perspective down the corridor.
The bell rang and I turned to leave, smiling back at him as I walked away. Not ten steps later did my heart drop and legs freeze when the one person I prayed wouldn’t find us passed by where I was standing, his emotionless stare remaining locked on me even as I stood still and he kept going.
Shit.
For the next four hours, I sat at my desk, tense and anxious, hoping the day would end without incident despite the mistake I made that morning.
Just as I glanced out the door of my precalculus room, there he was, bounding with excitement, the same weird daze in his eyes. I left the class, ran into the hallway, and yelled his name. He slowly turned and smiled at me and I was immediately horrified, which, on his part, was intentional. If I would’ve glanced at his right arm I would’ve noticed that it was blue and red and grossly swollen, surrounding a shattered wrist.
At that moment, the bell rang, dismissing the hoards of students in the cafeteria who just finished lunch. A chubby blond acquaintence rushed up to me, proud of herself to be the first, stammering something just happened with Derrick. I think your boyfriend hit him.
Comments Off
