Elimination

2: Victor

I'm sitting alone at a table, eating my frijoles in peace, when a group of idiotic young men waltz up to me. They put their fingers to their lips, and I see fake mustaches scribbled with pen smudging their skin.

I don't understand why people are compelled to make fun of the fact that I'm Mexican. I meant I love my Mexican-ness, but the morons at this school don't seem to care for it. Well, if it makes them happy, I won't interfere.

Alex laughs at the fact that I'm uncomfortable, and Josh gives him a rough slap on the back. I roll my eyes and turn away from them. Fools. They're just jealous of my sexican heritage. I sigh and stick my earbuds back in, blocking out the h8ers with my $wag. Sorry, I'll never do that again. Actually, no promises.

Ugh. Band class. Why it's right after my lunch period, I don't know, but I do know this: our band director is futile. He has a group of favorites, and he's a horrible conductor. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, HE CAN'T KEEP A TEMPO!

'I could do so much better,' I think as I sit there with my dinky trumpet. Maybe I'll master this damn instrument one day. Or not. I mean, who can say at this point? Not me, that's for sure. I daydream of being in a mariachi band; someday, I may follow the footsteps of my father. Or not. Who can say?

That loser steps up on his podium and waves his arms around. I imagine him sinking deeper and deeper into an ocean, failing to tread water as he drowns. Ha. I manage to roll my eyes while hitting a high F#. Pretty impressive, if I do say so myself.

As usual, I get a bunch of weird looks from the percussion section, and one trombonist throws a cheese stick at me. His section laughs. Our trivial band director guy has a bunch of voice cracks, as planned, and the class seems to suddenly end.

We all jump out of our seats and into the giant band locker room. I'm jostled around a bit, probably 'cuz I'm pretty short and no one likes me, but manage to quickly exit the pack of buzzing bees.

I sprint to my technology class, a herd of preps in my wake. There is a crotchety old man mumbling at the front of the room.

A sub.

THANK.

GOD.

I didn't want to have to deal with that squeaky lady any longer. She shouldn't even be a teacher, honestly. The students have zero respect for her and her lame "teaching methods."

While the sub repeats himself five hundred times, everyone sits on computers playing games and other crap like that. I adjust the lopsided beanie on my head and try to tame my manly mane, which ends up frizzy and unkempt. Finally giving up, I logged onto the device and went on my blog.

My blog is really stupid. I'm stating that now because it's so very true. Even I will admit that, and I wrote the thing. When my page loads, I frown. I have 22 new notifications for some reason. Well, this could mean good things. I say a quick 'Hail Mary' in my head and click on the illuminated box.

My heart sinks.

Loser.

Nerd.

Gay.

Bitch.

Fake & Gay.

And the list goes on. As I scroll through all this shit, I have to admit, it does hurt a little. All I do is post about music and art and crap like that, so this makes little sense to me. I have a bunch of cool followers and whatnot, and I know they would never send me this spam of offensive slurs. But . . . who would? I don't even know, and frankly, I don't care. I've just got to get this damn day over with so I can go home and play my trumpet.

All I can do is hope that this will all be over soon. I sigh, opening up a new tab and closing the blog. The sub is still yapping, just like the lady teacher, and I'm still miserable in this classroom.

Today, we're just learning about fonts in our writing software. L A M E. Who even cares? THEY'RE RIGHT THERE IN THE MENU I HAVE EYES YOU DIPSHIT. Sorry, I'm just really passionate about fonts, okay?

For the rest of the hour, I basically just zone out and disregard everything this stupid "teacher" says. When the bell rings, I nearly scream, "THANK YOU JESUS," but decide against it. If it were the last day of school, though, there wouldn't have been any contemplation. You bet it would've happened.

Some more morons surround me with their basic Spanish mockery. Fools. If only Alex knew I could out-Spanish his ASS. If only these losers in his little 'clique' knew what I had to deal with every day. I look forward to the day I graduate more with every passing minute. Vic- off to Mexico. Thank the lord.

Kellin Quinn, some awkward scrawny kid from my eighth period, trips me, leaving me flat on my face. Smh. That kid never seemed like bad news. Sometimes, people act differently around their friends, I guess. Not that I'd know.

I take a deep, dee breath and use my exceptional arm strength to push myself up. Some other doofs laugh at me, and I ignore them, as I do. That's the Victor way, is it not?

Eighth period next. I cram my MP3 player into my locker and grab the stupidly heavy textbook needed for this lame integrated algebra and geometry course. Ugh. I drag my frail, tan body down to my math classroom and plop that body down in a random seat in the back. The perks of being early, I think to myself, remembering how disturbing our teacher is.

Mrs. G is another crotchety old person that spits on us when she yells. When I say 'yell,' I actually mean 'talk.' She doesn't seem to know the difference. This is why I enjoy the back of the class. Plus, I don't like being infront of everyone; it always feels as if they're staring at me. I don't know, it's just awkward 'cuz I'm an awkward person.

Trying to prevent my thoughts from going somewhere darker, I sing myself a song in my head and make an attempt at tonight's homework, which is actually ridiculously easy. Good.

All is going well when the Quinn boy stumbles in, giggling at something I doubt was funny. I'll bet you a thousand dollars he just got dunked on.

Kellin's eyes land on mine and I make a face. He averts them almost instantly, his grin fading a bit. One of his dumb jock friends gives him a rough slap on the back and he turns to them, ignoring that macho glare entirely.
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I can't thank you enough for sticking with this! LOVE YOU, DARLING XO