Mean Girl

When people talk to me, I shove them away. When people want to be my friend, I decline without another word. When I talk everyone goes silent. When I speak, I am rude. People think I'm oblivious to all the mutterings, all the talking behind my back. But rumors spread like wildfire, and I live in rumors. I hear every one of the things my so-called "friends" have spread things around, things that are not true. But I cling onto those people still, they are my life-savers, even if they think I can have anything in the world. 

When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I do is fix my face. about an hour and a half of concealing the bruises and scars, making my features prominent and flawless. I gather my things, and get dressed quietly for school. I sneak into the kitchen, grab a piece of toast and my sunglasses. I slide them on my forehead, like I do sometimes. It's just one more thing I have to do to make myself look want-able. I gather myself together, try to change from the weak fragile girl I really am, to my persona of greatness, of sassy. I purse my lips, and I feel like I just can't do it today. I can't hide who I am, I can't try to be brave when I cry every night. 

When I finally convince myself I can do it, I take a deep breath, and head out the door, swinging my hips for emphasis. I lock the door behind me. I do all this before the sun comes up. Every morning, it's like this, because I don't want to be in the house at the same time as my dad. I learnt that lesson once again last night. 

When I look around and find no one, I let out a breath, slouching as the air escaps my lungs. I eat my dry toast, and just stroll along the street. Whenever I hear the slightest sound, I pull up my act again, act all cool and ignorant. Suddenly, someone grabs me from behind, and I scream, fearing the worst, that my dad saw me leave, that he's come to keep me home, locked up, his little toy. The arms drop me, and I breath in heavily.

"Sorry." Ian says. 

"You scared me." I snapped. 

"I thought you heard me." He shrugged. Ian was the closest thing I had to a friend, and even he didn't know what really happens at my house.

"Well I didn't." I grumbled.

"So, what are you doing up so early?" He asked. I looked over at him. He was drenched in sweat, his silky brown hair plastered onto his forehead.

"Going for a walk. It's not against the law you know. I guess you're running?" I said.

"What was your first clue?" He joked.

"The sweat on your shirt, and the smell. I'm surprised I didn't smell you coming." I said, crinkling my nose for effect. And he knows I'm not joking, that I'm always putting him down. I really don't know why any of my "friends" hang out with me, because I really just want them all to go away and live there own lives. They're always asking me to invite them over, it's just so annoying. If only they knew what happens, then maybe they'd stay away from me.

There was once one kid in my class who knew. It was after a particularly rough session with my dad, when I was ten. When he was done, he threw me on the pavement. He slammed the door behind him, and I heard the clunk of the lock sliding into place. I lay there, crumpled and defeated, and cried. I felt a hand touched my shoulder, and I looked up, frightened. And there he was. He was a funny looking ten year old, with big stick-out ears, and some teeth still missing. He had brown hair, and golden brown eyes. I remembered him from my class, his name was Max.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"Nothing." I said, feeling stupid. I wiped away the tears and snot with my hand, and I got up, pushing him aside.

"Why'd your dad throw you out?" He was persistent.

"Because I didn't do what he said." I admitted.

"What did he tell you to do."

"It's too horrible to be said." I said. What he did to me was small, but it meant the world to me. He came up to me, and hugged me. I stiffened, not used to this kind of affection. I let my limbs go limp, and found that this wasn't bad, it didn't hurt, or feel strange. When he let go, he pat me on the shoulder.

"Whatever he told you to do, just remember, nothing can be worse than being eaten by a t-Rex." He said, and I never saw him again. 

The next day at school I was told he moved to Nova Scotia, Canada. Maybe he was just an ordinary boy, who happened to be walking on the street that day, but what he said changed everything. 

"Well, I gotta go home, see you at school." Ian said, bringing me back to the present. 

"Go then." I said, and flicked my hair back, and started walking the other way. I thought about the kindness Max showed me as a ten year old, and how I treated Ian, who should be my best friend. The difference is I have a reason to treat my friends that way, because really, I am hurting inside, and that's my only defence. But Max, Max was ten, and he was kind to someone who he never said a word to before. He had no reason, other than to be nice to another human being. He was my saving grace.