Dear Diary,
All-in-all, today was a not too heinous day.
-----
The bell rings. Three piercing screeches and everyone cheers. A surge of kids head out if the door eager for lunch. I step out slowly, at the back of the group. I find a spot on the steps and I sit. I glance around then begin to write.
September 1st, 1989
Dear Diary,
I believe I'm a good person. You know, I think there's good in everyone, but, here we are, first day of senior year. I'm looking around at all these kids that I've known my whole life and I ask myself one question: What happened?
I glance up slightly as a few kids get surrounded. A few look scared but most look resigned. The kids surrounding them point at them one by one.
"Freak!"
"Slut!"
"Burnout!"
"Bug-eyes!"
"Poser!"
"Lard-ass!"
We used to be so tiny, happy and shiny, playing tag and getting chased.
"Freak!"
"Slut!"
"Loser!"
"Shortbus!"
Singing, clapping, laughing, taking naps, baking cookies, eating paste.
"Bull-dyke!"
"Stuck-up!"
"Hunchback!"
Then we got bigger and I think that that was the trigger. I pause. Like the Huns invading Rome! Welcome to my school, this isn't any average high school: this is the Thunderdome. I just need to hold my breath and count the days. We're graduating soon!
"White trash!"
College will definitely be paradise if I'm not dead by June! But I know, I know, that life can be beautiful. I pray - I'm praying - for a better way. If we changed back then, we could change again. We can be beautiful!
A boy, a prep I think, knocks some kid down near me. The boy cries out. The prep sneers then runs off.
Just not today.
I close my notebook over my finger as I look down at him. "Hey, are you okay?"
"Get away, nerd." He manages to get up and walks off. I sit for a second, staring, then shake my head. Who cares. I get up to grab a tray of food from the canteen. The line should have gone down by now. From the canteen I can see out to the courtyard. A couple of kids are being pushed into the wall. A girl and two guys, I think.
"Freak!"
"Slut!"
"Cripple!"
"Homo!"
"Homo!"
"Homo!" I wince at the final, cruel yell. The kids get kicked around a bit more before the jocks move. Probably onto more interesting prey. I walk back to my step, balancing my notebook on it and writing as I walk.
Things will get better as soon as my letter comes from Harvard, Duke, or Brown. I'll wake from this coma and take my diploma, then I can finally blow this town. I can't stop dreaming of ivy-covered walls and smoky French cafes.
I brush past someone. That someone grips my arm and I look up to see Rax Balmera standing in front of me.
