graffiti (completed)

Nine.

Listen closely: I am not a coward.

I've never ran away just because I got in trouble; I run away because every place I've been to keeps me from being on my own. I don't want a clean slate, I don't want to pretend that something never happened. If it stays in my thoughts, it stays in my thoughts. I won't push it away. I just want to do whatever I'd like, without orders from somebody else, whether it be the police, or foster parents. I just want to be my own person. 

A real coward is someone who breaks promises. A real coward leaves the people that need them, the people they're responsible for in the dust without a second thought. A real coward only cares about themselves, and what benefits they get. A real coward is my father. And I made myself a promise to never be like him.

It seemed as though spring had come at a certain moment, those tiny first flowers reaching up from the ground only a few days ago. There was a warm breeze blowing, making the flowering trees whisper as baby birds chirped somewhere nearby. I tied my hair in a ponytail, pulling down the tight gym shorts once more and walking quickly to catch up with the class. They gave me gym clothes to wear; a burgundy shirt with a tiny Victoria Prep insignia and black shorts that were obviously made for a guy's eyes. Or a girl's. Whatever you're into.

We started to jog around the football field, and I stayed directly in the middle, keeping up with all the normally fit people. The mix of running, jumping, and being on edge all the time keeps me fit, along with longboarding. That's yet another benefit of being a graffiti artist. You stay in shape.

Derek was lagging behind, which was odd, since he was usually one of those guys who sprinted and tried to stay in the front, like this was the Olympics. He started walking once he was halfway around, breathing hard. He eventually met the rest of the class with red cheeks as we all went into warm-ups. 

"Guess he sits around counting his money," I said to Caleb, who laughed. Ricky and Drew were in some other gym class, and Emma didn't even go to the school, so he was the only person that wasn't an asshole.

After our teacher said something I didn't really care about, we all grabbed lacrosse sticks and Caleb grabbed a rubber ball.

 "Are you any good at lacrosse?" he asked, cradling the ball casually as we walked to an empty section of the field.

"Sticks and balls? Haven't really dealt with them much." I replied.

He threw the ball towards me, and it fell on the ground. I quickly scooped it up,and threw it back.This went on for a while, no conversation between us, before he threw the ball with such force that it flew over the fence, which separated the field from the bleachers.

"Hey, you can climb fences, right?"  

I released a chuckle, poking him with my stick. "Yeah, so can you. I'll get another one."

I walked to the basket, bending down slightly to grab another ball, and that's when I heard a giggle, and felt a hand come in contact with my butt.

I turned around in a flash, holding the lacrosse stick like a baseball bat.The guy had a large smile on his face, giving various high fives to his friends, including Derek. I walked towards the boy, holding my lacrosse stick up and hitting him in the head. His friends were silent, and he turned around, holding his head.

"Hey, it was just a--"

I hit him again, using the stick to my advantage and swinging it across his face, using the end.

"Don't you dare touch me again," I said, pressing my finger in between his collarbones.

"Take that stick out of your butt for once, it was a joke," Derek said, a smile on his face. He knew I couldn't hurt him, and was using it to his advantage.