Being Shot

P h o t o #4 - An Explosion Of Creativity. Literally.

P h o t o #4 - An Explosion Of Creativity. Literally.

"Thank god it's lunch! Finally!" I stretched my arms out in relief, feeling like it was the first time I had been able to breathe easy all day. As I walked over to my favorite bench in the back of the school, one painted a ghostly white that contrasted with the scenery surrounding it, I reached into my bag for the boxed lunch my grandmother had made for me. Even though she didn't need to make my lunches, and I had told her I could do at least something this simple, she insisted on doing it for me, saying she hasn't done such a "small gesture of affection" for decades. I, of course, couldn't tell her no, what with knowing it would just break her fragile heart.

I opened up the old tupperware container and, with widened eyes, realized it was leftovers from last night. I could barely wait to sit down before grabbing the spoon packed with it and shoveling a bite into my famished mouth.

I let out a blissful swoon as the spoonful of my grandmother's infamous chicken casserole fell into my mouth. She'd always been the best cook I had known. Now that I was on the topic, I couldn't help but think about how lucky I was to inherit her abilities in the kitchen, instead of my mother who was clueless in such a simple department.

With the thought of my mother came the striking of a taut cord within my chest. I took the plastic spoon out of my mouth and sighed. I hadn't spoken to my mother for a long, long time. Even though I didn't deserve to waste my time wondering how a woman who didn't even want a child like me was fairing in life, I still began lifting another spoonful of food towards my mouth, not wanting to waste a morsal.

I let the passing thought go and moved to other matters, like what had happened this morning and how I was going to deal with all of it.

I was thankful that my trigonometry teacher, scary but some what kind Mr. Quin, told everyone that if they disturbed my work or that if any student's in his class did so they all got suspensions; he had to have seen the girls crowding me like hawks around prey. I was surprised even the teachers knew about this, but when I finally considered it, how could they not? The school raved about this trivial tradition each year. I still couldn't wrap my head around the fact that I was chosen for it. Years of observation on the events surrounding the tradition told me that usually, when a girl was picked, she would be with the boys at their lunch table, bragging away to everyone crowding around, and they would all listen obediently. That's why I found it more peaceful to sit outside and enjoy the sweet silence, a rarity when on school grounds, than to gossip about something fickle around a messy lunch room.

Even though in class I was deemed safe with the help of teachers,-who knew that being a teachers pet would, in fact, have a perk-that had yet to stop people from shoving notes my way or in my locker or writing nasty things on my papers as they passed them back to me. I tried not to let it get to me, even though with my complex brain, that was quite the struggle of it's own. I knew they were just picking on me because they knew they could, because I hadn't "taken charge of my fame" yet, which I was, in fact, not planning on doing anytime soon. I bet if the other girls picked hadn't taken charge like they did the moment they found themselves on their sugar coated pedestal they would have gotten the same treatment as I did.

Shaking the depressing notions away, I invited another heaping mouthful of casserole into my mouth, not wanting to ruin my appetite by thinking about all that's happened to me over a course of just two short days.

'This is the most eventful two days of my life.' I thought as I put a hand to my cheek and moaned at the tastiness of my lunch. I tried not to think about how sad that sounded coming from a high school senior.

An only slightly entertained snort came from in front of me. "So, you can make that kind of face as well?" I heard a voice call out from the back entrance of my special place, sending a startled shiver down my spine.