Ordinary

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I slammed my head against a cold, concrete wall as tears flooded from my eyes... I understood now why they called me 'the crybaby'. I couldn't help it though-it was just impossible. Anger warped inside of me as the memory of their vicious faces tormenting me about the way I looked haunted me. They called me four eyes, walrus, bitch, bastard, and that's not even the worst of them. In a way, I couldn't blame them; I DID wear glasses, I WAS chubbier than the the rest of the girls in my tutor group and I WAS a bastard (definition: a person who is born outside of marriage.)...

The tears eventually subsided as the thought of tomorrow sent excitable shivers up my unfortunately bent spine.

It was the weekend tomorrow. No school and no bullies. Just me and the yellowing pages of a Jane Austen novel; I am so old-fashioned. Tomorrow was going to be great- it was going to be an ordinary day.

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