Sepia

Freak

Freak. Freak. I'm a freak to them. To myself, too.

I mean, somebody doesn't just call somebody a monstrosity for no reason. There has to be some sort of reasoning behind it.

The quality of my schoolwork's been going down since I started the fifth grade. I came home with my progress report that day, and I still remember mother's face when she read it.

"You're too smart to be getting seventies in your classes, Cameron." I tried to explain to her that it was because of stress, that I was getting bullied at school. She just shook her head.

"Don't go barking up the wrong tree now. This is on you, and you best fix it." Even though I never truly understood what she meant, I went with it. She's my mother. I have to listen to her.

I tried to fix my grades, but every time I got them up, they'd go right back to where they started, and sometimes even lower. This is very frustrating, but I couldn't fix it. Even now, in seventh grade, I just can't get back on track.

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Freak isn't the only thing they call me. They call me a variety of names, ranging from stupid to dipshit. No matter what they call me, though, it's never nice. They wouldn't allow that.

This name calling is an everyday thing that I've grown accustomed to. It definitely bothers me less than it did at first. I used to come home crying to mother.

She asks me how my day went when I come home everyday, but I can tell she doesn't care about my answer. When my day went horrible, I would tell her. Used to, anyway.

She never responded, still doesn't. I can tell her that I running away to join the circus and all I'd get from her is a nod.

Sometimes I wish it was that easy, that I could run away from all my problems and join the circus, far from the things I have to deal with now. But it's not that easy.

I could run away right now, in fact, if I really wanted to, I'd be gone in a heartbeat. But I refuse to leave the only friend I have.

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I don't enjoy socializing with other people. Beatrice, or Bea, of course, is the only exception.

Bea is unable to see my face, hear my voice. She lives in New Mexico, while I'm stuck here in Texas.

She's an online friend, of course. We talk everyday after school. Even though she's a hour behind me due to separate timezones, it works out. She gets out at two o'clock, I get out at three.

Bea never calls me a she or a her. To Bea, I'm a they and a them. I don't feel like a she, not really, but everybody addresses me as one.

They use the wrong pronouns, but I don't correct them. They don't care about my preference anyway, and it might send even more bullying coming my way.