One Could Only Imagine

Chapter 2

I watched Trent, furrowing my brows. My guard was up, my thoughts roamed over what could've been. If only I didn't hide my feelings, then maybe I wouldn't be a good punch line he and his friends could laugh at. I didn't really think of it from that perspective until it was too late. I knew Trent and I could never be anything, not even friends. He had peeled a layer of who I once was by disrespecting my decisions and therefore, disrespected who I was. The damage he had caused was irreversible, and no matter how hard I tried, it was too hard to remember what being happy felt like.

I focused on my notes, wondering how I could make this paper the best. If I wanted to go to college for Journalism, I would need to do well on this paper. It didn't matter what it would take; I would write that paper for days, even if that meant no sleep. I glanced at the clock; it was now 1:15! Great, just great. Twenty more minutes with Trent and his group, I thought. Usually, they didn't bother me, but today, they did. Lowering my head, I grabbed my blue pen, and gripped it with all my might. I was left-handed, so I knew I would need to wash my hands after writing. Otherwise, I'll have blue ink on the side of my hand.

I quietly sighed, staring back at the ticking clock. It taunted me. Only fifteen more minutes and then class would be over, and then I would have a spare. I couldn't wait, I thought. Usually, I would complete homework during my spare, but this time I wouldn't... since I didn't have any. So, like any Type A student who cared about their grades and impressing their parents, I knew that free period would be the perfect time to start my paper. It never hurts to start something early. My lips quivered with anticipation. Just as I was about to write down the various ideas floating in my head like a euphoric high in my notebook, I felt something hard yet painless hit the back of my head. Set on ignoring it, my eyes set on the tiled floor. It was small, but I glanced at it just long enough to realize it was a pen. Bending to the left, I felt my right-hand clench into a ball like it usually did when I used my one good hand. Cerebral Palsy is a bitch! I bit my lip and casually picked it up, sensing that my velvet sweater and my tank top underneath it rode up. I shivered, quickly pulling them both down.

I glared at Mitchell's amber eyes. He snickered and fist-bumped his so-called "leader," Trent. I rolled my eyes, brushing my pant leg, and my feet plummeted to the floor. Carefully, I marched up to them and slammed the pen on Mitchell's desk.

"I believe this is yours," I smirked, then sat back down.

I felt courageous, Journal. You know how when you do something you never expected to do, and then one day you just do it? Well, at that moment, I felt unstoppable.

Suddenly, the school bell rang, and I jumped a little while my peers got up and quickly followed the herd. I, on the other hand, stayed back, waiting for it to clear out so I could limp away in peace.

As I walked down the halls, Trent's figure approached me. "You going to semi-formal Jess, or are you going to do your laundry?" He asked, wrapping his arm around me.

I limped faster, even though it was useless. "None of your business, Trent. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have class." I snarked, heading to the bathroom.

Fleeting, I stopped in my tracks, trying to catch my breath. When the door opened, I stood back, surprised to see Kinsley. When she stepped out into the hall, she tied her black leather combat boots tightly.

"How do your feet breathe? Those are really tight!" I asked, perplexed.

She smiled and wrapped her arms around my left shoulder. "Baby, you know they're tight, that's why I look bitchin,'" Kinsley led me down the halls.