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Imogen Halstead (15 years old)
Word count: 1776
Imogen's POV
I hate school. Loathe it even. I just hate it.
My friends seem to manage perfectly fine, yet I find myself sat at the back of the class, my ruler under the lines of unfamiliar words which never stop moving, or disappearing, or changing... How can I focus when all I see is a jumbled up mess? How can I complete my work if I can't... read?
I look up from my seat, noticing that the teacher is already talking about the next question of our practice exam. I haven't even finished writing an answer to the first question. All I've written is a line, a whole line. And even that took me ten minutes. Between the words disappearing on my paper, and the lines blurring into one mass of confusion... I'm at a loss.
As I dwell on my defeat, once again, I'm saved by the bell as it blares through the intercom. Before mrs Clarke can give me an overdue lecture on my extremely low grade which has dropped drastically within the span of a month, I dash out of the classroom and head for the bathroom. Schools exhausting and I need a break...
For what seems like eternity, I am sat on the toilet lid staring off into the abyss. Why is school so goddamn difficult? Why can't I just... read? I feel so inferior right now. I've been struggling for a while, but it's never been this bad. Usually, I can suffer through it, and if I concentrate hard enough the words stay still for more than a second so I know what I'm doing. But it's tiring, and I'm in desperate need of a long nap. However, now I find that even concentrating as hard as I do doesn't even help anymore. The words on my page have a mind of their own, and I don't know how to make it stop.
The bell rings loudly, snapping me out of my trance like state. I've been contemplating going home for half an hour now. My next period is maths, and we're currently studying algebra... but I can't read nevertheless write. The frustration takes over and before I know it my legs are leading me down the hall and out of the door. I feel a pair of eyes following me as I exit the school, and I know it's sally, our school secretary. But I'm over it, I'm done trying my hardest and it getting me nowhere... I hate school.
Jays POV
"Any LKA's?" Hank folds his arms as he scans the team. Everyone shakes their head as I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, I nod at hank and step into the break room, pulling the phone up to my ear.
Jay: "halstead"
Caller: "hello, is this the Father of Imogen?"
Jay: "it is, is she okay?"
Caller: "we're not sure, she walked out after lunch"
Jay: "she did? Where'd she go?"
Caller: "we don't know, sir. She began running before we could catch up to her"
Jay: "okay, well uh, I'll deal with it. Thank you"
Caller: "no problem sir, have a great day now"
Anger and worry rushes through my blood as i join my friends in the bullpen, yet hank is nowhere to be seen, "tell Voight I'm taking a personal" I look over to see hailey writing on the blackboard. She looks over her shoulder and nods in confusion, yet I wander down the stairs giving no explanation. How can I explain when I too have no idea...?
The second I pull up to the front of my home, I notice that the gate is closed, meaning Imogen is inside of that house. With anger rushing through my veins, I storm into the house and head straight for the stairs. She better have a good excuse for this...
Imogen's POV
I sit quietly on the edge of my bed, the earphones I use everyday dangling by my sides as I drown myself in pity... self pity. I knew the school probably called my dad the second I walked out, which is why I'm not too surprised when I see him barge through my door. I pull the wires from my ears and stand up, turning to face him with a scared look on my face. God he's scary when he's mad...
"Why the hell aren't you at school?" He yelled. I step back, "I don't wanna go to school anymore" I fold my arms, standing my ground as his eyes flash with a look I've never seen before. He scoffs a laugh at my ridiculous response, "well unfortunately for you, that's not an option. So grab your backpack, you're going back to school" he began walking towards my door, yet I don't move. I'm not going back to school. My dad turns around with fury swimming in his eyes, "if I have to come over there and get you..." he warns, yet I remain still for a second time. I'm not going back to school.
"Imogen! Get down those stairs, now!" He yells. I sit down on the edge of my bed and look down at my feet as my hands support me on either side. I hear my dad shuffle across the floor before he stands in front of me, but I can tell by the way he quickly walked over to me that he means business.
I'm thrown off guard when I feel his hands lift me from the bed, "no! I'm not going!" I squeal, fighting my way out of his grasp. He doesn't set me down, so instead I throw myself to the ground, adamant that I'm not going back to that place. He stands still as I stand up, his hands held out in confusion and shock at my sudden move, "Get out of the house Imogen! I'm not playing..." he yells once again, successfully pushing my buttons this time.
"I can't read!" I yell too, throwing my head back and slamming my arms down to my sides. Tears somehow started to find their way down my face, because I can taste the salt on my tongue. My dad sighs, running a hand over his face, "what are you going on about? Quit messing, c'mon..." he shakes his head, still rather angry, and wanders to my bedroom door.
"I. can't. read!" I yell again, making him jump a little at my sudden flash of confidence by yelling so loudly. He turns around when he hears my sobs, but I've already sat back down on my bed, I just want to crawl in a hole and never come back out.
I can feel my dad judging me from the doorway as I cry, my body shaking from pent up emotions. After years of struggling with such 'simple' tasks, I'm finally at my breaking point. Within a few seconds, I feel the bed dip down, and a pair of arms wrap around me. He knows somethings wrong, he just doesn't understand me... I don't understand me.
"Hey... what's going on? What do you mean?" He rubs my arm as I leant into him. I sniffle and wipe my face dry, "I can't read, or write..." the confession leaves my lips for the first time. My dad pulls away, still cradling the back of my head, "I don't understand what you're saying, honey" he shakes his head. I'm thankful that he's no longer yelling at me, he scares me when he's mad.
"I'm so stupid..." I cry, I feel so vulnerable right now. He frowns and wipes my tears away, "no you're not immy, you're not stupid. I just need you to explain it to me, what do you mean you can't read or write?" He wipes his thumb over my cheek. I'm shocked he isn't telling me to shut up and stop being silly, but I don't know why I would expect that of him, he's the worlds best dad...
"The words... they move. I can't read them. And when I try to write I don't know what word comes next, or which letter to write..." I look away, feeling ashamed for some reason. My dad remains silent for a few seconds, "how long have you been struggling, champ?" He pulls me in for a much needed hug. I sigh, "you're gonna get mad" i shake my head. He brushes my curls out of my face, "no I won't" he speaks softly, and I feel so stupid for keeping this a secret for so long.
"Since elementary school..." i whisper. He pulls away to check if I'm being serious or not, but I am, I'm deadly serious. He furrows his brows and cups my cheek, "you've been struggling for that long? And you didn't tell me? Or anyone?" he speaks out of shock, but he's still gentle. I nod, "I thought it was normal, y'know the moving words and all, but now I know it's not. The others in my class don't find it hard like I do..." I admit. He plants a gentle kiss onto my forehead and I melt at the reassurance.
"Mr Simpson asked me to read a question out loud in third period. But I couldn't... the words kept changing and I couldn't read it. They laughed dad, they all laughed at me..." the tears soon returned to my eyes, "five years olds should struggle with reading, not me..." I sob. He holds me closer and I lean into his warmth, "it's okay, we're gonna talk to the school tomorrow. See whats going on. But why didn't you tell me sooner, kiddo?" He rests his chin on my head. I release a long, shaky sigh, "I was embarrassed, I thought you'd hate me because of it" I speak tiredly. He sighed wearily, "I'd never hate you baby, but next time if somethings bother you, you need to let me know" he squeezes me. All I can do is nod...
~
Over the past few days, I went through multiple doctors appointments, school meetings and one to one's with a tutor. But today I finally found out my diagnosis, I'm dyslexic. All along, there's been a reason as to why I've struggled, a reason to explain why I feel so different. For years I've felt like I'm stupid, and dumber than my friends, but now I know that I'm not. I just have a different way of doing things to them. Im not different, I'm not unusual, I'm unique. And anyone who says otherwise is wrong.
I like learning. Love it even. I just like learning.
YOU
ARE
ENOUGH!