My eyes flutter open when 'I Want to Break Free' by Queen sounds from my phone. I groan and sit up, grabbing my phone and turning off my alarm in the process. I uncover myself from the security of my bed and trudge to my closet while struggling to keep my eyes open. My hand flips through many articles of clothing I've collected over the years: oversized band tees, black leggings, athletic shorts, denim shorts, ripped jeans, sweatpants, a single red, flowery dress, a denim skirt, some sweaters, a white off-the-shoulder top, and my large collection of hoodies. I yawn and pull a random pair of jeans and t-shirt from the black hole. I slip out of my pajamas--a pair of shorts and a loose t-shirt, and slip on the mystery clothes.
When I get to the bathroom, I'm shocked to see that the outfit I picked while half-asleep is perfect. I picked out a pair of light wash blue jeans, and also grabbed my Rolling Stones t-shirt that I thrifted a few weeks ago. Smiling in satisfaction, I walk back to my closet to grab a black leather jacket, as it's chilly outside and it goes with the outfit perfectly. As for my shoes, I throw on a pair of distressed black lace up boots, and my outfit it complete. I throw my hair up into a messy bun, put on a few necklaces and rings, and I'm ready for breakfast.
When I get downstairs, my mom hands me a smoothie.
"Good morning," she smiles, "I know you don't eat much in the morning, but you need to have some sort of nutrition to start your day off right."
"Good morning, Mom, thanks," I reply.
I take the drink from her and sit down across from my dad, who's reading the newspaper.
"Morning, sweetie." He looks over the paper and at the drink in my hand, shaking his head slightly, a small grin on his face.
"Morning, Dad."
I'm an only child, and sometimes it gets lonely by myself. My parents are the sweetest people in the entire world, but there's only so much 'parent interaction' a girl can take. I take my phone out of my pocket and check to see if I have any messages. There's none, as always, so I scroll through Instagram and Twitter while I finish my smoothie.
"Mckayla, you better get your ass upstairs and finish getting ready if you want to make the bus," my parents laugh, ushering me out of my seat.
I stand up, shocked. I didn't realize I was down here for so long. I run upstairs, brush my teeth, grab my things, and I'm out the door in less than 10 minutes.
"Bye Mom, bye Dad!" I call out before closing the door.
While walking to the bus stop, I open Spotify and put my earbuds in. I shuffle my 'good vibes' playlist, hoping it will bring my mood up. When I arrive at the bus stop, I see everyone is having a group conversation, so I take my earbuds out to join.
"Hi-"
Before I can say two words, everyone stops talking and looks at me. I stop talking and pull my jacket tighter around my body, suddenly self-conscious.
"Did we ask you to join our conversation?" somebody says, and I recognize the voice to belong to Anna Rodriguez, the most popular girl in school, as well as the head cheerleader and leader of the dance squad. She could also be known as my ex-best friend.
"Well, no, but I-" I begin, stepping closer to the group.
"EW! Could you maybe not stand so close to me? I don't want to catch that disease you've been known to have," she squeals, moving away from me.
"I don't have a disease," I cross my arms over my chest.
"Oh? I thought you did. Isn't it called loser-itis?" George Harrison, Anna's boyfriend, laughs.
I bite my lip.
"No, no, that's not it. It's called fatass-itis!" Jerry Garner, George's best friend since kindergarten, shouts.
My vision becomes blurry.
No, no, no. I will not cry. I can't. Not right now.
"Look, Mckayla. Nobody likes you, and nobody ever will. Just face the facts, or exercise a little. You're really overweight, you know," Anna snarls.
"Wha-what?" I ask, my eyes filling with tears.
"Did I stutter?" she asks, rolling her eyes.
I sigh and turn around, about to head back home, but the bus arrives and I have no choice but to get on. I put my earbuds back in and shuffle my playlist once again, hoping to drown out my thoughts. Before I know it, the bus is parked in front of the school and everyone is filing out. I stand up and quickly shove my phone and earbuds in my pocket.
"Thank you, have a nice day," I say, smiling at the bus driver as I climb off.
I get no response every time I do it, but I like to think that one of these days he'll smile back and allow my words to bring some happiness to his day. I walk through the double doors of my high school, sighing as I do so. I hear people whisper as I walk by, but I ignore it. This kind of stuff happens everyday, I should be used to it by now. Once I get to my locker, however, my backpack is ripped from my shoulder and I'm pushed against the cold metal.
"What the fuck do you assholes want now?" I groan.
"A little morning fun before homeroom," George smirks, unzipping my bag.
"Didn't you already have enough fun this morning at the bus stop?" I roll my eyes.
"That wasn't even the beginning of it, McAllister," Jerry snarls.
"Yay! More torture from idiots who have no life! This is my favorite morning pastime," I squeal sarcastically.
A hand comes in contact with my cheek.
"Ow!" I exclaim, rubbing the side of my face.
"We don't want any of your fucking sarcasm, you hear me?"
"I wasn't asking?" I raise an eyebrow.
George and Jerry purse their lips and clench their fists, obviously angry. I smirk.
"Aww, are little George and Jerry angry? Do you want me to get some ice cream? Will that make you feel bett-"
*four hours later*
"Oooohhhh, my head," I moan, opening my eyes.
"Shhh, it's going to hurt for a while, you were beat up pretty badly. If this gentleman hadn't stopped those boys and brought you here, you'd still be out cold," someone says, their voice sounding like an echo.
"Whe-where am I?" I ask, groggy.
"The school nurse's office, dear," the voice replies.
I blink a few times to see I'm face to face with the school nurse, Ms. Berkman.
"How did I get here?" I ask, not thinking clearly.
"This young man right here brought you in," Ms. Berkman replies, pointing to someone standing in the doorway.
"Who are you?"
"Jack Caliber, I think you're in my lunch period?" he says nervously, scratching the back of his neck.
"Oh yeahhhh," I drag out, still in a daze.
He chuckles and whispers something to the nurse before walking away.
"Where he goin'?" I slur.
"Back to class, sweetheart. There's two more periods left, you've been unconscious the whole day," Ms. Berkman responds, walking over to her computer.
"Can I go?" I ask.
"No, it's not safe. You were hit on the head many times very harshly, you might have a concussion. I'm going to call your parents, they will pick you up."
My eyes widen.
"No, really, I'm fine. Honestly, I can go back to class now, I feel great!" I exclaim, suppressing the agonizing pain in my body.
She looks at me suspiciously, eyeing my body. I try my best to look like I'm not internally dying.
"Alright, you can go. If anything changes, come right back to my office, okay?"
"Yes, Ms. Berkman, thank you," I smile and hop out of the cot.
I manage to make my way out of her office and towards my locker, where my bag is on the floor. I quickly rifle through everything to make sure I haven't lost anything, and I sigh in relief when I see that all my belongings are still there. Still feeling dizzy, I make my way to my last few classes I have for the day. When I walk in the classroom, however, everyone turns and looks at me. I throw them a small smile and walk as steadily as I can to my seat. Everybody's eyes follow my movements, and people begin to whisper. I roll my eyes and take out my notebooks, ready to (somewhat) start the day.
After what seems like hours later, the bell finally rings, and I gather my things and head for my locker. The last two periods end quickly, and I soon find myself walking out of school and towards the bus. As I pass everyone, I hear many snarky comments and get numerous dirty looks. I try to ignore them the best I can, and instead focus on the cracks in the sidewalk. I sit down in my seat once on the bus and I put my earbuds in. The music blares in my ears and drowns out my thoughts and the sounds that envelope the bus ride.
Around 30 minutes later, the bus pulls up in front of my stop, so I follow the others down the aisle and off the bus, bidding farewell to the driver as I climb off. Now on the sidewalk, away from my classmates, I begin to feel tears in my eyes. I quickly make my way to my house before someone sees them, and once there I jam my keys into the lock. I open the front door and run inside, the tears threatening to fall. My mom, hearing the commotion, quickly meets me in the foyer.
"Mckayla? What happened?" she asks, a worried tone dripping over her words.
"Nothing, I'm fine," I wipe my eyes and push past her, running upstairs to my room.
My bag falls crooked on my shoulder as I slide my back down the closed door, burying my head in my hands.
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