I’m sitting in my usual corner in the far back, trying to avoid all eye contact and social interaction. It’s not that I don’t like people, it’s just that I don’t like these people. Everyone in this school is vain and rude. For the past 3 years, I have been the subject of bullying and rude comments until they all realized I seemed to be immune to their hormone-charged words. Eventually, I became invisible to everyone. The door opens and Mr. Crossers walks in saying the customary greeting and starting the daily attendance. When he doesn’t say my name, I can feel my anxiety peak knowing I will have to raise my hand and let him know he skipped me. Mr. Crossers then looks at me strangely, looking back down at his sheet and looking back at me before clearing his throat. “Ms. Besik, are you sure you are in the right class?” “I’m fairly certain,” I say. Reaching into my backpack, I pull out the class schedule I printed last week. I look

*Cameron POV* She runs from the cafeteria as if I have some incurable disease. My face still tingling where she had been so close to touching my cheek, only a thin napkin between us. I close my eyes, trying to calm my beating heart. For years I had watched her build walls around herself, erecting one after the other by ignoring the mean comments from guys angry about her lack of attention to them. Each year she sank further and further from the spotlight and every year I yearned more and more for what she had, invisibility. But this year, when she slammed into me, it was like an emotional barrier falling away as I got lost in her snarky comments and deep green eyes.  My life is grand if you like snotty people who like your family’s name and wealth more than you as a person. I’m surrounded by a world of shallow people who use fame and money like it’s the cure-all. And often it is. But money can’t fix a broken relationship. It can’t

By the time my alarm goes off at 4:45 am, I’m already fully dressed and sitting in my running gear on the end of my bed. I haven’t been able to sleep since seeing Dad for the first time. My heart and my mind are in a constant battle over forgiveness or revenge. Lately, my hormonal mind has been winning the battle as I snub him every chance I get, intentionally learning his schedule at school and how to avoid him. Running club should help. I hope so. Today is the first day and we are starting with a 5K and then hitting the weight room. I could join the track team, but the running club does all the same things without recognition. No one staring at me. No one cheering my name and drawing the spotlight on me. Just me, working my aggression out and clearing my mind.  When I arrive at the track, the lights are just coming on, lighting the way, and I can feel a small smile forming. I’m far more excited than I thought I would be. Maybe I enjoy ru

I was standing outside Mia’s first class waiting for her to come out to regale to her with my dubious morning. The bell had rung over 3 minutes ago and she still hadn’t come out of the room. I stepped up to the door and peeked through the little window and I could see her talking to someone of similar height. I could see her shoulders moving in a giggle and I couldn’t help but think she was getting someone’s number.  My impatience gets the better of me and I rap on the window. She spins around and, seeing me, she smiles brightly, waving for me to come in. Hesitantly, I step back and open the door, peeking my head around. “Hey Mia,” I call to her “Dude, I was going to walk you to your next class and tell you all about my morning!” “Yeah, just a second, ok?” She finally turns enough out of the way for me to see that seated in front of her is a cute guy with crutches to the side. He looks familiar and I try to place him when he catche

Since dad’s been back, I have actively tried to avoid him. Just the sight of him often triggers my anxiety, though it’s not been as bad as the first few times. Yet for the past few days, my nightmares have rocked my nightly sleep schedule. I wake up covered in sweat, reliving the hatred in his eyes as he kicks me, punches me in the stomach. My right shoulder aches from all the abuse it took, phantom pains to remind me I’m awake, that it was all real. That these memories are still too fresh. I walk into AP English with my hood up, hoping it shields my red puffy eyes. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in the last week so my mood is about as good as my appearance. Which was enough for Mia to comment on and drop when I scowled at her. Mrs. Smith wasn’t in the classroom yet, so I decided to try my hand at a small nap. If I don’t hit a REM cycle, I won’t dream. Or is it the other way around? Ugh! This brain is not cooperating. Just lay your head down for a