Laughing….
But it wasn’t at me.
I was sitting on the other side of a see-saw.
I’m nine years old.
I had real friends back then, and they all thought I was pretty nice.
Grace, my friend, was giggling on the other seat as she tried to cherry bomb me.
I wouldn’t let her do that, so I put my foot down.
-CLUNK-
We both giggled again.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Back to school again. Woohooo?
The rusty, yellow contraption that picks me up every morning drops me off by the front doors of Corwin High School.
Here we go again.
I give myself the same pep talk that I come up with during the bus ride. Feel confident. Breathe. Don’t let them get to you.
But I’m not really the most confident person in the world. Once I enter the building, the walls I build around myself immediately drop. I see the same people again, and they’re looking at me in the same way. They’re throwing invisible bombs at me, and they explode right in my face. Stinging sensations ripple through my body, like a strange domino effect.
The high school monsters now officially have me in their grip. A couple of kids surround me, evil smirks plastered on their faces. They’re like predators, only in it for the kill.
Then my nemesis comes up. She also has that terrible smirk on her face. When she gets near me, most of the high school monsters seem to evaporate. She doesn’t have her possy with her, and she looks so different. Could it be, maybe, possibly……she's scared of bullying me?
The sensible person living in my brain shakes it head. No way. Why'd I even think it?
She gets up about five feet away from me, then sizes me up and down. I don’t feel human. Her smile turns into a frown. Her upper lip bulges out a little, and a crease forms on her forehead. This is new. For all the years I’ve known her and for all the times she’s tortured me, she’s never, ever, frowned.
Her gaze grazes across my face, and then she turns and walks away. A few seconds later, no high school monsters are staring at me. I’m looking at the floor, and no feet are in sight.
I look up. The hallway is vacant. Some pencils are on the floor, and pieces of paper are sticking out of lockers. I stare at the black watch on my wrist I barely ever use.
Oh crap….
The bell rings.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Ninth period is my last class before school gets out at three. English with Mr. Mueller, Room one sixty-two. When I walk into the classroom that familiar chilly feeling washes over me. Everyone’s clustered in their little cliques; their packs, staring right at me. I pull my folder, mandatory for English, tightly against my chest. After a quick moment, the students go back to talking and gossiping, and I’m free to breathe.
I settle in a desk by the right side of the room, ten feet away from the windows. We don’t have assigned seats, but I always sit in the same seat every day in English class. It feels…safe.
The sophomore sluts behind me are talking about Mr. Mueller. I can understand what they’re saying, but everything that comes out of their mouths is inappropriate and dirty. Sure, Mr. Mueller isn’t ugly, but I would never consider him hot either. I’ve never seen the point in teacher crushes before.
After a minute, Mr. Mueller gets the class’ by rapping on the chalkboard with a yard stick. He motions for us to all get out our books. We’re reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Most of the kids groan or sigh, but I’m delighted. Reading, especially Billy Shakes, is sort of a hobby of mine. Ever since eighth grade, we’ve always read Shakespeare in English.
First it was Romeo and Juliet. Then at the beginning of ninth grade, I read Othello. I checked out Macbeth from the Corwin Library, and then basically read every other play or sonnet Shakespeare wrote after that. Heck, I am probably the living, breathing Shakespeare Spark Notes.
We left off in act three, scene one. Titania is sleeping, while some of the human clowns fool around her. She’s finally awakened by Bottom in his donkey form.
Mr. Mueller assigns roles for all of us. I’m going to be reading Titania’s part.
Inside, I cheer. Not only have I always desired to be a fairy, but being considered beautiful, even if I’m just saying the lines of a fictional character, is even better.
My brain suddenly switches into Imagining mode.
I am Titania.
Small little fairies are surrounding me on a grassy stump. Some are placing grapes and cherries into my mouth. Others are fanning me. I’m wearing, literally, a flower bikini, with a floral crown perched on my golden hair.
I’m gorgeous.
I say all the lines with passion, making sure I annunciate every word clearly.
This is my moment.
I’m living a life that actually makes me feel wonderful and free.
......Everyone’s laughing.
People are looking between me and Person #2, one of the running backs for the JV football team.
If I heard right….well….
I think he said….
“Beautiful? Andra McAllen? I think you’ve got the wrong loser!”
I feel like I’m free falling from cloud nine into a deep, dark pit where no one can see me.
Luckily, Mr. Mueller settles the class down. He makes Mark apologize to me, even though there’s sarcasm in his voice.
It is clear what I’ve figured out so far in my eleven years of schooling.
I am a wallflower.
an outcast.
a nobody.
Is there still hope for something more?
. 
