Young Writers Society

Have you ever been so nervous that your stomach ties in knots and your mouth starts to taste odd and your palms start to get a bit moist and sweaty? Usually feelings like that arise before real important things like finals or a big performance. You know, normal things. For me, wanting to vomit my honey granola bar was caused by the sheer thought of deciding to take a stand and confront Dasher Jackson. 

As incredibly stupid as it may have seemed to anyone else, there was something within me that just wouldn't suffer the abuse. And that must have been crazily ironic considering I was never the type to be bothered by something as silly as this situation. If it weren't for my irritation with his demeaning behavior back in statistics, I don't think the thought of demanding his respect would have ever even crossed my mind. There was something about this boy, something so bitter and angry and frustrating, it was difficult to ignore.

So as I waited in the bustling halls for any sign of that jet black hair, I readied myself for the possible worst to come. Students passed by, laughing loudly, shoving each other playfully. Some walked by themselves in silence, their heads hung low as if wishing to stay invisible. Then my wait was over. I caught glimpse of a tall figure wearing a dark blue sweater with the hood pulled over. There was no doubt in my mind that was Dasher.

It could of been the way he walked that made me recognize him so easily. Such confidence, such intimidation. Some kids even stepped to the side, nearly colliding with others just to steer clear of his pathway. That alone was enough to tell that this boy was no one to be messed with.

The feeling of uneasiness swarmed me once again, this time worse than before. I started to doubt I would be able to go through with this, but a tiny, yet determined voice in the back of my head reminded me that I had made my choice. Going back on it would only earn the self image of a chicken. He was nearing closer, and I knew now was my chance to get his attention. I took a step away from my locker.

His bright eyes were visible, even under the shadow of his hoodie. They were scanning the halls for something, someone, and then they touched on me. I don't think I've ever felt so terrified in my life. My chest tightened, such a suffocating feeling it was, I was sure I was going to puke right then and there. He then approached me, and a whiff of something rusty reached my nose.

His sweater was dirty, as if he had fallen somewhere. The knees of his jeans were scuffed, and his cheek and chin were smeared with something black. There was also a trickle of what looked to be blood running down his face from his forehead.

"What happened?" I asked.

He ignored my question. "I have something to say to you."

I furrowed my brows together. "Well, I have something to say to you." My voice was shockingly stern and clear, though my legs were a bit wobbly in his presence. This was it. I was not going to be the push over he thought I was. He was going to see that he wasn't the only intimidating one. I readied my speech, taking a deep breath before-

"I'm sorry."

Pause. I had to double check my ears.

No way was that a sincere apology. Or better yet, an apology at all. Dasher Jackson wasn't the type to apologize for anything, even if he knew he was way out of line for his doings. I squinted at his smudged face.

"What?" I asked. He seemed aggravated at that point, like he hated having to repeat himself.

"You deaf? I said I'm sorry." 

"W- You're- you're sorry?" I was still baffled. He rolled his ocean blue eyes and I cocked an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I guess I've been somewhat of a dick to you since stats-"

"Yeah, that's an understatement." I scoffed. The comment was unintentionally harsh, but it didn't matter to me. He had been such a jerk, I found myself not being able to stay quiet anymore.

"Look, I'm trying to do the right thing here without being pissed the fuck off. All you have to do is accept my apology and we can move on."

I stopped myself from laughing. "If this is trying to apologize, then it's a pretty poor excuse for one."

I could tell he was growing more angry by the second, as his nostrils flared when he spoke. "What else do you want? Want me to get on my knees and beg for you to forgive me?" Some students began to stare at the scene unfolding.

I lowered my voice and leaned in. "That's not at all what I meant. All I'm saying is that you could show a bit more sincerity instead of sulking over here to apologize because you think you have to."

He steadied his voice to the level of mine, taking a step closer and towering over my short body. For a second, that intimidating feeling washed over me. "Well, I don't mean to burst your bubble, princess, but not everyone comes bearing gifts and a whole speech when saying sorry to someone. Your forgiveness isn't worth savoring. And you should be grateful that I bothered with coming to you in the first place."

My cheeks heated up, and my teeth clamped together in complete fury. Though I was good at containing the anger that would burst if I let it.

"Yeah, well it's real difficult to take your ass seriously when you don't even know my name."

He would've retorted, would've had some sort of smart comeback, but instead he said nothing. He turned his head away from me, and shook it disapprovingly.

"But whatever, I guess," I continued. "Apology accepted, Dasher." It came out like a hiss, sarcastically projected. That's when I took the silence as permission to walk away. To walk away from him, from the situation, and from everything else I wanted to just leave behind.

I didn't get to tell him off like I had planned. I didn't speak the speech I had prepared in my head on the drive to school. Though despite all of that, I got something better out of our civilized conversation. Dasher Jackson was, for once, speechless. There were no words for him to say, as he saw for the first time in his life that he was wrong. It was something I was proud of, to be able to finally stand up for myself and revel in the satisfaction of practically winning the battle.

So, yes. I walked away from that boy with a hell of a lot of pride. Some students glanced at me, obviously having seen the argument happen. I hoped they could tell, hoped they knew that I had won. Someone had to knock that egotistical brat off of his pedestal, because Dasher Jackson wasn't all that scary.

Certainly if a small little princess like me could give him a lashing.