by Kenneth B., 13
Let’s rewind the clock. I was in the hallway. It was the same old, same old. I saw everyone else chit-chatting, trying to get into a deep conversation so as to be late to class. No one saw me. I was a blue blanket in a blue ocean. Drifting with currents, but no matter how hard I tried, I still got bombarded with insults.
“Did you see you know who?”
“That nerd who sits in the corner of class?”
“You stole the words out of my head, girl!”
I tried to at least look decent. The dance was coming up. My stupid bun was coming loose again. I fixed it as I walked. That’s when I forgot about rule number three of high school survival―never trust yourself to walk without your eyes. I obviously tripped. Now I’d have to get up, and say sorry to this poor kid.
“Hey sorry for that.”
That wasn’t from my mouth. THAT WASN’T FROM MY MOUTH. SOMEONE WAS TALKING THROUGH ME!! CAN’T BREATHE, CAN’T BREATHE. My lungs started killing me. I instantly got up and looked as cool as ice cream, (didn’t work by the way), and noticed it was Oliver Moniker, and boy was he good looking. I kind of had a crush on him, if you didn’t see it, so I was trying not to embarrass myself. I could feel my face drop, my cheeks get red, and my mouth make the letter O.
“Hey Olivia, I was wondering, th-there’s this dance and I-I was w-wondering-”
“Yes, I will.”
“Really?”
“I’ll gladly go with you!”
“Thanks! Oh my god, she said yes!”
He muttered that last part but I loved it anyway. I rushed back to my locker to find my face still in that position. I need to fix that before next week.
How swell.
Bridge Ink 