High School

…High school bummed me out, so I rarely went. When class ended on the Disney channel, a loud, enthusiastic bell would ring. I guess our school couldn’t afford that bell because what sounded like a feeble seat-belt alarm signaled the end of our class periods. Ding. Ding. Ding. And then all the students would come pouring out from every class room into the halls and the sound of meaningless chatter and slammed locker doors would drown out everything else. The halls smelled like kids going through puberty who didn’t shower enough mixed with those who showered three times a day and wore too much Axe. I dreaded every class, one right after the other, so the spaces in between were just the spaces in which I felt the dread. Once I was in the classroom, I would usually become engrossed in whatever the lesson was that day and forget how much I hated being there. On days when that didn’t happen, I’d just sleep on the desk. Science class, where our fundamentalist teacher once fast-forwarded through a segment on the big bang theory,  was not a real class to me, so I slept in there almost every day. The desks seated two and three people and had a slick black matte surface. I noticed after I lifted my head that I could always still see the oily residue left from my skin, a greasy smudge that perfectly outlined my nose and forehead. I liked going outside after school. There was a grassy area out front where I loitered with the other goths, waiting for my mother to come pick me up…

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