1642734778_punk-57-pdf

“You’re gonna be,” I threaten, pointing behind him. “The kiln’s that
way, moron. Do you need a map?”
He winces, his eyes dropping as others around him laugh. My stomach
rolls, and I grind my teeth together to hold back the sob as I push past him
and charge toward my seat in the back.
He walks away, diving into the supply room.
Dropping my bag, I sit in my seat and pull out my sketch pad and
pencils. Misha’s presence is heavy next to me.
“Yeah, I know,” I bite out, not looking at him. “I’m a vile bitch, right?”
“No,” he says quietly, staring ahead. “Just weak and stupid. And I’d tear
you apart in front of this whole school if I wasn’t so sure you already feel
like a pile of shit inside.”
I crack, my chin trembling.
“Alright, let’s get started!” Ms. Till says.
But my stomach is shaking with sobs I can’t let out. He’s right. This is
who I am.
And we both know it.
“Ryen, are you ready to talk about your project and where you are on
it?” Till asks.
But I just pick at my thumbnail as my hands rest on the desk in front of
me. Everything on the table is turning blurry.
I lashed out at Manny because he’s an easy target. Because he’s weaker
than me. Because he’s the only thing weaker than me. Everyone else sees
through me, and Misha is disgusted by me. He hates me.
“Ryen?”
Who I am and how no one likes me isn’t Misha’s fault. I did this. I’m
stupid, weak, and a waste.