1642734778_punk-57-pdf

Over here, separated, alone, and excluded. I’m outside the bubble.
Again.
How did I get here? What do I do?
After class, I shower and dress quickly, heading to my locker before
lunch when I really just want to leave.
It’s easier, isn’t it? Rather than facing people I don’t like and being
where I no longer feel I belong?
I’ve been here before. The uncertainty, the self-hate, the
powerlessness…it’s all so familiar. But the last time, I took those feelings
and turned them outward, making others feel what I felt. What I didn’t see
is that those feelings came from people doing the same thing to me. I feel
and fear exactly what they want me to feel and fear.
I won’t respond the same this time. I’m better than this.
I’m going to be better.
Moving down the lunch line, I take an orange juice out of the cooler and
walk for the cashier, but arms suddenly lock me in on both sides, keeping
me from moving. My heart jumps, thinking it’s Misha, but then I turn
around, seeing Trey behind me.
“You know, if you wanted dirty, I could’ve done dirty,” he taunts,
staring down at me. “Maybe it was good Laurent broke you in, though.
Doesn’t take long for you little bitches to turn slut once you get a taste for
it.”
I breathe hard. What the hell did he just say?
He laughs. “You should’ve seen the train we pulled on this girl last
week. She had guys lined up. It was so fucking good.”
I push through his arm and pay for my juice, carrying my drink and
books to an empty table as far away from his as I can find. I feel eyes on me