hope they’re too busy doing whatever it is Burnouts do to notice me.
I keep walking, trying not to attract attention. In my head, I’m screaming at myself, saying, “Stupid stupid stupid—why weren’t you paying attention?”
For a while, I think I’ve almost made it. I’d walk faster, but I don’t want to create the appearance that I’m running. I don’t want to look like I’m afraid, which in a way doesn’t make sense since I’m pretty sure they all know I’m afraid.
I reach the last of the Burnout cars, staring straight ahead to avoid eye contact. As I near the last car, the car door opens and a short blonde girl wearing blue jeans and a scruffy jean jacket gets out with a cigarette in her hand. Her name is Leona. She’s skinny—a lot of the girls in the Burnout crowd are skinny from doing drugs—and she is wearing too much eye makeup. She is two years older than me. She has no reason to know who I am, except as “that kid who nobody likes.” Behind her is a kid in my grade named Jerry, her boyfriend, who I know for a fact doesn’t like me, though, again, I can’t say why. He picks on me constantly. He must have said something to her about me in the car. Something like, “There’s the kid I pick on, Leona—why don’t you give it a try? It’s really fun.”
“Hey!” I hear her call out. “Hey—don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you.”
I keep walking.
“Hey, you little shit,” she says. “So you don’t like people who smoke. You think smokers have a problem? Jerry says you don’t like smokers.”
It’s nothing I actually said, only an excuse to attack me, as if they need an excuse.
Leona strides up to me aggressively. My first thought is that she’s mistaken me for someone else, because I’ve never said anything about her to anyone—who would I say it to when no one talks to me?
Suddenly, she begins to slap me and pull my hair. I am overcome with fear. This is exactly the scenario I’ve lost sleep over and made myself sick over, but I’m in shock all the same at the sheer senselessness of it, the utter confusion of it. Someone I’ve never spoken to, never met and don’t know, who doesn’t know me, has decided to attack me. All my nightmares are coming true.
I fall to the ground, covering my head with my arms and rolling up into a ball, taking the blows. The girl is absolutely enraged, screaming at the top of her voice about what a “f—ing little shit” I am. She’s self-righteous and entitled, as if I’ve wronged her in some terrible way and deserve all her abuse. I can hear her screaming. I can hear myself crying, and I can hear Jerry and the others cheering her on, but I don’t understand anything. It’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced, and it goes on and on and on. . . .
Then the bell rings. Jerry pulls her off me. I look up to see them all heading into the building.
I stay down as long as I can, letting them get as far away as possible before picking myself up, still sobbing, my face wet. I need to get to homeroom. I lower my head, embarrassed, and walk toward the school, only to raise my eyes and see the girl coming at me again. I turn away and again cover my head with my arms. I’m not sure how long the second attack lasts, but it’s the same basic moves, slapping, hair pulling, probably kicking, I don’t know.
Finally, she’s finished. I stay where I am until they’re gone. The fear I’m experiencing is greater and more intense than anything I’ve ever known, almost beyond description.
Angry, I decided the fatigue I felt was mental, or if it wasn’t, the solution was. I don’t know if adrenaline is something anybody can consciously summon, but I’d learned that determination is something anybody can draw upon. I wasn’t going to fail, so I started up again, grunting and shouting at myself with each step I took, not cursing because I was frustrated or tired, but to cheer myself on.
Maybe a minute and a half
I keep walking, trying not to attract attention. In my head, I’m screaming at myself, saying, “Stupid stupid stupid—why weren’t you paying attention?”
For a while, I think I’ve almost made it. I’d walk faster, but I don’t want to create the appearance that I’m running. I don’t want to look like I’m afraid, which in a way doesn’t make sense since I’m pretty sure they all know I’m afraid.
I reach the last of the Burnout cars, staring straight ahead to avoid eye contact. As I near the last car, the car door opens and a short blonde girl wearing blue jeans and a scruffy jean jacket gets out with a cigarette in her hand. Her name is Leona. She’s skinny—a lot of the girls in the Burnout crowd are skinny from doing drugs—and she is wearing too much eye makeup. She is two years older than me. She has no reason to know who I am, except as “that kid who nobody likes.” Behind her is a kid in my grade named Jerry, her boyfriend, who I know for a fact doesn’t like me, though, again, I can’t say why. He picks on me constantly. He must have said something to her about me in the car. Something like, “There’s the kid I pick on, Leona—why don’t you give it a try? It’s really fun.”
“Hey!” I hear her call out. “Hey—don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you.”
I keep walking.
“Hey, you little shit,” she says. “So you don’t like people who smoke. You think smokers have a problem? Jerry says you don’t like smokers.”
It’s nothing I actually said, only an excuse to attack me, as if they need an excuse.
Leona strides up to me aggressively. My first thought is that she’s mistaken me for someone else, because I’ve never said anything about her to anyone—who would I say it to when no one talks to me?
Suddenly, she begins to slap me and pull my hair. I am overcome with fear. This is exactly the scenario I’ve lost sleep over and made myself sick over, but I’m in shock all the same at the sheer senselessness of it, the utter confusion of it. Someone I’ve never spoken to, never met and don’t know, who doesn’t know me, has decided to attack me. All my nightmares are coming true.
I fall to the ground, covering my head with my arms and rolling up into a ball, taking the blows. The girl is absolutely enraged, screaming at the top of her voice about what a “f—ing little shit” I am. She’s self-righteous and entitled, as if I’ve wronged her in some terrible way and deserve all her abuse. I can hear her screaming. I can hear myself crying, and I can hear Jerry and the others cheering her on, but I don’t understand anything. It’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced, and it goes on and on and on. . . .
Then the bell rings. Jerry pulls her off me. I look up to see them all heading into the building.
I stay down as long as I can, letting them get as far away as possible before picking myself up, still sobbing, my face wet. I need to get to homeroom. I lower my head, embarrassed, and walk toward the school, only to raise my eyes and see the girl coming at me again. I turn away and again cover my head with my arms. I’m not sure how long the second attack lasts, but it’s the same basic moves, slapping, hair pulling, probably kicking, I don’t know.
Finally, she’s finished. I stay where I am until they’re gone. The fear I’m experiencing is greater and more intense than anything I’ve ever known, almost beyond description.
Angry, I decided the fatigue I felt was mental, or if it wasn’t, the solution was. I don’t know if adrenaline is something anybody can consciously summon, but I’d learned that determination is something anybody can draw upon. I wasn’t going to fail, so I started up again, grunting and shouting at myself with each step I took, not cursing because I was frustrated or tired, but to cheer myself on.
Maybe a minute and a half
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