Flaws

Next to me, a girl swings her hair around her neck. It's perfect and straight, the kind I wish was mine. Her sweatshirt is a deep purple with white lettering, proclaiming her part in the varsity cheer squad. I had stopped going to the games; no matter how much noise was around me, the cold chills of the bench and the lack of human warmth next to me dampened the experience.

The teacher coughs awkwardly at the front of the room. That's what they all do, lately. We're the tough class, the mean class. Other classes get along fine, but for some reason, there is an abundance of hatred in this room.

"For today's exercise," She's saying, passing out pieces of clean white paper, "I want you to stop focusing on all the negative things you may see in each other, and make a list of good things."

The girl next to me snickers, and raises her hand. I don't listen to her question, I just stare at the paper in front of me.

I know from the start that we'll be paired up. That my page will be full of praises and hers will be...different.

Everyone assumes a similar position as they bend over their writing utensils. I focus on printing my letters as best I can.

The teacher calls my attention back to her, saying that the exercise is over. She motions toward the girl next to me, and she stands up, a lovely smirk on her face.

"I had her." She sighs, pointing at me. She's probably forgotten my unimportant name.

She holds up the page, and I note that it's blank.

"I couldn't think of anything." She says, with a delicate shrug. She sits back down calmly, as if she had complimented my clothing. The room is silent.

There are snickers, then laughs. The teacher tells her that she'll have to stay after class, and she glares at me. It must be my fault. It's not her fault there's nothing good about me.

It's mine.
--

I need to stop writing. I need to keep my fingers away from this keyboard. I spew crap.

gah.

-Mari.