"Do you think he hit her?" or "I bet she did it to herself!"
I glare tearfully at my teacher. She looks at the wall over my shoulder, as if there could be something more fascinating than a 16 year old girl with a black eye and swollen lips. I blink back the tears and try to regain some of my expired confidence.
"Time's up old girl!" I mutter to myself. For a child I feel as though I've lived a lifetime cramped into 16 years. My gaze moves down to my notebook. The smooth plastic cover protects a picture. A gothic guitarist, whose beauty and grace alone mystify me.
"Oh Zim," I'd think to myself. "Let me under that plastic cover. And for a moment I'd start to ponder the logistics of me squeezing under it. The thought amuses me and I let a little laugh escape.
"I'm sorry Helen," I smiled at my teacher. "But maybe next time you'll consider letting me wear my sunglasses to class," I stuff my things in my bag and stand up, walking to the door. Without even looking at the rest of the class I throw the evil eye at her.
"Who knows? Maybe it'll save us both the humiliation!"
(c) --*~Mistress Fetisha~*--
