Show's Over

I woke up tired, as usual, and ready for another show. Ready to be anybody but myself until I was alone. I had to face it… I didn’t know which “me” was really me. I was probably going to put on some skinny jeans and a hoodie and be the happy, comfortable person my parents wanted. If only they knew…


I did my makeup, which consists of too much eyeliner and mascara and got ready to take center stage, again. I went to the kitchen and put a couple toaster waffles in the toaster. Three minutes later, they popped up; I grabbed them and my skateboard and left for my last show of the school year.


I sat in my last home room class of eighth grade. I just chilled in the back of the room writing and listening to Three Days Grace on my iPod, normal. Skater guys stared at me on my way to Geometry, normal. The geeks were trying to be cool, normal. Dani ran in to class screaming, nor- wait. WHAT!?


She didn’t stop until she was safely hidden behind me, the entire girl’s Tennis team (all twelve of them) followed closely behind her, Rackets in hand.


“What. Did. You. Do?” I asked through gritted teeth.


“I don’t know,” Dani replied, “help me Lexi!”


“Only if you stop calling me Lexi”


“Sorry Alex”


“You should be,” I said turning to Brittanie, “what seems to be the problem ladies?”


“Alex,” Brittanie, tennis team captain, stated.


“Brittanie,” I stated with just as much ignorance as she had.


“Dani stuffed our lockers with pasta.”


“Are you whining? That’s not very attractive.”


“But she stuffed our lockers with pasta-”


“Pasta noodles!! They were just noodles Alex,” Dani interjected.


“Okay pasta noodles, in our lockers,” Brittanie finished.


I rolled my eyes, “I recall opening my locker and getting drenched in Tomato Soup at the beginning of the year. I had to throw out my favorite shirt!”


“Okay but-”


“And I also recall you stealing my clothes after gym only to rip them to shreds and string them through the hall leaving me to wait for coach Pearson to find me standing in the middle of the locker room wrapped in a shower curtain because my towel was hanging above my locker with the word ‘loser’ and an arrow pointing to my locker spray painted on it.”


“But-”


“No buts. You’re lucky I convinced her not to use the black paint.”


“But.”


“Go pretend to be athletes or something,” I said causing her to buck at me, “Really? No seriously. Really?”


“What?”


“You’re going to buck at me like you want to fight when we both know you can’t fight worth crap and-”


“Shut up skate rat!!”


“Don’t interrupt me!!” I yelled bucking back at her and making her squeak, “And, if I remember correctly, you’ve gotten your butt handed to you on several occasions. Do you really want to go there again?”


“You must really want to get busted up today don’t you punk?”


“Bring it!” I said angling my face to the right to give her a good target, “hit me. I dare you!”


She took her arm back, snapped it forward and slapped me in the face. I just shook my head and told her to try again. She curled her hand into a fist, took it back again and released it. In a swift movement, I grabbed her fist, not two inches from my face, and started squeezing it. She tried to slap me with the other hand but I caught it and started squeezing it too. I heard and felt knuckles start to pop as she sank to her knees in agony. Her eyes were tearing up so I decided she’d had enough. I let go of her hands and she let out a breath she’d obviously been holding in a series of whimpers.


“Don’t call me a skate rat or a punk,” I said threateningly, “oh, and learn to fight this summer.”


I left the room to a chorus of ‘Oh!’ and ‘You got PWNED!’ just as the bell rang. I ran outside and jumped on my board when I saw the guys.


“Last one to my house buys milkshakes!” I yelled over my shoulder.





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