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Writer's Blockade

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It was probably the sound of piano playing from the outside world, with the boiling sun, heated upon the windows. Or the shattering of my hearts’ theme song as it waved in tune with the piano. I didn’t know where I was going in life, there were so many different directions that my head spun in ways that it never spun before. My knees shook nervously as I grasped the pen in one hand, with my sweltering left palm on the wooden table.
“Are you alright?” My English teacher, Mr. Fletcher asked me.
“What? Oh, Yeah!” I woke up from my daydream.
“This assignment is due on Thursday,” he spoke sternly.
Class Dismissed.

No, I was not okay. Jimmy was this boy in my grade who looked really cute with sunglasses on and his new haircut made me sway in circles as I walked down the stairs. His smile made me feel so dizzy and warm that I would have to take my sweatshirt off in 30-degree weather. I was not in love though. I couldn’t be, because that would mean that I would be willing to get my heart broken by another one of those cute guys that don’t like me. In seventh grade there was this boy I obsessed over for days and weeks. I wrote about him in all the pages of my 3-subject notebook because my parents didn’t want to get me a sparkly pink diary. I finally told my friend Fred to ask the boy if he liked me and he refused to because he didn’t want my heart to be broken. “Oh, shut up Fred! I don’t care, just ask him if he likes me,” I demanded. Then one day Fred asked the boy if he liked me and I don’t know what he said, but Fred came back with the dreadful news that he didn’t like me back. And that is why I can’t like anyone up until now.

“Now class,” Mr. Fletcher said, clacking his long black boots as he walked around in circles. Mr. Fletcher was a good person, but somehow he always would lose his temper at the most random moments. One time Talia Greenlip raised her hand in class to go to the bathroom and at that moment he threw a fit saying, “Why do you need to ask me to go to the bathroom, so you can interrupt my class?! Just go when you need to!” The class was silent and I lowered my hand, because I was about to ask to go to the bathroom.
Mr. Fletcher was collecting homework from last week. I saw how everyone’s papers were filled with sentences in bold, black writing and I saw how mine was only half a page long. Did I do something wrong? Were there supposed to be added details?
Then Talia looked at my assignment and said, “You were supposed to make it double spaced.” I swallowed three big gulps. Double-spaced? This was the fifth time I had made an effort to hand in a good homework assignment and fail miserably. Then before I could say something to the teacher, he grabbed the assignment out my hands and immediately glared at me.
“Susie, I told the class multiple times to hand in their work double-spaced! Do you not pay attention in class?”
I felt the pressure of everyone’s eyes on me and their staring resulted in my sweating. When I get nervous I feel hot and sweaty and this feeling is felt in multiple situations I’m in, like when I’m handing a paper to Jimmy or when I’m getting blue Gatorade instead of water in a store. I feel like the employees will think I’m fat if I choose a sugary energy drink as opposed to water.
“I pay attention in class,” I said in a monotone voice.
“Well clearly you don’t if you haven’t handed in one correct assignment.”
I felt so incredibly hot at this moment, till sweat was coming out of my pits and blood was rushing to my head. Did he have to say exactly how he felt out loud? Then I thought about all the people in my class who might’ve heard him embarrass me. I looked around the classroom and there was Randall Lee, the captain of the football team, Gary Fish, the hottest kid in the grade, and Jimmy. I was a red hot chili pepper at that moment. Next period.



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