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Stupid Freshmen

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Stupid Freshmen


Crowds of students rush through the clogged halls, weaving around kids at their lockers, intent on getting to class. I am immersed in a chaotic, claustrophobia inducing throng of people, the growing noise already grating on my nerves.

As I walk purposefully through the swarm of hot, sweaty bodies, I am obstructed by a small group of freshmen, standing obliviously in the middle of the hall. I pause, thinking patiently that I could wait for a moment. As I stand there, I glance at the girl who was speaking animatedly to the other girls.
She had short, greasy, faux black ebony hair that came down just below her large ears. It bobbed up and down as she gestured spastically to her friends, who are listening intently. With a critical eye, I scan her skimpy outfit. Her glittery pink fuchsia tank top was pulled down to reveal her lack of cleavage, a disgusting display of acne-stricken skin. A slight bulge of fat protruded over her Buckle shorts, hitched up as high as possible, showing off her splotchy legs.
My brow furrowed as her shrill voice pierced my ears, and a small pounding began in the back of my head. I sighed, knowing this was the start of a migraine.
“Excuse me…” I said in the most pleasant voice I could muster. They didn’t move, or even deign to acknowledge my presence. Stupid freshmen en, I thought crossly. My foot tapped testily on the floor, a sharp, staccato beat showing my vexation. “Excuse me,” I tried again, a little louder, impatience creeping into my tone.
Behind me, mutters of other students rose up like a wave, a tsunami of annoyed voices, all clamoring for attention.
“What’s the holdup?” A boy boomed in my ear. I wince, attempting to block out the cacophony of the hallway, focusing instead on the obstructive cluster ahead of me.
“Can you please move?” I plead, anxious to escape the congregation of furious teenagers. They didn’t respond, but the look on her pockmarked face, I knew she heard me. I glared at her, covertly sending daggers straight at her chapped mouth, which was still running like a faucet.
Our silent standoff hadn’t gone unnoticed, and as her friends turned around to face me, her bushy right eyebrow raised, challenging me. She crossed her flabby arms, and shot me a disgusted look.
“Um, you’re in the way,” I snapped. Jutting out her pointy chin, she replied in a snotty voice,
“Whatcha gonna do about it?’ An arrogant smirk flashed across her pudgy face, her small, pig-like nose stuck high in the air.
Astonished, my jaw dropped open. Where is the respect for upperclassmen? I thought disgustedly. That was the last straw.
“GET OUT OF MY WAY!” I screamed, trembling with rage. An instant silence fell over the hallway. Speechless, she turned to her friends, brown eyes wide in humiliation. They looked away, offering no support.
Blushing furiously, she pivoted on her heel and stalked away, her old, red flip-flops slapping the concrete. The crowd parted to let her group through, and when they finally turned the corner, my tense shoulders relax, and a breath of relief whooshes out. Titters of amusement rippled through the halls, and between bouts of mocking laughter, the words, “Stupid freshmen,” rang throughout the school.
Crowds of students rushed through the clogged halls, weaving around kids at their lockers, intent on getting to class, surrounding me once again in a chaotic throng of people.



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