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Straight-edge: H

KylaaM
Straight-edge: H
Summary: I grabbed my books and walked out of the door, hearing whispering voices behind my back. I could hear one word: Idiot. I didn't want to get kicked out again, as I would love to finish high school, and prove to myself, and my parents that I am not worthless. And also prove that there is more to me than just blood-shot eyes, and cigarette burns on the interior of my mustang. I walked into student services and sat down on one of the three couches that they have there, and put my feet up. It was no less than a minute later when one of the counsellors walked out, and acknowledged me. Mr. MacLeish, my favourite person to ever work in a educational institution. The rest of the teachers and staff were all pricks, especially Ms. MacDonald.
“Harrison, come back for another visit?” he sat down on the couch and faced me, searching for any kind of trouble. Leave it to Mr. MacLeish to search your soul for any thing. He finds it.
“I was hoping you could write me a late note” I looked down at the floor, once again. I don't like eye contact, and that was one of Mr. MacLeish's biggest things was: eye contact. Besides he would have found trouble in mine.
“Again?, H, this has got to stop, you come in here every day looking for a late note, are you in any kind of trouble, is there anything you would like to talk about?” I thought about that for a second. Yeah, lots of things. Finally, he walked toward his office and wrote me a pink slip that said I had permission to be late. It finally clued in to me that he could see the marks I had on my arms, so I pulled my sleeves down, and looked him straight in the eye as I said it:
“I don't want to talk about it” One thing I learned about this guy, is that he actually listens.





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