Trust | Teen Ink


December 6, 2010
By mirak BRONZE, Waterboro, Maine
mirak BRONZE, Waterboro, Maine
4 articles 0 photos 3 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Make it happen."

Misty’s Story:

I never really found myself popular. I barely had any friends. School was horrible. The sounds of people whispering about me would take all my concentration. Fights with my mom were even worse. Her abuse would tear me apart. I felt like I wasn’t even a human being to her. I would cry till I had no more tears to cry. I was falling apart, and I didn’t think I could put myself back together.

Misty is my name. Living in a home with a abusive mother was the hardest thing I would ever go through. The bruises would show. Teachers would ask, and I would always tell my teacher that I fell, or got hit with a ball. But on the inside I would be crying. I couldn’t take this anymore. I was on my last strand. 7th grade was coming soon, new teachers. Summer needed to end soon, I hated being home 24/7. Although my mom was gone all day. I hated not having someone to be around. My dad died when I was eight. He was an amazing person, always wanting to discover new things, alway there for me, and once he died of cancer my whole life turned for the worse. My mom would cry everyday. She would take out all of her anger on me, so she could make herself feel better.

7th grade. New building. New teachers. New classmates. One word, horrible. My mom refused to take me school shopping so I had to wear the same old clothes from last year. Hand-me-downs were how I got my clothes. They would smell musty and they would look as if they had been worn two thousand times (which probably happened). My mother didn’t have a sturdy job. I am surprised that we still had the trailer. It smelt like a wet dog, it looked like a rusty old tank, with the paint peeling off, and the door off the hinge. The cabinets were filled on rare occasions. My stomach would growl everyday. I would be all bones because I never ate. It wasn’t my fault though, I shouldn’t have to be hungry all the time. I hated my life. Hated it.

First day of school. I had a black eye from when my mom threw an apple at me. That was my dinner for the night. As I walk through the hall everyone stare at my eye. I tried to cover it up, but it was no use.

I didn’t belong it this world. Why was I alive when I couldn’t do anything to help anyone? Everyone looked at me as if they had seen a ghost. I was a nobody.

It was the second week of school. I hated all my teacher they didn’t pay any attention to me. They just left me alone sitting in the corner.

One day as I was walking into class my Language Arts teacher Ms.Nickleson stopped me, and pulled me aside.

She said “What happened to your eye?”

“Nothing” I replied.

She looked at me in a weird way, and said “Okay.”

Then she let me walk to my normal seat in the back of the room.

The next day she pulled me aside again and said “Misty I would like you to sit in the front of the room.”

I could feel the tears forming in my eyes. I was about to start crying, but I held in the tears till the end of class. After I went right into the bathroom and started to cry. I cried because of the abuse I had to live through everyday, I cried because I had no friends. I cried for everything I had to do and go through everyday. As my head was between my knees I heard the squeak of the door opening, and then the click of high heals, followed by a knock on the bathroom stall that I was in.

“Someone is in hear,” I said quietly.

“Well Misty you need to come out because I would like to talk to you.”

“Do I have too?”

“Yes, you have too,” the voice replied.

“Okay,” I stood up and wiped the tear off of my red cheek, and I opened up the stall door. As the door opened I saw the face of Ms.Nickleson.

She saw the tears in my eyes and said “What is the matter?”


“Misty, I am not that dumb. You need to tell me what is wrong.”

“Everything,” I blurted out.

“Like?” she questioned me.

“Do I have to go that much into detail?”

“How about this, you come to my room at lunch, and we will talk,” she said

I murmured, “Fine.”

I really didn’t want to have to go to her room at lunch, but i figured I had no other choices. If I told her I was getting abused she would tell everyone. I didn’t want my mom to go to jail. Where would I live if I didn’t have her? On the streets? Ms.Nickleson would probably get my mom sent to jail, and I would have to be taken away by DHHS. Movies about foster homes didn’t look good. It seemed like they got treated even worse than I do. As I walked in her room with no food she gave me a weird look.

“I have no money for lunch, i’ll just eat when I get home,” I reassured her.

“Aren’t you hungry though?”

“No,” I said “You get used to it when you do it for awhile.”

“Oh, well then.”

Am I in trouble or something, I mean I never do anything bad?” I blurted out.

“No of course not, I just thought that we need to talk about why you were crying.”

I thought for a second about what I should say to her, I didn’t feel comfortable about telling her about my mom. “I just don’t feel good today.” I responded.

“Should you go see the nurse then?”

“No i’ll be fine..” I said “Can I leave now?”

“I suppose.” Ms.Nickleson said.

I hurried down the hall I needed to get away from her. I never wanted to go back to her classroom.

When I got home I went right to my room. My mother wasn’t home from work so I didn’t have to worry about getting beaten by her. I stayed there for a couple minutes then I heard the sound of my stomach growling followed by a sharp pain, I then decided to get something to eat. My mom hated when I ate she believe that all people should be skinny, and she would make fun of anyone that wasn’t. She was a so called “Health Freak”. There were only healthy foods in my house, no chips, candy, or those Little Debbie cakes. So I would always eat vegetables when I got home. I only weighed ninety pounds, seeing my mom I wanted to make her proud so it was my goal to always weigh less than one hundred pounds. If I didn’t she would abuse me even more, or call me horrible names, and curse at me. I was so immune to being mentally and physically abuse that it was like nothing was happening. Just the daily routine. I couldn’t do anything about it, it wasn’t like she was going to magically stop. It was just going to have to be something that I would just have to live with until I am old enough to move out. I knew that I could do extraordinary things. Anyone can do anything if they set their mind to it, and work for it. That is what my motto was, and that is what I lived to do. I only liked to play one activity, and that was field hockey.

Field hockey was all I cared about. I played for the school every year. Even though I played sports I had no friends I was to focused too. Until one game last month I was playing my hardest, and I ended up tearing my ACL. Since my mom didn’t really care about my sports, so I never went to the doctors about it. My coach said I tore it because she could tell by just looking at it, also it was swelling really bad. I never had the surgery for it either. So I had a small limp in my walk, and sharp pains 24/7. And that is what stopped my love of field hockey.

Ms.Nickleson’s Story:

Did she not trust me? Something is wrong. The black eye, the bruises that she always had all over her arms and legs. She looked drained and lifeless. Misty would come into the room and sit right in the back. Not saying “Hi” or “Hey” to anyone just right to the back. My goal is to find her someone, someone to trust, and someone who she can call her friend.

The next day...

As I entered my classroom I was ready to talk to Misty, I wanted to get her to be able to trust me, and be able to tell me what it happening to her. She would be coming in the third period of the day, and I wanted her to come in at lunch again. I had made her a PB & J sandwich, granola bar, and a apple because I didn’t want her to go hungry. I hoped that she would say more to me too.

Misty’s Story:

Blue ripped up jeans, brown clogs, and a white long sleeved shirt. And my blonde hair was in a braid that went on the side. I didn’t really care about what I looked like. It wasn’t like if I dresses nice guys would like me more. It wasn’t going to change a thing.

The baby blue room never looked scary, until today. Ms.Nickleson had a huge smile on her face when I walked in the room. And welcomely she said “Hello, Misty!”

“Hi,” I said softly.

I found my usual seat instead of the seat in the front of the room where she made me sit yesterday. I kept on writing my story that I had been working on for a long time. When I was really getting into my story I heard the click of her high heels walking towards me.

“What are you working on today Misty?”

“Umm, just my story.”

“Are you almost done?”

“I am about half way, I just have so much detail I want to put in it,” I told her

“That’s really cool, I am really excited to read it. Once you are done will you print me a copy?”

“Yes, of course,” I told her.

“Thank you, and will you come to my room at lunch again today?”


“Okay, well I will let you get back to your writing then.”

Once she left I got right back into my writing. The story I was writing my about a girl who loved softball, and actually went all the way to the college LSU and played softball there. But of course there were some bumps in the road.

Walking on the field in the purple and yellow uniform felt like a huge rush. I was nervous, but proud of myself that I made it this far in my softball career. The smell of freshly cut grass filled the air. The sight of 1,000 people in the stands gave her goose bumps. I spotted my sister, my mom, and my two brothers in the crowd. Butterflies ran through my stomach as I was in the bull pen warming up. My hand were sweating so bad, I was supposed to be the starting....

Buzz. The sound that always goes off once you have to switch classes went off. Darn it. I thought I was just at the end of my story. I closed the white MacBook and put it in the case.

Lunch was just about a half an hour away. My nerves were getting the best of me. My teachers were getting mad at me because I couldn’t focus. By the time lunch came my hands were sweating really bad. As I walked in the room Ms.Nickleson flash her perfect white teeth and said happily “Hi Misty! I brought you something.” She pulled out a paper bag and handed it over to me. I looked inside and saw a sandwich, granola bar, and a apple.

“Thanks, but you really didn’t have to do this.”

“You are a growing girl! You need to eat all three meals a day.”

“Oh, okay, but thanks again.”

She winked at me then said “Anytime.”

I sat down at the front of the room, and took out everything that she brought for me. First I ate the PB & J sandwich, next the granola bar, and to finish it all of lastly I ate the Golden Delicious apple. The whole time I was eating she was typing away on her computer, and sometimes she would quickly glance at me.

Ms.Nickleson’s Story:

It looks like she liked what she brought her, I thought. Once Misty was done she tried to talk to her..

“How was your night?” I asked.


“What did you do last night?”

“I did math homework, and that is really it,” she replied.

“Oh, well that sounds like fun,”

“Not really.”

I watched Misty as she looked down at the floor. She looked scared of me. I want her to feel comfortable. “Do you have an sisters?” Asked Ms.Nickleson.

“No, I don’t think my mom could deal with any other kids in her house.” Misty said.

Bing! “Well thats the end of lunch. I’ll see you tomorrow Misty.”

“Okay, bye.”

Misty’s Story:

Two weeks later....

Mother was mad. Her face was the color of a tomato. She had already punch a hole in the wall. She already had kicked me in the leg. I had forgot to cook dinner, because I had been writing all night long. If I forget to cook dinner she gets really mad. As she got ready to punch me I flinched which didn’t help much. I moved my head in front of her fist, and she hit me square in the eye.

I ran to my room, and I didn’t come out until the next morning when I had school. My eye was huge. Black, blue, and purple. Swollen really bad. I can’t go to school like this. Ms.Nickleson was going to see it, and ask about it. I had been going to her room for lunch everyday. We actually became really close. She was nice, and I liked her.

“I need to talk to you, Ms.Nickleson.”

“What about?”

“My mom.” I said “She abuses me.”

“Oh my god.” she said “What has she done to you?”

“She did this to my eye, and she has kicked me, pushed me down the stairs, and all kinds of other things.” I explained “Are you going to tell anyone?”

“Only if you want me too.”

“You can, I trust you.”

“I will go today then.”

Ms.Nickleson’s Story:

What could I say? She told me out of the blue? As I watched the worried look on Misty’s face she got a little worried too. Her and Misty had became so close, where Misty told her lots of things. But nothing like this. Who would she tell? After about two minutes of complete silence the end of lunch bell rang, and Misty got UP and left. As I watched her leave I opened my laptop and search who to tell. “That’s it!” I yelled to myself.

Misty’s Story:

The police came the day to pick up my mom. They took me to the police station. I had to stay there for the night since I had no where else to go. They were going to put me in a orphanage until someone chose to adopt me.

It was my second day in the orphanage. One of the ladies who took care of me told me someone wanted to meet me. I saw the figure of a women walking through the door. It was Ms.Nickleson! I was shocked. She came up to me and said “Can I adopted you?” The sound of her voice was like a church chorus singing “Hallelujah”.

“Yes!” I shrieked.

I ran over to her and hugged her so tightly. She smelt like fresh flowers. Her fleece was soft like a blanket the a baby has.
Two Years Later.....

I am now adopted by my new mom Kelly Nickleson. She isn’t Ms.Nickleson to me anymore, her new name is mom. I live a happier life. No abuse. She is the best mom ever. I am so happy that she decided to talk to me. I don’t know what my life would be like if I was still living with my real mom.

My real mom is still in jail, she is supposed to be there for twenty years. She will never know where I live, cause if she does find out she could come and try to get me.

I will never be unhappy again. My mom is amazing, and I don’t know what I would do without her.

The author's comments:
This is not a true story...

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This article has 2 comments.

on Dec. 13 2010 at 4:32 pm
fieldhockey23 BRONZE, Alfred, Maine
1 article 0 photos 1 comment

Favorite Quote:

Awesome job! I loved it Kuni:) 5 out of 5!

Smyle SILVER said...
on Dec. 8 2010 at 7:35 pm
Smyle SILVER, Aurora, Colorado
5 articles 14 photos 33 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Better to never have met you in a dream, then to wake up and reach for hands that were not there."

Ahh! I love it!You had great imagery and I just loved it! 5 out of 5! Good Job!