I gasped in surprise and humiliation as I realized I was stuck to my chair.
    “Hey, Marda, you need some help over there?” Wendy called out from across the room as the whole class burst out laughing. I had walked halfway across the room to solve a math problem on the chalkboard, realizing only then that I was bent at a strange angle. Clever of them.
    Ever since 4th grade, when I accidently kicked Wendy during a game of soccer and broke her ankle, she and her little gossiping, clucking (like chickens, only MORE ANNOYING!!!!!) crew has been on my case and mortifying me in every possible way. The funny thing is, I used to be one of Wendy’s best friends (otherwise known as an “insider.”) That’s why all the other degrades, who usually clump together to protect themselves, stay away from me, probably in fear that I’ll reject them like I did before. I’m not proud of it.
   “Alright, who was involved in this?” shouted Mrs. Meloney. Everybody raised their hands. One by one, she ordered them to tell her how they were involved. Everybody had atleast brought something, and everything brought was completely used. A couple of kids actually brought superglue, as I was horrified to hear.
   “All of you are in serious trouble. You hear me? Marda, go to the front office and call your mother.” I’m horrified to realize that that means a long walk down the stairs from the third floor to the first floor. Also, the stairs are on the other side of the building, and the front office is on the same side of the building I’m at now. There’s no way I won’t run into somebody.
  All of a sudden, I hear a familiar sound on the intercom that usually means relief but now means panic. All the kids in the class laugh hysterically.
   Great. The bell.
   All the other kids line up behind me in front of the door.   
“Go on, Marda,” says the idiot teacher.
   I take a deep breath, brace myself, and step out into the sea of kids.