Cut Here.

"Hey, Mrs. Mark.. I got that worksheet done!"
Well, that came out a little loud.
"That's great." She smiles, "Now, come here."
She quickly walks out, so flipping loud from her high, black heels.
I follow her out the door slowly. Okay, this isn't about my grade.
I get a flash of *Oh shit, I'm in trouble,* and my stomach twists and flips.
I get there, useless with my packet of stupid homework folded in my hand, standing in front
of her.
1 second goes by and she gets to demand me.
"Roll up your sleeves," she says so quickly. It's hard to understand what she says, but I do because she uses her hands to talk.
She's smiling.
Why the fuck is she smiling?
I stare at her blankly. Her beady eyes sparkling, staring at me.
She is pretty. She has a good life.
"Why?" I say, m my voice almost cracking.
My throat hurts.
It's funny how much one sentence can trigger such an emotional state. Almost dropping to the floor. To cry. To scream.
"I saw it," she shakes her head, "Roll up your sleeves."
"No, I didn't...no." My voice is horrible, whiny.
"I know you do it to relieve stress. That's right?"
"Yeah. I wasn't gonna, I don't.." I sigh loudly.
"You can just talk to me after school."
The bell rings.
She continues. She answers for you a lot. But i guess it makes things easier.
"Yeah, just do that. Get your stuff."