If I Could Gather Up the Nerve

I sat at the very end of a near empty table, picking at my apple with my spoon. I took a sip of my water, glancing up to see everyone having good times, laughing with their friends and engaging in silly things.

I took another sip of my drink, going to get to my feet. I never ate my lunch anyways, so it wouldn’t make a difference to waste the one-sixty I paid daily.

When I picked my tray up, three people sat down; one across from me, one diagonal and one next to me. I hissed under my breath, hoping that it would scare them away.

“I’m gonna give you a nickname,” John smirked, being the one next to me, “How about ‘Chick’?”

I didn’t answer him, only let my fingers clench against the plastic.

“John,” Garrett tensed, forcing John to stop in his tracks, “sorry,” he murmured to me.

I nodded, glancing back down at my tray of left over pizza. I grabbed my fork, picking at the cheese as the lunch table turned into an awkward silence. I guess I had a knack for that.

“Uh, Riley,” Garrett forced me to look up at him, “we’re not bothering you, are we?” his face flushed.

I shook my head, meeting my food again. I drove the fork down through, picking it up with the plastic utensil. It slid down the prongs, plopping onto the yellow plate with force.

Did I want them to leave? Yes. I loved being alone—hated being surrounded by jerks that only wanted to torment me.

As the bell sounded, I got to my feet hastily. I tossed my food away, before making my way into the crowded hallway. I left Garrett dumbfounded, probably getting picked on John intensely.

I pulled open my locker, shoving my calculus book into the small compartment. I transferred it with my chemistry one, shoving that into my bag. When I went to grab my notebook, my locker slammed shut, and John stood with a sly smirk plastered on his face.

I squeaked, eyes watering slightly and turned towards the nearest stairwell. I pounded up the stairs, hearing footsteps pick up behind me.

“Come on, sweetie,” he teased, grabbing onto my bag and pulled me back towards him.

I glanced into his eyes, feeling six-years-old again and gulped, “Just let me alone,” I whispered, barely audible.

“What was that?” John mused, smirking a little, “You want me to help carry that thing?” he ripped my bag from my shoulder, tossing it down to the first story of the stairwell as the bell sounded again—telling students to be in class.

He made his way up the rest of the stairs, as I stepped back down. I picked my bag up, pushing my pencils back in and stood up straight. I could feel the tears in my eyes, as I made my way into the classroom.

“You’re late,” Mr. Smith huffed, “that’s the third one this month, Riley.”

I felt small, as he called me out in front of the class, “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Detention,” he huffed, before grabbing one of the yellow slips. He wrote my name on it, making it for after school.

I nodded once, making my way to the back. John was chuckling softly, his own yellow slip sitting in front of him. I took a seat next to Garrett, not meeting his stare and pulled out my book.

I got to spend an afternoon with John—the boy that reminded me of Aiden. He’d probably pick on me, once Mr. Smith left the room to make a phone call or something.

Why did he want to torture me so bad?