The Rules of Life

My locker is almost always empty. I don’t use it to store books because all my classes are on the other side of the school and it just seems pointless to walk all the way down to what feels like East Jesus, Nowhere just to get reamed out for being tardy. But every morning, I stop by, pretend to reorganize my locker because no one’s ever down here besides the nerds who hang out outside their smarty-pants classes. And they ignore me. I still don’t know if it’s because I scare them or because they ignore everyone not in their circle. Which would be the smarter choice; jocks will mostly leave you alone if you stay out of their way.

On this particular morning, as I was rooting through my backpack, acting like I was looking for something, my locker shut with a bang. I looked up and groaned.

“I hope that’s not the noise you’re going to make when we have sex,” Travis Elton said, smirking. He was a grade-A asshole. It would be the only A he’s ever gotten. On top of being a complete sleaze, he was as dumb as a post. But being hot, he still got chicks.

And I was his latest victim. “How many times do I have to tell you, moron,” I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder, “that I will never sleep with you? Or date you. I don’t even like talking to you. So do yourself a favor and leave before I get one of my buddies over there” I motioned towards the nerds, who were engaged in an argument over which Yu-Gi-Oh dragon was better, “to mess up that face of yours.”

Travis laughed. Actually, I think cackled would have been a better word. He sounded like a hyena. “Those losers? I can take them,” he said. He moved closer to me, so close that the cologne he wore, which I could smell just fine when he was, you know, ten feet away, became suffocating. “Come on, baby. One date, that’s all I want. One date and I know you’ll change your mind about me.” I placed my hand on his chest and took a step back until my arm was extended.

I gulped in the fresh air, thankful to be out of Travis’s own personal atmosphere of “musk”. “Listen, Travis,” I said, glancing at the clock. Two minutes until the bell. “I’m sure you’re a nice guy.” I paused. “Actually, you’re probably not. But I am not interested, nor will I ever be, in you. So why don’t you waddle off and find yourself a nice girl or blow-up doll and leave me alone?” I gave him my sweetest smile. It seems that if you smile after insulting people, it really drives the dig home.

Travis’s face got really red and his hands curled into big, beefy fists. For a minute, I thought he was going to haul off and hit me. But the bell rang and I dashed off, weaving between the people in the crowd. For once, I was glad that I was so small. Travis couldn’t get through the crowd this fast, not with his barn-sized body.

When I was born, the doctor’s said I was going to be tall, like my dad. He was so happy about it. He wanted a boy but if I was going to be a tall girl, well! That was almost the same thing! But even from an early age, I showed no athletic potential. I wasn’t very coordinated but it turned out that it didn’t matter anyway. I stopped growing at 5’1”.

I skirted around a few awkward looking freshman, all gangly limbs and frizzy hair, and slid into homeroom. There were still about three minutes left until school started, so the room was barely half-full. Even when I had friends to talk to in the hallways, I never did. Five minutes was not enough time to have an actual conversation, not when you’re trying to fight the crowds and not be late.

Homeroom didn’t have assigned seats but after the first few days, people naturally sat in the same seats every day. I walked up the row, purposely swinging my bag into the shoulder of Sophia Martin. Her arm slid and the lipstick she’d been busy putting on skidded across her face. She glared at me. “God, Kinley, just because you’re a loser and your life means nothing, doesn’t mean you have to ruin everyone else’s.”

“Careful Sophie,” I replied, kicking my feet up on my desk and lounging back, “you don’t want to hurt yourself when you think of those stingy remarks.” Sophia rolled her eyes and frantically rooted through her bag for make-up remover.

The final bell rang and the last few students trickled in. “Take your seat,” the advisor, Mr. Hardacker, said. “You can talk after the announcements.” The intercom beeped and even though everyone was quiet, no one paid attention to what Principle Taner said. The girls were too busy either a) putting on make-up, b) staring at Mr. Hardacker and trying to get his attention, or, if you weren’t one of those girls, c) helping and/or doing last minute homework. Or, if you were me, d) counting down the hours until I graduated. I’d just finished calculating how many hours were left until the end of the semester when Mr. Hardacker stopped in front of my desk.

He was the youngest teacher at school, and the most attractive. He looked more like a Hollister model than a math teacher. “Kinley,” he said, “did you do your homework?” My barely-passing grades were of concern to my advisor/math teacher. I shrugged. Translation: nope. Mr. Hardacker nudged my feet off my desk. “Maybe you should get started.” He raised an eyebrow and his voice had taken on that strict-teacher-tone.

“Maybe,” I agreed but I made no move to get my backpack.

Mr. Hardacker sighed. “Fine. I hope you’re ready for your math test.” And then he continued on his rounds, making sure students were all caught up.

Math was my easiest subject. And I’d have an A in the class if I did any of the homework or classwork. The only thing keeping my head above water in that class was the fact that I ace every single test, without fail. The first test we took, Mr. Hardacker accused me of cheating and made me retake it after school, a brand-new test. 100%. He wrote more problems on the board and had me solve them. After I got all those right, he stopped questioning my math skills and started questioning my grades. With a gift like mine, he said, I could get scholarships and go to incredible colleges, if only I’d apply myself to every aspect of school. He’s been pestering me ever since.

The girl in front of me, Melanie Xavier, turned around to face me. “You’re so lucky,” she gushed. Apparently no one had told her that you don’t talk to me.

But I wanted to know what she meant. What was the saying? Curiosity killed the cat. Good thing I’m not a cat. “How so?”

“You’re totally his favorite,” she said, nodding towards the teacher. I’d never been struck speechless before but this girl accomplished the impossible. I blinked a few times to take in what she was saying. Mr. Hardacker was cute, yeah, but hello. Teacher. Why did none of the girls at this school get that? It’s illegal. “If I were his favorite, I’d ask for extra special treatment.” She waggled her eyebrows.

“Whoa, there, hoe,” I said. “Close your legs before you pick up an STD. Or a baby.”

Melanie glared at me and turned around. Apparently Be Nice to McKinley Time was over. But it didn’t bother me. People like Melanie pissed me off anyway. Same with girls like Sophia. I was glad all they did was look and fantasize about Mr. Hardacker, though. He was the only teacher at this school that didn’t treat me like I was stupid and it’d be so easy for one of those girls to make something up to blackmail him with. Good thing the sluts at this school had a conscious, even if their legs were open all night, even holidays.