Holding Back a Wallflower
when you hit the seam, you've gone too far.
I transferred schools the following school year, for first grade. My mom hadn’t wanted to at first, but had no choice otherwise. She entered me in Sachem’s Tamarac Elementary.
A day or two before school started, the teachers let us in so I could see where my class was. My class was on the far end of the school, and was the last first grade class in that hallway before the third grade and special classes wing, which had a lush magenta carpet and soft, gray cubicle walls separating the classes.
My mom timed me to see if I could get to class on time from the main entrance, and told me the room number. I went off the next day, and went down the way I remembered, clad in denim and pink. Unfortunately, I couldn’t remember the room number, and me, being the emotionally challenged child I was, started crying at the edge of the carpet.
Luckily, one of the reading teachers came out and saw me. She asked me who my teacher was, and I told her. She then took my hand and took me to the room I had passed minutes ago. She handed me over to my teacher, and then told her I was gonna be her reading student once or twice a week.
My classmate just looked at me for the rest of the day. To them, I was just the crybaby new kid, at least for the first few minutes. Soon enough, what I was to them was simple enough to remember: New Meat.
A day or two before school started, the teachers let us in so I could see where my class was. My class was on the far end of the school, and was the last first grade class in that hallway before the third grade and special classes wing, which had a lush magenta carpet and soft, gray cubicle walls separating the classes.
My mom timed me to see if I could get to class on time from the main entrance, and told me the room number. I went off the next day, and went down the way I remembered, clad in denim and pink. Unfortunately, I couldn’t remember the room number, and me, being the emotionally challenged child I was, started crying at the edge of the carpet.
Luckily, one of the reading teachers came out and saw me. She asked me who my teacher was, and I told her. She then took my hand and took me to the room I had passed minutes ago. She handed me over to my teacher, and then told her I was gonna be her reading student once or twice a week.
My classmate just looked at me for the rest of the day. To them, I was just the crybaby new kid, at least for the first few minutes. Soon enough, what I was to them was simple enough to remember: New Meat.