So I'm trying to write this from a perspective of a 13 year old, so the complexity will be a little watered down that I'm used to. Hope you like it. If you do, let me know. If you don't, that's chill.
I sat there in the studio that morning, when I was supposed to be getting ready for school, wondering if it would always be like this. If I would always be bullied and teased my whole life. I thought about that, long and hard. I tried to count how many years of school I had left before I could run away…to like…Australia or something. One…two…three…..seven. Plus college, not that I'd ever get into college anyway. Seven years. My heart sank and I rested my head on my hands.
Maybe I could hide in here forever. It wouldn't be that bad. I've lived here for two years with these foster parents and it hasn't been bad at all. In fact, it's been good.
When I first came to Mary Margaret and Charming's compound, I would always sit in the workshop and look at all the shiny things that Charming would make out of glass and wood. He calls his workshop the Skylark Studio because he likes that bird, I guess. And we call him Charming, like the prince in Snow White. My foster siblings Graham and Ruby always call him that cause he treats Mary Margaret like a princess.
"EMMA?" Mary Margaret screamed so loud I fell off my stool and hit my head on a piece of scrap wood and groaned. "EMMA? WHAT WAS THAT NOISE? COME ON, YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE FOR SCHOOL AGAIN!"
I groaned again, but it wasn't due to the throbbing bump on my head.
So much for hiding in here my whole life.
I grabbed my half-eaten bagel from the desk, stuffed it in my mouth and ran out of the studio. Running into the courtyard through one of the sliding glass doors, I whispered a quick prayer to the glass-door gods that it was open. I had a reputation of blindly slamming into them a lot.
"Bye!" I yelled to the family and grabbed my backpack from the dusty porch.
"Bye now! Have a great day at school!" Mary Margaret beamed from behind her broom as she was sweeping away the millions of pine needles that never really go away no matter how much you sweep them.
"I wish" I mumbled under my breath, continuing to stumble out the garage, tripping over my feet occasionally.
Marion Middle School isn't that far from where we live, maybe a mile or less, so I always walk to school. Well lately it's been more running than walking. Even though life at the foster home has been nothing less than the best home I've been in, school life hasn't changed at all, unsurprisingly.
The boy from across the street was outside when I came trotting out of the garage. He waved to me and I awkwardly waved back. His name is Neal, and he's in ninth grade. Two years ahead of me. We used to play together a lot in our pool but his parents moved so he just stays across the street with his grandmother on weekdays so he can go to the high school a few miles down the road with all his friends. I don't see him a lot anymore. I think high school made him all gross and hairy.
When I got closer to the Marion Middle, I slowed down to catch my breath. I crept inside the hallway door and looked around.
No sign of her. She's probably already in class, I deduced. The bell rang to jolt me out of my thoughts and I rushed to my locker, grabbed my English homework and shoved it in my backpack. Suddenly, I felt my feet fly out from under me and I hit the ground. Coughing, I tried to get air back into my lungs. To my horror, I glanced up and saw him. Killian Jones. He had his usual smirk of satisfaction on his face whenever he made my life miserable.
"Good morning, dyke." He chirped innocently.
"It was…" I mutter sarcastically. He must have heard me because he kicked me hard in the stomach with his black converse shoes and whisked off, leaving me there lying in pain. I blinked furiously, trying to regain my sight. Slowly, I picked myself off the mop-neglected floor.
I should have gone to the guidance counselor right then and told her everything. I should have got him in trouble. I should have- but I didn't. I didn't just like all the other days. It would mean telling an adult why he beats me up, and the last thing I want is for an adult to go and gossip about it to anyone with a pulse.
So, like all the other days, I gathered up my books and ran to class, pretending like nothing happened.
After hours of stupid, boring classes, I sat in the cafeteria (alone, what a shock). I looked up from my tray of what-the-hell food and was startled to see a girl staring at me from a couple tables over. I shifted around in my seat, focusing back down to my hands. Still feeling her eyes on my, I started to feel anxious. I looked up and mouthed the word, "What?!" to her. Then she turned and said something to the girl sitting next to her and got up. She walked over to me and sat down on the other side of my table. My nerves spiked. What the hell does she want?!
"Hi, I'm Regina."