It's just another day of middle school. I move through the hallway as quickly as I dare, scooting around people that clog up the halls. I try not to trip as I wade through the sea of bodies. I keep my head down and my eyes to the floor, not daring to look at the other students. Even though I try so hard not to be noticed, their eyes still wander to me.
Their voices are muffled, as if they're speaking through the cotton in my head. Even so, I can't help but catch their words.
"There goes Dame-Tsuna! Geez, can't he do anything right?"
"Don't you know? He's famous for that!"
"Ugh, what a loser."
"I swear, people like him should just disappear!"
They all think their words don't reach me, they think I don't hear what they say. I hear every word, but I don't say a thing. Or rather, I can't. Whenever I try, my mouth runs dry and the words clog up in my throat. My brain fumbles the words I want to say, and what comes out is mangled on a stuttering voice. So, defeated by my own body's betrayal, I bite my cheek, and keep on walking.
After all, why should I rock the boat when I'm already drowning?
