on the school bus this morning, so she was probably running late as usual. I jumped off the bus so excited to find her and show her my new art bag that I actually, rudely, pushed some kids aside as I hopped off the last step of the bus door opening.
I would always hear my parents fighting about not having enough money to pay bills and stuff, so last night, when my mom told me she had been saving a little bit, here and there, to buy me this bag, I had been so overwhelmed with gratitude that I couldn’t stop the tears. It wasn’t my birthday or Christmas, so I was a little confused over why she got me the bag, but I was too happy to ask any questions.
The bag was an oversized tote with a million pockets on the inside to hold all my art supplies. It was also dark blue with a hundred different lighter shades of blue slashed throughout the material. And since blue was my favorite color that made the bag just that much more awesome.
I finally made my way through the school’s front doors. Vicky and I went to Hamilton Elementary in Smithtown, California. It was one of those schools where everything was inside one big building. There was another elementary school on the other side of town, but that one was open everywhere. I wished I could go there instead. It seemed nice to be able to leave class and walk directly outside into the sun, rain or whatever. It didn’t have that cooped-up vibe that Hamilton had.
I only had ten minutes before the bell rang, so I could only blame my uncontrollable excitement for what came next. I was usually very good about paying attention to who all were roaming up and down the hallways. I’ve had my share of embarrassing run-ins and I tried to avoid being in the spotlight as much as possible. However, the excitement over my new art bag had overshadowed common self-preservation because I didn’t see the dark-haired, green-eyed boy in front of me until my front was brought to an abrupt halt by his back.
I wish I had been paying better attention. I wish I had been quick enough to recognize him and take off running the other way. I wish I had done a lot of things differently…but I hadn’t. Damien whirled around in a flurry of green, and I instantly took a step back and clutched my backpack and new art bag to my body.
He was wearing his green jacket over a simple white t-shirt, blue jeans and a pair of white sneakers. His dark hair was shaggy around his face and his green eyes were, as always, looking at me with hate. I don’t know what I ever did to this boy to make him dislike me so much, but he did. And he made no effort to pretend otherwise. “Are you blind or something?” His friends snickered next to him.
I shook my head. “N…no. I’m sorry.” Now here’s the part where I should, either turn around and go back the way I came, or sidestep him and his friends and rush past them, but I did neither of those things.
Damien Sebastian Greystone III has been nothing but mean to me since we were five-years-old. And because he’s been so mean for so long, I knew no matter which way I moved, he was going to do or say something to embarrass me. So, on the too-many-occasions-to-count when I was around him, I stood still and took it until he was done with whatever form of torture he chose to inflict.
The only thing I could say, though, was that I was proud that, no matter how mean he was to me, I always looked him in the eye. Damien scared me, and he hurt my feelings all the time, but I always looked him in his eerie green eyes when he did. I hid from him a lot, but when I couldn’t, I tried to be ready.
He looked at my hair, then my face and then my clothes. He always got an ugly look on his face when he looked at my shoes. I don’t know why he hated my shoes, but I also didn’t know why he hated me, either. “What’s that?”
I froze.
Absolutely froze.
He was talking about my new art bag.
I started shaking my head so hard I could feel the little butterfly clips Momma put in my hair this morning