On Broken Wings

~1~

It's the second week of my senior year, and so far, I've been successful in dodging the vice principal, Mr. McCoy. He seems to be everywhere. I don't want to be noticed. Last year, he had me cornered a few times, but I'd managed to get away before he could do much more than criticize my wardrobe or harass me about my classes.

He's never done anything outright wrong, but he makes my skin crawl, and I know that I didn't deserve the detentions he gave me at the end of last semester. Twice this week, he's 'accidentally' brushed up against me, and he's turning up outside of my class rooms three or four times a day. I'm relieved that it's Friday, and that soon, I'll have a whole two days without having to deal with him.

***

Miss Peterson held me back after gym today, and I'm afraid I'm going to miss the bus. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the extra effort she goes through, but I really wish she would have pulled me aside before class had started instead.

There are a lot of things that suck about Ashley Waters High School, but gym is not one of them. Thanks to Miss P, we have the option of taking dance class for our required P.E. credits, and I jumped at the opportunity.

When we were little, back in Illinois, our grandmother signed my older sister, Marie, and me up for ballet classes at the local conservatory and it was incredible. Marie hated it, and quit after the first month, but it was the only place I'd ever really felt that was 'home'. I had two glorious years of lessons before grandmother passed away when I was eight. I think that my father would have let me continue, but my mother put her foot down, and she always gets what she wants. So dad got me a few old VHS tapes of Darcy Bussell and Julie Kent to watch at the house, and that was the end of ballet.

When we moved to South Carolina last year, I was excited to see that I could sign up for dance instead of regular gym. It was easy to get into the AP classes because Ashley Waters is overflowing with underachievers, but I had to petition the teacher to be let into dance. After talking to Miss Peterson, she let me 'audition' for the class, and took a bit of a personal interest in my training. She even gave me a slightly used pair of pointe shoes that fit me. They're my most treasured possession.

That's why I am currently staring at my bus as it drives away. Miss P had a few old leotards and tights that she wanted to give me, and had asked me to show her the variation I'd been working on. It was definitely nice of her to help me, since my mother had made it clear that she and my father would not spend a penny on dance, but as I see my bus turn the corner, I can't help my irritation. It will take me at least an hour and a half to walk home.

"Sang Sorensen, please follow me!"

I shudder and briefly consider ignoring him.  Instead, I turn slowly towards Mr. McCoy. No one is around, and the parking lot is mostly empty.

"What can I help you with, sir?" I really don't need another detention, and I know I'm already running the risk of being punished if my mother realizes that I missed the bus.

"You're loitering on school property, Miss Sorensen, and that's not to be tolerated. You will follow me to the office right now!"

I sigh and walk after him. I roll my eyes. This just keeps getting better and better.

As we enter the office, I turn right, thinking he is sending me to the aide who hands out the detention slips, but he grabs me by the arm and steers me down a corridor to the left instead. His grip is painful and I can't help but let out a small whimper. He pushes me through a doorway towards the end of the hallway and locks the door behind himself.

"You think you can do whatever you want, Sang Sorensen? I've seen a hundred girls like you in this hell hole, who think they can wear their whore clothes and wiggle their tight little asses and pout their fuck-me lips when they want something!"