or when life can never stay okay, because they're all reminded of the box you reside in.
i didn't realize until the end of third period that today was a day i had been looking forward to for over a month: transcript day. my first high school transcript.
it was a fairly quick job. everyone received theirs, and all they could talk about for the rest of the day was that little number, just to the right of the top middle section on the paper: rankings.
i say "they" because i could have cared less. i disliked flaunting it, and didn't want to be "that girl." i did not ask to bring upon myself the expressions i was met with.
"hey, wren, what's your rank?"
it was gym class, and one of my hispanic friends had asked the question.
"one," i mumbled, just a little too loud. i cringed at the sound of gasps from a nearby group of girls.
"what'd you say?" uttered one of them, her eyes wide and her fingers halted in her friend's half-braided hair.
"i'm ranked one," i said again. it felt dirty to say it, perhaps because i knew what would come next.
her eyebrows shot up, as did those of the others in earshot.
"really?" the girl named maria said, exasperated.
and then i realized that the day would be much longer than originally hoped. three times, i was confronted with 'what's your rank's, and each time, i said the number quieter, as if it was a sin; each time, one of the people—always a boy—would exclaim to his friends, "i knew it!" or telling them that he had bet his nonmoney well.
i carried my head low for the rest of the day, simply trying to breathe and getting only sniffles of snot.
it was pride that i lacked, and god, how i knew it to be inimitably true with every fiber of my being.
YOU ARE READING
Smart Girl
Non-Fictionthoughts from the smart girl. //the journal of wren// //highest rank #2 in non fiction// //all names of real people interacted with here are altered from their original versions for privacy's sake//
