Rescue ▶▶A Hunter Hayes Faniction◀◀

ONE

    I wish words were like little toy guns

    No sting, no hurt no one

    Just a bang, bang rollin off your tongue

    No smoke, no bullets

    No kick from the trigger when you pull it

    No pain, no damage done

    I wish words were like little toy guns

    And just a bang, bang rollin off your tongue

    I wish words were like little toy guns

    My earbuds are ripped out of my ears. I hold back an exasperated sigh and look up, meeting the eyes of my very annoying teacher. Her dull eyes bore into mine like laser beams as she scowls at me. I feel my hands become clammy under the table as she watches me. I guess that’s normal, though; whenever someone is keeping their eyes on me, especially those in authority, I get sweaty, fidgety, and nervous. The same goes for whenever I’m around people, both one-on-one and in a large group. I guess that’s why they call it social anxiety.

    Mrs. Sanchez, the aggravating and nerve-wracking Spanish teacher, extends her hand out in front of me. A few students snicker around me. My face grows redder as I duck my head, but hand over my earbuds at the same time.

    Mrs. Sanchez gives me a stern nod. “I don’t want to see you listening to music in my class again. Understand, Miss Jenkins?”

    I nod quickly, shielding my face with my blonde hair. I hear her high heels clicking back to the front of the room. I let out a breath of relief, but then tense up again when I hear a harsh whisper.

    “Too bad, now you can’t listen to your awful country music that you yokels and hicks listen to all the time when you go out and square dance in barns.”

    Danielle. She’s the cliche girl who everyone loves and adores. She’s the student body president, president of almost every club, and is the captain of our school’s volleyball team. Who could say no to her? She’s got the looks, the smarts, the friends, the parents, and the commitment. If I didn’t know better, I’d probably think that she’s really nice. In reality, though, she’s a nightmare to me and every other social outcast or anyone who is different in some way. Ever since we were little, Danielle hated me, along with her friends. All throughout high school she’s had the same clique: herself, Tessa, Reese, and Mallory. They’re all very sporty, pretty, cliche, mean, and active in the community. Too bad they’re just like Danielle. They all wear outfits that belong in those expensive magazines and stores. I guess that’s partially why they torment me; I dress in comfortable clothes that I like, not that others tell me that I should like. Instead of a skirt or blouse type of girl, I’m a jeans and a sweatshirt type. I would wear t-shirts, but there’s a reason why I don’t anymore.

    Danielle and everyone else quietly laugh as I squeeze my eyes shut, clenching my hands into fists. My fingernails dig into my palms, but my anxiety burns down a little. At least something besides music and reading can help keep my sanity under control in public. I would stress over my earbuds being taken away, but I’ve learned the hard way to buy extras just in case something like that happens.

    Once the bell rings, signifying my last period class to be over, I slowly gather my things up while everyone else rushes to leave school for the rest of the day. School is dreadful for me too, but sometimes home is worse. At least I have my sister at home to talk to.

    I carry my things to my locker, still walking like I’m dragging heavy weights on my ankles. Students fly by me like I’m invisible, laughing and joking with their friends. I can put a name with every face I pass, yet none of them seem to know my name. They know I’m here; they have to. How else would they talk behind my back or bully me?