Loser || WlW

Thirty

The smell hits me first. The familiar fumes of a sharpie marker. Proudly displayed across my locker is Whose next? The font is extra thick, dripping like blood. Very artistic.

I try to act like it doesn't bother me but as I pull my Calculus book out, a roar of snickers explodes behind me.

I turn to see a group of boys in letterman's jackets, red-faced from how hard they're giggling.

"Come on, man." I grab a marker from my locker, rip the lid off with my teeth and add an apostrophe between the 'o' and the 's', and scribble out the 'e'. "You're a senior. At least have someone spell check your work."

The bros stop laughing, their smiles falling in unison.

I toss the marker in the nearby trash bin and walk away, hoping they don't follow me, praying they don't hurt me. I still get a searing headache when I sneeze or cough too hard and the bruises are bright purple.

Classes drone on forever since I can't talk to Allison anymore and I'm so behind on school work that I can't catch up on lectures if I wanted to.

"That's it, class." My English teacher is a middle-aged woman who tells jokes that no one laughs at. "Don't forget. You have an exam on Beowulf tomorrow." She's attempting to shout over the crowd of kids rushing to lunch before the good tables are taken. "Um, Jordan," she calls after me.

I make my way to her desk, clutching my backpack straps as I force a smile.

"I know you have a lot on your plate right now but I noticed your grade slipping and I thought I'd give you the chance to bring it up." The wrinkles around her eyes soften as she smiles. "Nothing too difficult. Just an essay on a piece of literature of your choosing."

My eyebrows pull together. "What's my grade?" I'm not the best in AP Literature. Math and science have always been my strong suit but I didn't think my grade was low enough to warrant a conversation with the teacher.

"You've slipped to a B minus." She holds her hands up before I can speak. "It's not bad by any means; however, it could make a world of difference on your college applications."

"Oh." I shake my head. "I'm not applying to college. Thank you though..." I pause, trying to make myself sound grateful, "For the concern."

"Not even one?" Her forehead wrinkles. "I'm sure you could find the time to apply to one."

I shake my head. "It's not really about time. College applications cost money and I was let go from my job recently." I shrug.

"Jefferson High has plenty of programs that will cover college application expenses," she protests.

I shake my head again. "Thank you. Really, I appreciate it. Thanks for the offer." I walk towards the door as she offers a sad smile.

I make my way down the hallway, weaving through the popular kids, the nerds, and every group in between until I find myself in the lunchroom, plotting out the essay I'll write for extra credit. At least it makes me look busy instead of lonely.

I'm so focused on the assignment that when Allison says, "Hi, there," I almost jump out of my seat.

"Jesus, Allison. You scared the shit out of me."

Her head tilts at the apparent shakiness in my voice. "Sorry, I thought you heard me sit down."

"It's okay." It's quiet for a moment before I say, "What's up?"

She shifts in her seat. "I wanted to see how you're doing."

"That's weird. You didn't care how I was doing when the rumors started flying about me being a murderer." I scribble another sentence for my essay but I'm too distracted to write anything usable.