Bennett Miller was not calm. He was, in fact, further from calm than he had been since he grew out of his tantrum-throwing phase as a toddler. It was the most he could do to stop the sobs from escaping his throat; he could feel the tears in his eyes. For the first time in months he regretted coming out of the closet. Tick. Tock. Everyone in Mr. Fisher’s sixth period Geometry class was watching the clock like their lives depended on it. Ben, for once, was among them. Only six minutes left in class. Only six minutes until he could get out of this classroom and away from everyone. Six minutes. A lot can happen in six minutes. Luckily for Bennett, though, all that happened in those last six minutes of class was him finishing his notes …show more content…
Sure, there weren’t too many of them, but he had ten or fifteen people to talk to at lunch and between classes. He never thought he would lose them until it happened; until his world came crumbling down around him and he was left to pick the pieces of himself out of the rubble. Who knew being honest about who he was would scare so many people away? He supposed that was what he got for living in a small town in …show more content…
The hallways of the small school were flooded with teenagers, and Ben was nothing but one small animal in the herd, heading for the front of the school. He strayed away from the pack and turned down a now almost empty hallway to classroom seventeen. “Hey, Ben,” his mother said from behind her desk. “How was your-” She was interrupted by Ben slamming the door behind him and sliding down it, letting the tears he’d been holding back since lunch stream down his face. Mrs. Miller rushed over and kneeled next to him on the floor. Looking closer at his face, she could see bruises forming on his pale cheeks. “Oh, honey,” she sighed. This was not the first time she had seen her son bruised after school; nor was it the worst beating he had taken. “Who did this to you?” Concern filled her voice, and her brown eyes scanned his face and body for further injury. Luckily, it looked like Bennett’s attacker had only got two or three punches in. Ben looked down and brushed his hand through his curly black hair. A sob escaped his lips, but he said nothing. He buried his head in his hands. His mother sighed again. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Ben shook his head. “They have enough names for me already, Mom. Do I really need to add ‘snitch’ to the