“You’re not even in that class. How would you know?” I spat, eating some grapes.
“Gossip travels quickly in High School,” Clay swallowed his bread.
“Then maybe that’s all it is,” Vanessa took out her sandwich from her bag, “gossip.”
“No, Vanessa,” I sighed and gave her a look that said, ‘I can handle myself, I’m not in Middle School.’ Then I addressed Clay, “You’re right, I am that girl. Is there anything wrong with that?”
“No.” He didn’t look in my eyes.
“You sure?”
“Yup,” Clay replied, still not looking at me, “Vanessa, you wanna come to my house after school to play some video game?”
“Totally!” Vanessa exclaimed, “I’ll just text my mom and ask her. You wanna come too, Cynthia?”
Clay shot her a glance that said, ‘Why in the world would you think
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I’ve got plans.” I pushed my loose hair out of my face.
“You want me to braid your hair?” Vanessa asked.
“Sure.” I turned in my seat and ate my sandwich as Vanessa braided my hair in a fishtail.
I’m pretty sure that during the entire lunch period, about thirty people teased me, saying, ‘Skeleton girl!’, or ‘Where’s your flesh?’ I’m officially positive that I hate people.
* * *
I swung my red backpack over my shoulder as I walked down the never-ending hallway to Mr. Smith’s office. Mr. Smith was the Principal. I opened the door to Mr. Smith’s office to see him at his desk and Ms. Jones in a chair with her arms crossed. I sat in the chair next to her and put my backpack next to me. “So Ms. Reid, Ms. Jones told me what happened in her class earlier,” Mr. Smith didn’t seem mad, but not exactly cheerful. I nodded. “Why did you say what you did?” He questioned me. “I-I was just saying that we shouldn’t be told what to write. We should be able to use our heads to make plots, characters, plot-twists, action-” “Yes, we understand Ms. Reid,” Mr. Smith chuckled a bit, “We understand. Now, Ms. Jones, Why don’t you let the kids make their own stories?” “Because some of them still need the molds,” She