It was another day at middle school, a place where queen bee’s came to gossip, and bullies came to bash out.
I trudged through the ancient gates that groaned with each push, and into the lair of the crusty receptionists.
Today I was greeted by grizzly old face blusher.
She’s called this because she always has some nasty comment to make your face look like a tomato.
Here it comes.
“Pull up those pants, I can see the start of your bum crack, people are gonna start shoving coins down there thinking your a piggy bank!”
My cheeks burn crimson, a colour that looks nice on a jumper, but not on your face.
Ignoring her, I pulled my baseball cap lower over my face and kept on walking into the mildew infested hallways.
A voice whispered from behind me.
I feel a tap on my hunched shoulder.
Not a light tap, like one you use when telling someone a secret, it was the kind of tap that is more like a mammoth wacking you with a frying pan.
The kind of guy who has nothing else to do but shove people into walls.
“Hello little buddy.”
He sneers in his axe murderer voice.
All of a sudden, I am back inside an empty locker for the 56th time this week.
I rattle the handle, but it’s locked.