Feelings

• Bree Veale, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2015

There I was again, trudging down the hallway of school, receiving unwanted stares everywhere I looked. I was always fascinated in what they might be thinking, good or bad? All the secrets threatening to spill through their mouths like a huge wave. Shrugging the thought off, I continued to walk.

I used to love school, but all that changed after my mother's death. My happy life was stolen away from me as quick as it had begun, leaving me in a pit of sorrow. My Dad was in the same state, drowning his sorrows in addictions and regret. Never had I ever seen him so sad in my life, even after the passing of grandpa George.

As I rounded my way around the corner of the hallway, I was stopped abruptly in my tracks, stumbling into the person that had gotten in my way. I glared up at the figure, a mixture of anger and shyness plastering my face. Staring down at me was James, a boy I had class with, and one of the most popular boys in school. "Hey" he grinned.
"Uh hi.." I replied with a questioning tone.
"Seeya later" he then added on, leaving me shocked. What had just happened? Why was James, one of the most popular boys in the entire school, socialising with me, a complete weirdo. I honestly don't think of myself that way, it's just everyone treats and looks at me like I'm from another planet. Then I heard the class bell, breaking me from my trance. Jerking into motion, I started to sprint to the furtherest door to the left of the long corridor, my first class. Almost tripping and face planting during the process, I made my way to class. Bursting into the classroom, I silently thanked my lucky stars that I had made it to class on time before the teacher had, otherwise that would've landed me into lunchtime detention. That's one thing I miss about primary school, teachers were more carefree, now, school literally feels like a prison.

Around 5 minutes later, the teacher turned up. What a surprise, late again like last year. Why don't teachers get detention, I would always ask myself last year. Now I don't mind, because it's a weapon of excuse for you being late. 'Mr Scott' the teacher wrote on the board, not like we knew his name from last year anyway. Then, the first day of school began.