My Condition

• Ana Kyval, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2021

Head back, wave.
Sit still.
Leg kick, arm smack.
Just sit still.
“Hello”
“Nora, stop moving, I am trying to teach the class.”
“Miss Jackson, I’ve told you already, I have “boop” a physical condition where I can’t control some movements.”
“Lies, there is no such thing, go to the office. Don’t argue back.”
I sigh as I make my way out the classroom, like, there is so much evidence what she said is wrong. Along with that, she knows I have anxiety, but still, continues to be ‘that’ millennial.
Fall.
“Are you alright?”
I look up to see a teacher holding their hand out.
“Yeah, I’m alright.”
“Oh, you must be Nora, I know about you.”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
I take their hand as I dust myself off, you know, a floor a bunch of kids have stepped on after lunch is pretty disgusting.
“What are you doing somewhat walking around?”
“I got told to go to the office for ‘attention seeking’.”
“Miss Jackson?”
“Yeah, how do you know?”
“Had a little introduction earlier, let's just say she was, interesting…”
“Not the least surprised.”
We start heading to the office, to just be told, you can head back, because like, who on earth would make someone go to the office for that.
“Well that's all sorted, I should head back to my office, cya around.”
“Cya.”
I head back to the lockers as there is no point going back to the classroom when it’s nearly end of school. My locker is pretty cool, a few pictures of My Hero Academia, and my friend. As well as books and everything else. I pack up my things and continue on with my merry day. More homework and not understanding what we’re doing because of Miss Jackson, yet again.
Head shrug, “banana split.”
Keep walking…People emerge from the classrooms looking gleeful. At this point, I don’t really care about the stares, well I do, but I pretend I don’t.
Fall.
C’mon get back up, I half jog out the school, excited by the exit signs.
I slowly take myself to Seven Eleven, because like, why not?
“Loser”, middle finger up.
This elderly couple looked at me in confusion. I scramble to explain that I have a condition called tourettes. They smile at me walk off.
I get really nervous when I find myself doing something rude. Because what will others think, I’m not that odd in perspective.
The only thing is, I will see these people again, so it does matter.
I retrieve my slushy from Seven Eleven and start to stroll home.
“Dip,” hand goes upside down.
Luckily my slushy wasn’t splattered on the ground.
I start to wonder, will my life always be like this.
“Haha, pumpkins.”
Will I always have this, will I always have this urge to do something, with an unpleasant feeling? Will I always hurt myself? Will I always have to get pity from teachers? I hope not, why can’t my life be easier?