that’s for sure. And then the nurse gave me an ice pack to put over my eye for ten minutes, and I just sat there staring at the wall while she did paperwork at her desk, and I kind of felt like an idiot.
When the nurse finally let me go, I walked slowly up to the third floor, with my forehead still numb from the ice and my hand stinging a bit. The halls were empty and my steps echoed on the floor and my brain felt hollow inside, even though I knew that was scientifically impossible. There was no sign of the skin-head and the mod, and as I walked up, I could hear Mrs. Reese already teaching a lesson, and I kind of wanted to just keep walking and go home and hide, but I knew I sort of couldn’t.
So I went to the classroom door and knocked and just walked in, and Mrs. Reese stopped her lesson and asked if everything was all right, and I just nodded, and she said okay, and the whole class was staring at me like I had a disease or something. I tried not to look at anyone, even Alan or Brendan, because I felt strange. My head was still throbbing and I was kind of dizzy, so I just put my elbow down on my desk and looked out the window.
And I guess that is what I mean about big things that happen almost like they were meant to, and there’s nothing you can do about them even when they seem like the last thing in the world you want to happen. It kind of feels like that was the moment that everything changed, when everything seemed to really start to connect to everything else and my life started really reallymoving without me even doing it. And I wonder if there is something I could have done for this not to happen, like not stepping right through the skinhead with my hockey equipment or not telling him off after he jumped on me, or not walking into the classroom door and just going home and not going back to school, like Byron does. But it feels impossible. And I guess writing this letter to you feels like it was meant to happen too, like it’s the thing that’s in between me and doing something else that I really shouldn’t do but that I somehow can’t help doing anyway.
Mathematics
Okay, Sam, I know I’m still going all over the place and I haven’t really explained about Byron yet, but there are so many important things I want to tell you (I don’t want to miss ANYTHING) and I’m just trying to put everything in chronological order (i.e., Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, etc., etc., etc.) so that you can see all the connections or the causes and effects, because that’s sort of a big theme in my stupid letter. Just in case you don’t know, a theme is sort of like the main idea of a story, and Mrs. Reese taught us that, because not only is Mrs. Reese an English teacher, she also used to write novels for young people before she had to get a real job because she was flat broke. Anyways, she told us that every writer writes a lot of drafts and edits their work, so I was thinking about going back and moving all the stuff I said about Byron and about god with a small g and the universe, but I don’t want my writing to lose its balls-to-the-wall realness, and besides it wouldn’t be fair to Byron if I did.
Number 29
Well, I was able to go to tryouts that day, even though the vice principal called me down after lunch and asked me all thesequestions about who hit me. The vice principal, Mr. Sherman, has a moustache that droops down the sides of his mouth, and he has beady eyes that pierce right through you and make your spine shiver. I just told him the same thing that I told Mr. Duncan, because I couldn’t imagine anything good happening to me if I told him the truth. What I could imagine was the skinhead beating my brains in with a baseball bat or breaking my leg with a lead pipe, because he knew I didn’t have any tough friends who would stick up for me. So I told the vice principal I had no idea who the guys were who beat me up, and he finally sighed and dismissed me, and I finished the rest of my day with my eyebrow
When the nurse finally let me go, I walked slowly up to the third floor, with my forehead still numb from the ice and my hand stinging a bit. The halls were empty and my steps echoed on the floor and my brain felt hollow inside, even though I knew that was scientifically impossible. There was no sign of the skin-head and the mod, and as I walked up, I could hear Mrs. Reese already teaching a lesson, and I kind of wanted to just keep walking and go home and hide, but I knew I sort of couldn’t.
So I went to the classroom door and knocked and just walked in, and Mrs. Reese stopped her lesson and asked if everything was all right, and I just nodded, and she said okay, and the whole class was staring at me like I had a disease or something. I tried not to look at anyone, even Alan or Brendan, because I felt strange. My head was still throbbing and I was kind of dizzy, so I just put my elbow down on my desk and looked out the window.
And I guess that is what I mean about big things that happen almost like they were meant to, and there’s nothing you can do about them even when they seem like the last thing in the world you want to happen. It kind of feels like that was the moment that everything changed, when everything seemed to really start to connect to everything else and my life started really reallymoving without me even doing it. And I wonder if there is something I could have done for this not to happen, like not stepping right through the skinhead with my hockey equipment or not telling him off after he jumped on me, or not walking into the classroom door and just going home and not going back to school, like Byron does. But it feels impossible. And I guess writing this letter to you feels like it was meant to happen too, like it’s the thing that’s in between me and doing something else that I really shouldn’t do but that I somehow can’t help doing anyway.
Mathematics
Okay, Sam, I know I’m still going all over the place and I haven’t really explained about Byron yet, but there are so many important things I want to tell you (I don’t want to miss ANYTHING) and I’m just trying to put everything in chronological order (i.e., Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, etc., etc., etc.) so that you can see all the connections or the causes and effects, because that’s sort of a big theme in my stupid letter. Just in case you don’t know, a theme is sort of like the main idea of a story, and Mrs. Reese taught us that, because not only is Mrs. Reese an English teacher, she also used to write novels for young people before she had to get a real job because she was flat broke. Anyways, she told us that every writer writes a lot of drafts and edits their work, so I was thinking about going back and moving all the stuff I said about Byron and about god with a small g and the universe, but I don’t want my writing to lose its balls-to-the-wall realness, and besides it wouldn’t be fair to Byron if I did.
Number 29
Well, I was able to go to tryouts that day, even though the vice principal called me down after lunch and asked me all thesequestions about who hit me. The vice principal, Mr. Sherman, has a moustache that droops down the sides of his mouth, and he has beady eyes that pierce right through you and make your spine shiver. I just told him the same thing that I told Mr. Duncan, because I couldn’t imagine anything good happening to me if I told him the truth. What I could imagine was the skinhead beating my brains in with a baseball bat or breaking my leg with a lead pipe, because he knew I didn’t have any tough friends who would stick up for me. So I told the vice principal I had no idea who the guys were who beat me up, and he finally sighed and dismissed me, and I finished the rest of my day with my eyebrow
Similar Books
Molly Brown
B. A. Morton
Harvest of War
Hilary Green
The Eternity Cure
Julie Kagawa
People of the Dark
T.M. Wright
Chasing the Heiress
Rachael Miles
Jezebel
K Larsen
No More Lonely Nights
Charlotte Lamb
Running Blind
Shirlee McCoy
The Boleyns
David Loades