The Very Thing

Knowing how you will die is completely messed up. It feels very sci-fi, very futuristic and time traveley. I've always known that the very thing a human needs in order to survive is the very thing that will lead to my death. I suppose I could always be hit by a bus or struck by lightning, but the odds of that are not very high. Right this very minute, I know that death is imminent. I can feel its cold hands wrapping around my neck and beginning to squeeze the life out of me. I close the stall door and immediately feel goosebumps dot my skin and dread wash over me. Tears spring to my eyes. What have I done? I know better than this. I reach for my bag but it's not there. If only I could go back just five minutes I might not be in this predicament…this stupid life or death predicament. The dull murmur of conversation is interrupted by the sound of glass breaking. How's this going to make my parents feel? A door slams nearby and I vaguely hear someone shout,"order up." It's funny how life continues. My dress is so tight that I feel like I can't breathe. They trusted me. Panic is beginning to cloud my thoughts as I slide to the ground. I hear the seeme of my dress give way. I have to pull my knees in tight to fit in this small space. I try to take a deep breath. You have to calm down. Fear is starting to take control - I only have mere moments. The question will always be,"was it worth it?” * * * “Welcome back to school," booms Principal Smith. His microphoned voice echoes through the gym. He's wearing a white collared shirt with sweat stains and a brown tie that barely reaches over his huge belly. "This is going to be a great year! We have many fun and exciting things planned for you. First, let's introduce our new and returning staff….” The old wooden bleachers creak and groan under the weight of the student body. Oh my god, it smells to bad in here—like there have been sweaty bodies in here for the past hundred years. I think some kids actually like the smell. The combo of B.O. and teenage hormones gets them all excited and pumps them up for their meet or game or match or whatever it's called. Seriously, it just plain reeks. I look around the gym; at least half of the kids are ignoring the principal. We're all sitting in our normal spots like we have assigned seating. It's as if a line is drawn down the middle of the bleachers. The top half is filled with stoners, couples making out, and "wanna be goths." I say wanna be, because there literally are like five kids who have started wearing black eyeliner just to stand out; it's not like they're deep or anything. The bottom of the bleachers has all the kids who have drunk the Kool-Aid and are psyched about being at school. You know the ones - they paint their faces for games. Thier father's father's father won the winning point in the state match in like the 1800's. It's in their blood. They are hanging on every word of this stupid assembly. I almost wish I could be like that. Sometimes I think it would make things so much easier. I don't belong at the top of the bleachers or the bottom. I fall somewhere in the middle. I'm mostly a loner with my nose in a book, but I'm sure my so called "peers" would have other names for me—if they even think of me at all, I'm sure I'm more of an afterthought. It's fine by me, it's easiest that way. As he drones on, my best and - lets face it my only - friend, Izzy, leans into my shoulder and juts her chin towards the popular kids. The group consists of all the so-called“cool" kids in school, and sitting right in the middle is the one-and-only very bossy and super rude Emma Studdard. Emma has honed and cultivated her power over years and years. Somehow, even as a sophomore, she is at the top. Although Izzy currently has plenty of friends—her cross-country team and me—I guess it's not enough for her because for some disturbing reason she wants to be friends with Emma and her crew of followers. She wants to rub elbows with the elite, hob knob with the upper echelon. I try to not let her aspirations bother me. Because, as for me, I really am fine with being ignored by the entire student body. I'm perfectly happy with the crowd of “Me and Izzy, party of two.” “And now to introduce the captain of the football team, our astute coach will say a few words about Friday's game…” The old PA system squeals and everyone's hands instinctively go to their ears. The football coach takes a step back and to the great relief of everyone, the squealing stops. He clears his throat loudly and begins talking about the upcoming game. He is wearing those dumb referee shorts. You know the ones: black polyester, high waist band that are just too short - you can picture it. But why? Why must we be subjected to that?