All my eyes could focus on was him, the Goliath to my David; a force I couldn’t fight.

  His smell wafted to my nose, clearing my head. If I had to describe it it would almost be the scent of a rainforest. The sap of some sickly sweet tree. The aroma of, was that ozone? And something else that resembled a clear spring day. Almost but not quite.

  It drowned out every smell, even the trash rotting in the early morning heat.

  My voices argued in my head as always. Listening to them squabble while my life hung in the balance was tiring. I don’t know what’s worse, having a bully or having an inner argument with four different people. That was how my psyche was right now. It fractured into four distinct parts, each with its own personality.

  It was like looking at yourself through a cracked mirror, each piece reflected you or some form of you. I was glad I only had four voices to deal with.

  A locker slammed, jolting me back to reality.

  I kept staring, dumbstruck, searching through the crowds for anyone who would be my rock. As usual, no one helped. Instead, I was host to jeers of laughter, even a push from Jonah’s buddy in crime, Ralph, to pay more attention to Jonah. He was built like a bull, tough, with little black dreadlocks covering his face.

  Jonah’s light blond hair was tied off in a ponytail today, and one grey eye shimmered with impatience. The other was shut due to the sun shining from the windows. I was facing away from the rays. This eye was a different color. I always forgot about it.

  Emerald! My voices all shouted.

  Trust my voices to tell me useless information.

  “Are you going to keep staring at me, freak?” Jonah said, his emerald eye opening with the same impatience as his gray eye held.

  I swallowed and shook my head, casting my eyes on the floor. Did my stare make him uncomfortable? People say I have dead eyes. Not a single spark to them. Pools of dark sludge, or so say the kids around me.

  Is it my fault I have so much going on in my head? Or that others don’t make a blip on my radar?

  Strength: Hey, Myra! Pay attention! The nitwit asked you something, and you know he hates repeating himself.

  Thanks, Strength.

  “Sorry, can you repeat that?” I asked, staring at my shoes.

  Jonah groaned. “Okay...listen this time! Did you do your French homework? If yes, then gimmie! I have a test to take in the next fifteen minutes.”

  I looked up from my shoes and back to his eyes. “Why don’t you cheat like you always do?”

  “I left my phone at home, so, did you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then give me the homework,” he said, stretching his hand out and grinning. His mismatched eyes twinkling as if this was a good joke. To him, it might have been.

  I swallowed my anger. My fingers quested for the denim and cold metal of my book bag’s zipper. I unzipped my bag and slid my smooth blue binder out. Leafing through it, I came upon my purple folder. Purple is my least favorite color, and French deserved it. I pulled the crisp papers of my study guide out and handed them to Jonah.

  He snatched them away from my hands the moment I presented them.

  “Cool. See ya later, freak,” Jonah yelled, causing the students around me to laugh. I watched him saunter away.

  Maryanne: If he wasn’t such a bully, I’d almost call him elegant.

  Strength: Elegant? Maryanne? Have you been smokin’ sometin’?

  Mark: He almost floats with it. It’s not elegance. It’s arrogance.

  Jack: I see what Maryanne means. He walks like he’s dancing on air.

  Strength: Not what I was talkin about, but yeah, that too.

  Maryanne chuckled: Jonah, the Airhead? It has a nice ring to it. I think I like it. It suits a bully!

  I snickered. Yeah, Jonah, the Airhead did have a nice ring to it, and goodness knows he had no brain cells of his own.

  The bell rang. I rushed to English on the cement floors and passed walls littered with posters.

  Sweat rolled down my face as my feet plodded the floor, my body shifting through the throng of students in the hall. Someone tripped me and I came tumbling down like a stack of cards. I crashed into the rough floor. Students around me laughed. Thank god I wore sweatpants. No panties to show everyone again. It’s the reason I stopped wearing skirts.

  “Look where you’re going, freak,” called Jonah, smirking.

  Maryanne: Jonah! We should’ve known!

  Strength: When is he not picking on us?

  Jack: When it snows.

  Strength: It never snows.

  Mark: Exactly.

  Jack: Myra! Say something to that sack of shit!

  “Oww,” I muttered and picked myself off the floor. I wiped my bloody lip with the hem of my cotton grey shirt, then straightened my oversized shirt and sweatpants. Not exactly a fashion statement, but it was comfortable and loose, and it hid those extra thirty pounds well enough.

  I fixed my binder and limped to the classroom door only a few feet from me. One day I’d get revenge.

  Maryanne: Atta girl! We’re no doormats!

  Mark: I don’t consider us one.

  Strength: Me neither, but we’re late again.

  Maryanne: It’s not Myra’s fault! She’s limping!

  Jack: The teacher is likely to think it’s false.

  Strength: Darn these teachers! They do nothing about bullying. This has been going on for far too long. A lesson is needed to teach Airwalker how ta dance the Macarena!

  Jack: Strength, stop ripping off Star Wars. That’s like my favorite movie!

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Strength: Jack, Bro, get a life!

  Jack: I have one. I’m stuck in here with you, black man wannabe!

  Strength: What do you mean wanna be? I am black!

  Mark held his head and hit Jack over the head with his book.: Here we go again. Can’t you do something, Maryanne?

  Maryanne sighed and shook her head, curly ponytail bobbing behind her: Mark, you know I can only step in when there is an emergency.

  In English, I sat back and listened as Mr. Sentero droned on. To the left of me came some snores, and I dearly wished I could join that person, but I was already in trouble.

  Some giggling came from the back as a few girls were texting each other back and forth.

  The front of the room was one of those ancient cubby desks swarmed by files. On the top sat a lemony glade-scented candle and a smiley cup aimed right at me. It was creepy with its smiling face and blank eyes. I turned the crisp pages of my English book, as I sat through a numbing exchange of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.

  I hated that play.

  How could Romeo have thought that Juliet had killed herself? Where was the trust in that relationship? Love couldn’t survive without trust, and they proved that by dying. That was not romantic to me.

  “Myra. Do you have anything to add to this conversation?” Mr. Sentero quipped.

  I blushed. What was the conversation about again?

  Maryanne: They were talking about true love, and dying for each other symbolized that.

  “I don’t agree,” I said.

  “Really? What are your thoughts, then? Care to share with the class?”

  A few students laughed at me. They wouldn’t laugh after I’d had my say and broken their fantasies on this true love crap. Can you say unhealthy?

  “Romeo didn’t trust Juliet enough to understand she was playing dead. Heck, he didn’t know her well enough to expect her to move, and Juliet chose death in her desperation and fear. That’s not love. That’s ignorance and cowardice. They didn’t choose to be together for all eternity. They were led to it by circumstance and their misaligned grievances. Love is when you can trust a person to play dead for you. If Romeo had waited a little longer, Juliet would have woken up. Love is to trust. And as Shakespeare said, ‘What fools these mortals be.’”

  Mr. Sentero stood frozen for a moment thinking and nodded. “An interesting point of view, though Romeo and Juliet is a tragedy, not a romance. Your homework tonight is to write down your observations and back them up with the play. I’m sure to get a few surprises.” He glanced my way, and I waved shyly. “Dismissed.”

  The bell rang, and everyone ran for the doors. I sat back and let them pass, scooping up my papers and placing them in the blue folder.

  My favorite color and my favorite class. I limped to the door and opened it.

  “Myra? That limp? Where did you get it?” asked Mr. Sentero

  “I fell on my way to class.” It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the truth either.

  “I’ll excuse you for today’s tardiness, and write you a slip for the nurse. Be careful. Those floors are cement!”

  I thanked him and entered the hallways. Scattered papers were being trampled. I picked one up. It was for the Halloween party hosted by the school. It was taking place on a boat and free of charge as long as you brought your own costume. I folded the paper and went to my locker.

  Jack said, poking Strength: Black man wannabe!

  Strength: I am black!

  Jack: Yeah? You came out of a white cocoon like the rest of us!

  Mark sighed: Except you. Besides Jack that happened a while ago.

  Jack growled: Shut it, Mark! He came out white until he saw that damn movie!

  Strength: So? Ya know we change with what we see!

  Maryanne rolled her eyes: Would you two stop fighting, please? You’re giving me a headache.

  Me too, I sighed as I got ready for lunch and more Jonah. Every lunch hour, it was something; if it wasn’t him, it was the queen bee herself, Katilia Williams. They would make a lovely couple.

  Strength: A power couple.

  Jack: The Power to annoy, maybe.

  Mark: They’d make a dreadful combination.

  Strength: They’d make some ugly kids, that’s fo sure.

  I snickered and went to lunch. It was a loud white box full to the brim of chattering nuisances and smelling like burnt hotdogs. Yum.

  Jack: Yum? Something must have cracked in that fall.

  Maryanne: That smell is revolting.

  Jack: It smells like someone fried a dog. Could that be the school’s dirty secret?

  Maryanne: God, I hope not!

  Me neither, Maryanne.

  I sat in the farthest corner and took out my lunch box. There was a cheese sandwich with my name on it and I was hungry. The Inquisition began at my table as I was taking a bite of my sandwich. Katilia Wiliams led the fray this time.

  “Isn’t that what you eat every day?” She asked snidely.

  I nodded. It was the truth.

  “Don’t you eat anything else?”

  “I do, but my thermos is broken,” I responded, taking a massive bite from my sandwich. I relished the butter and cheddar cheese. Nothing else. No ham or tomatoes or lettuce or...eww, mayonnaise.

  “Are you ever going to change how you dress? It’s been, what, three years now?”

  I swallowed. “Why should I? This is comfortable and nice.”

  “You look like a blimp.”

  I sigh. “I’ll always look like a blimp.” I wiped my mouth and hands of butter and drank a big gulp of my water.

  “Well yeah, you are fat.”

  I took my last bite, stood up, and faced her. “Thanks for the advice. I needed it.”

  Maryanne: As if she’s perfect! Look at her nose!

  Mark: It’s perfect, Maryanne.

  Maryanne: It’s not! It’s crooked!

  Strength: If you look at it from an angle, it kinda is.

  Mark: No, she’s a Barbie doll.

  Maryanne: You know what they say about those.

  Jack smirked: They’re cursed and evil?

  Maryanne smiled and added: They’re also empty and plastic, Jack.

  I shook my head and headed for my locker, where Jonah was waiting with more demands.

  “I want your math homework.”

  Maryanne: “No! That’s your next class! You need it, Myra!

  Jack: Don’t let this shit for brains take it!

  Mark: I concur! He’s not worth Mr. Lambert’s wrath.

  What do I do?

  All: Lie!

  “I d-don’t have it.”

  Jonah smirked and leaned in, pinning me against my locker. “Liar. You always have your homework done. You’re a goody two shoes. Hand it over.”

  “I-I need it. Math is my next class.”

  “I’ll search for it then,” he snatched my binder and began hauling papers to the floor. I remembered that I had left my math homework in the math book.

  “Stop! It-It’s not there. Let me open my locker.”

  “Hurry up,” he said, throwing the binder on top of the mess of papers. It took me three tries before my locker opened, and I could take my math book out. My hands shook and I tried making sense of my speeding thoughts. It made no sense as to why Jonah was picking on me again.

  I pried the homework from its pages and gave it to Jonah with a trembling hand.

  He snatched it away and smirked. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Bye, freak!” He walked all over my binder and papers as he left.

  Maryanne’s fists gripped harder: What a horrible boy!

  Strength: What’s his problem, man?

  Jack: I don’t know, but this is getting serious. He almost ripped Myra’s binder in half.

  Strength: Man, she loves that blue thing.

  I bent down and reorganized my binder, taking my time. I was late for class and with no homework. Mr. Lambert was not a lenient teacher.

  I decided to skip it and get the homework from the website. A few tears escaped my eyes.

  What did I do to deserve a bully or any of it? It was a good thing I had a psych appointment soon.

  I was about to crack like an egg again. This was too much for someone like me.

  Maryanne: Show that jerkbutt the one-two!

  Strength: Maryanne, she can’t even stand up to the fool.

  Maryanne: She can! She only needs a little encouragement!

  Mark: Strength is right, Maryanne.

  Jack: I agree with both of them. Myra needs to stand up for herself first before showing him the two-step.

  Great, even my voices thought me a coward. I should start making copies of my homework from now on.

  That way, his highness could have his homework, and I could pass my classes as well. I stood caressing my binder and headed for my next class, chemistry.

  He couldn’t ask for my homework from this class. I was flunking it on my own.

  I was Jonah’s victim, his prey for anything else.