First LessonMature

Games. The worst lesson ever.
I swear it was invented as some cruel joke to torture the weird kids with no friends, and no sporting ability.
I was, yet again, stood on my own on the school field, the last one to be picked for team.
Typical.
"I suppose we'll have to have Ella Whitton then" Crystal sighed. I rolled my eyes and joined her team.
"Just stay out the way, and try not to screw up" She whispered to me as I walked past her.
I hated her. Stereotypical Barbie blonde bimbo bi*ch. She hated me because a few months ago we'd been playing basket ball and I'd 'accidently' threw a ball in her face, breaking her nose.
It was still a bit out of place. I smiled everytime I saw it.
I know it was probably the wrong thing to do, but she really deserved it. She made everyone's life a misery, even her so called 'friends' were afraid of her.
She was the ultimate mean girl.
Today was Hokey, Crystals' favorite sport, and one everyone else dreaded. I was up at the defence end, waiting to defend our goal from an attack that would never come, it was impossible to get past Crystal. She was brutal when it came to sport. Just like she was brutal when it comes to anything.
Why did it have to be games first period? Today of all days. Standing on my own at the end of a Hokey pitch was only giving me time to think, and was certainly not keeping me distracted from what day it was.
I couldn't wait for next lesson, double English. Without Crystal.
The lesson seemed to drag on forever, but we eventually won, 7 - 0, and I practically ran to the changing rooms to get changed.
Thankfully, I was completely changed before most of the students had even got into the changing room, and I was free to get to English on my own.
"Ella!" Amy, my best - and only - friend called to me outside English.
I ran up to her and gave her a hug.
"How you doing today?" Amy asked, looking concerned.
"I'm ok," I lied.
It had been exactly a year ago that I had broken down and told Amy everything. Exactly what March 8th meant to me.
Exactly 8 years ago today, my baby brother, Tommy, had died. He was only four years old, and he was my best friend. I was 9 and I witnessed it, I'd turned my back for a second, and Tommy had gone running into the road to get his ball.
My mother had never forgiven me, and she became increasingly miserable after that.
But it didn't matter. It was in my past, and I didn't think about it.

The End

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