::.:Blossomfall's POV:.::

"Hi, emo," someone behind me sneers. A pair of cold hands attempt to shove me down the stairs, but I resist. No way am I going to this person - whoever it is, the pleasure of hurting me. Instead, I twist out of their grasp and sprint down the stairs to fourth period PE.

The gym isn't far away, but I run anyway. The red-orange brick walls tower in front of me, casting long shadows in the weak sunlight. Washington's weather is the best – the cooler air, the fresh, clean scent of rain on the cement, and no one to tease me about my reputation as a "goth" girl unlike in California where the weather is scorching hot like the inside of an oven.

One time, I was walking home in the blazing hot summer weather of California and when I saw a muskrat lying at the side of the street, obviously dead. There were flies circling around it, while it's large, dagger sharp teeth reminded me of Bugs Bunny. except it was no bunny.

Everyday I would see it lying there, it's lifeless coal black eyes staring into mine, as if it were looking deep into my soul. That wasn't the worst thing though.

The worst thing was the smell; it was decomposing, and the warm weather just made everything worse. Everyday, the scent got worse and worse, until the people living nearby finally noticed and threw the rotten corpse away.

Lesson learned, always throw away roadkill when you first see it on a super hot day or else your street will end up smelling like spoiled milk and rotten eggs for a week.

However, in California, the other kids never attempted to push someone down the stairs in order to break their neck. Nor did they ever try to bash an individual's head in with a saxophone in band, as m friend Ivypool told me.

What do these thingss have to do with anything anyway? We're not talking about the musk rat, we're talking about my time at boarding school. Well, I just thought that you'd like to know.

I change for PE in the locker room, and I can't help but notice the scent. All sickly sweet-ish and perfumy. If I were a boy, everything would be much better. Maybe I wouldn't have to deal with all the discrimination and the sexism in society. Cologne and dirty socks in a rainy afternoon smells better than this reek of garbage that makes it impossible to breathe. I once heard on the grapevine that they use the scent of bullshit, yes, actual bullshit to produce to smell of perfumes.

I dress myself in my gym clothes quickly before heading on outside for the teacher to take role. We're playing end-ball which is basically dodge-ball in the gym with the other PE class. Shoot. Why are they doing boys and girls games? That doesn't make any sense.

"Girls' games!" Coach yells. A few of the "popular" girls push their ways through the crowd. I sluggishly follow them.

"Go!"

I stand behind the moving crowd of bodies that were trying not to get hit by the yarnballs. My class has the most girls, but we're trapped like rabbits as the other class toss balls randomly at us. It's hard to not hit anyone, because everyone is surround by people.

Soon, there's a random few people left that I don't know with me. I wish I had gotten hit. A blue yarnball narrowly misses me. The other team has a lot more people – probably about five people to one.

This is stupid. I'm technically not a girl, yet I'm playing with them just to earn a grade. The boys in my class are cheering for the popular girls that are left in this class. Screw them.

Someone chucks a ball at me from the left. I move my arm just in time. Ugh, why didn't I just let them hit me?

Time passes. Everyone in my class is out. I'm alone.

"We're so going to die," someone bellows from the benches. I can't tell who.

There's five people left on the other team, and they all have a ball in their hands. I'll be lucky to not get hit. People are yelling at me to pick up a yarn ball a feet away from me, but I know if I bend down, I'll just embarrass myself more. How do you play? How do you throw without looking like an idiot?

The girls on the other team are grinning confidently, and I recognize one of them as the rich girl who gets everything she wants. Millie. I felt a stab of annoyance when my eyes rested on her. That's the dimwit who called me emo in front of science. The girl who was so sarcastic when I asked her about something in science while I was forced to work in a group with her.

How do you not get hit by a lot of balls? See, I'm an idiot. First, I dodge a ball and think that I want to get hit. Now, I thinking of ways to not get hit.

Seriously, screw my shyness. Screw Millie too. This time, she's not going to get me embarrassed. She's the one that's going to feel what I feel everyday. All the girls from the other team starts to readies their arm to throw the balls at me.

Those wimps.

Everything I see now is in slow motion, just like how chipmunks see everything. No really, chipmunks do. Don't ask me how the discovered that.

A lightbulb appears on top of my head. No, not literally. I've got an idea.

I squeeze my eyes shut as I lunge sideways and duck, narrowly avoiding a ball. Narrowly avoiding all five of the balls.

Yes! It's working! The trash bags all aim for people's heads, so the best way to avoid everything is to sit down.

I grab the yarnball I spotted earlier and crouch get the five other balls they threw at me and missed. Then I gathered them all into a pile in the center of the court, making sure that they don't roll off.

"C'mon emo!" someone shouts, "you can do it!"

I grunt. I'm not freakin' emo! I wonder what makes others think I am. Maybe it's because of my hair that I attempted to dye orange for spirit day? Or the eye shadow that makes me look I have two black eyes? Guess I should change the eye shadow color.

What's important right now is focusing on this game.

The other team is left with no balls, and their aim is weak too. Millie had a frown pulling at the corner of her mouth and her horde of chicks imitated her expression.

Okay, this is tricky. I start to throw a yarnball, but not until the bell rings.

Why is it that something always interrupts my triumph?

Millie is still glaring me though, despite that I hadn't owned her or anything. Maybe it's because I was so awesome at ducking?

Who cares, screw Millie.