You flip the hood of your black hoodie over your head. It makes you look like a boy. You silently scribble on your whiteboard as the teacher reads the math problem.
Later she confronts you. Asks you if you’re okay. You say you’re fine.
“You’re a bad liar,” She tells you. “Just come to me if you need anything.” You don’t want to tell her anything. If she asks, you’ll say “problems at home”. You scratch that idea. You have a scratch on your bottom lip. She might think you were getting abused by one of your parents. She might think your dad since you took your stepdad to the Daddy-Daughter dance.
So you don’t come to her. You stay silent the rest of the day. she notices, and asks once more if you are okay, and you say the same thing.
“I’m fine.” She doesn’t seem to buy it, but leaves you alone.
Honestly, you don’t know why you’re being quiet. You just are. You’re upset and you don’t even know why.
But you power through it. And you end up being okay.
Prose
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I love how strongly you convey such a large issue in only a small scene. Despite only a few words of dialogue and the narrator’s rumination, the reader can see the bigger picture you’ve created.
I had a teacher like this in middle school. Normally, though I wasn’t the most talkative, I’d always have a certain spark when I came to class (I loved school at the time). This teacher noticed and talked to me after class, and I gave the typical response that you mention here – “I’m fine.” In reality, I was on the verge of tears from that vague feeling of being upset for no reason, but I never told her because I considered it to be weak at the time.
You do power through it, but I always wonder if it wouldn’t have been such a struggle if I hadn’t gone with the default lie of “I’m fine.”
I really enjoyed this piece!
Thank you so much, and I’m thrilled that you enjoyed it!