[CryCandice]

“Jack, what are you doing?” a distant voice called out to me.

“Huh?” was the only intelligible response that my brain was capable of creating.

“I doubt your father would like it very much if you were sleeping in the middle of class. You know he only wants the best for you.” The voice suddenly became clear. It was Mr. Shrill. Ironic, his name. He does sound like an overly-stressed woman at times.

“Just thinking about my childhood shenanigans and how much cooler they are than Algebra, Mr. Girl.” By now, I hoped that he had gotten used to these comments, but he still got a little red in the face whenever I said something like this. Anyway, what does he know about my father? Obviously, he doesn't know that I could care less what my father would or would not like.

“I hope your ‘childhood shenanigans’ get you into college, Mr. Ripper." He snapped.

"Honestly? I don't care what you think. Actually, you're teaching skills are about as useful for me in college as they are for keeping me awake." I vehemently retorted. After all, it was true. I hadn't learned anything useful in this class since the beginning of the year.

"Mr. Ripper, we'll talk about this subject later. Please do me and this class the lavish favor of leaving and not coming back until, I’d say tomorrow would be good,” he said in his boasting, I'm-better-than-all-of-you tone, “Oh, and do be so kind as to not let the door hit your behind on the way out.”

“First of all, it’s this class and I, and second, kids these days use ass instead of behind, but, you know, whatever expresses your sexuality best,” I paused for a dramatic wink. “No pun intended towards your choice in lifestyle, it’s just, you know, awkward when you’re talking about my ‘behind’ in such graphic terms. But I will bestow upon you the good grace of my company tomorrow and I hope you enjoyed the show,” I stopped to pick up my book bag, “Good day to you sir.” I tipped my invisible hat, bowed, and left the classroom in a cloud of thunderous applause.

This was about the fifth time that this had happened this year. At first, he tried to get me in trouble for it. Eventually, he came to learn that once you've said something in return, the case was moot. And yet, he still had not learned to bite his tongue.

As I closed the door behind me I could hear Mr. Shrill and mentally see the look on his face as he, I hope, blushed, and muttered, “Well, I have never—Silence!” He would’ve huffed here, but I was already down the hallway with a smirk on my face.

On my newly created wave of confidence, I strode out of the long hallway to the doors which led to the back of the building. But my confidence never lasts long. In fact, it was hardly ever there. I possessed a somewhat pseudo-confident air. I made them think it was all okay. I never gave them reason to suspect.

As soon as I was outside, I slumped. I slid down the red brick wall, feeling the jagged texture beneath my shirt as a comfort. Everything that proved I was still alive helped, soothed.

I sat with my back on the wall and my face in my hands. Every time I thought about her, it did this to me. When everything happened, it had left me broken, an overused teddy bear struggling to hold its stitches together. I didn't need this, any of this.

I was just lucky that I got through class without falling apart. It always ended with me leaving and them laughing. Yeah, they'd think it was real funny if they actually knew. Every single time, I had to find the quickest, easiest way to be dismissed, just so they wouldn’t see. Just so they couldn't judge me.

If they really knew why I left, they'd just feel sorry for me. I've always hated false sympathy. I'd had my share of it and then some in this lifetime. They apologize, say they know how it feels. They don’t. They’ll never know. I wish the world had a silence button, where I could only hear the sound of my own breathing.

Just knowing that I was still alive was enough pain; enough pain to fuel my determination. I can’t handle the overwhelming pain of pity and living, combined. It’s enough to crush me under it’s two-ton weight.

So the only thing that I know to do, I do. I run. I run to the only place that I know to go.

It’s about a mile off and it’s extremely hard to sprint that distance. My muscles ache after about a fifty meter dash; running a mile is simply excruciating.

But I keep going. I keep moving until I find my hideaway. My spot that belongs to me, and just me. No one else. And after about eight minutes, I’m here. My home. My only true home, that is.

[RENA HANDS]

You only have to state the ‘synopsis’ once.

I think…

he said in his boasting tone that sounded as if it was coming from a millionaire,

No teacher would ever be permitted to state out loud let the door hit you on the way out. Not unless he/she wanted to lose his/her employment.

You are in my opinion ‘jumping around’ too much. And more importantly you are leaving out much detailing again.

Moving on...

[CryCandice]

I'll have to take another look at this when I get some more free time, to clean it up a bit.

The first chapter is a little quick-paced, so I'll revise and slow it down a bit.

and the behind part: meh, public school teachers these days. : )

I'm sure Jack wouldn't be in such a good situation if Mr. Shrill mentioned his little speech, either. So maybe it's a mutual agreement not to snitch. Both are at fault, neither wants consequences.