Okay let me just explain what this is. It's a story I wrote umm because I like to write. Anyway I'll be posting it in peices... so heres the first part.
Hello, my name is Georgia, actually my full name is Abigail Georgia Surreal (I don’t like my first name, I find it too old fashioned so I go by my middle name) and if your reading my story then you are in for a lot of drama. My debate teacher, Ms. Janine, suggested I write about everything that happened. She said it might help me get a better understanding of what has happened in my life, especially recently, so here I go.
I am in the eighth grade and my life has always been full of drama (not unusual for my family), but until this year I didn’t think it could get any worse. I have three best friends; Mark Nayla, Candy Worseshaw, and Justin Anderson. They are without a doubt the best group of friends I could have. And as we say to each other, jokingly of course, “you’ll always be my best friend… you know too much.” And it’s true that we know pretty much everything about each other, but that isn’t why we’ll be best friends forever; it’s because we can deal with each other and will always be there for one another. We’ve been through a lot together.
The four of us (“us” being me, Mark, Candy, and Justin) have been friends since we were in diapers, our parents hung out together. Candy’s dad is an alcoholic and a drug addict; her mom died when Candy was two and her dad's been that way ever since. Her dad and my dad still drink together occasionally; my dad is also an alcoholic. Justin’s parents fight constantly so he’s almost always at a friend’s house. They throw things and it gets super violent. Once Justin’s mom pulled out a gun, all four of us were there and in the room. Mark’s mom is a drug addict and a hooker. His dad is the one who forced her to become a hooker… he’s also a drug dealer. My mom is in “Candy Land” as she calls it when I visit. In reality it’s an insane asylum. My older brother, Blake, does that “puff, puff, pass” if you know what I mean… if you don’t I mean he smokes weed. He also dropped out of high school. My dad is not only an alcoholic but he’s abusive and doesn’t care about me at all. If I get in the way or say the wrong thing he hits me. Mostly I try and avoid him… and sometimes it works.
Once when I was eight, I told someone about him hitting me. He convinced them I was, as he put it, fine and I just wanted “attention”. Then when child services left he beat me so much I couldn’t walk without feeling the pain. Surprisingly, from what I’ve said of all our parents, the four of us came out somewhat normal… I think.
“Abigail… Abigail…” Ms. Simmons, my math teacher, called my name from behind me. I pretended not to hear her. She refuses to call me Georgia because it isn’t my given name, so when I can I ignore her. I kept walking and she sighed heavily.
“Georgia… come here please.” I already knew what she wanted to talk about and it was not a conversation I wanted to have. It was my turn to sigh and I made sure to make it loud so she would know she was wasting my time. Turning on my heel I walked back towards her.
“Yes ma’am?” I said as sweet as possible, it was fake and we both knew it.
“Come into my classroom Abigail.” I stood still. No way was I going to make this easy for her.
“Ms. Surreal come with me please.” I rolled my eyes but she had me there so I followed her in. She nodded to a chair so I sat and watched her as she spoke. Before she started she brushed her hair behind her ears and cleared her throat a couple times. She must want to talk about something more important than my grades.
“I’ve been noticing some cuts and bruises on you as though someone has been hitting you.” I flinched at the word “hitting” but she didn’t seem to notice. “And marks on your arms like someone has been grabbing you.” I had to hand it to her; she gets straight to the point. She, of course, was dead on but I wasn’t about to tell her that. I learned my lesson the first time, it’s not like she cares anyway.
“Abigail are you being abused at home?” I flinched again but was careful to hide it. Forcing a laugh I tried to give her a look that said “you’re crazy”
“Abused? No way… I’m just very clumsy, that’s all. Running into chairs and tripping you know.” I stood up and made a show of stumbling. I grabbed my backpack, still faking the laugh I’ve practiced so hard. “Thanks for the concern though.” I gave her my best fake smile and the strut out the room. Once the door was shut behind me I took a deep breath. I’m surprised I don’t have a Pinocchio sized nose from the number of lies I tell.
When I finally reached the lunchroom five minutes after my encounter with Ms. Simmons I sat in the empty seat next to Candy.
“Hey guys.”
“Hey Georgia, what took you so long?” Mark asked, throwing grapes in the air and trying to catch them in his mouth.
“Oh, Ms. Simmons stopped me in the hallway and wanted to talk to me. She realized I was ‘clumsy’ and felt we needed to have a discussion about it.”
“Oh well you aren’t too late.” Justin said and shrugged, “so I can still do it.”
“Uh, do what exactly?” I hoped he wasn’t thinking about doing what I think he is. Justin had always talking about bringing a gun to school and shooting all those people who gave us problems about how we were outsiders and our families are screwed up. We never actually thought he would do it.
Mark hit him over the head. “Stop joking around about that. You’re scaring them.”
“I’m not kidding. I brought my moms gun this morning.” He stated simply as if this was the most natural thing in the world. I felt the color drain from my face.
“Are you crazy?” I whispered. He really brought it, but that doesn’t mean he’s actually going to do it… right? Justin slowly reached into his pocket.
“Justin stop!” I sounded a lot calmer than I felt. I put my hand on his arm to stop him from pulling the gun out. “Just think about what you’re planning to do. What will happen if you do it? You don’t want to go to jail, do you? Consequences, remember?”
“Georgia, I just don’t care anymore. I really don’t care what happens to me anymore.” I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.
“Justin of course you do. And we need you here. Don’t you care what happens to us?” I motioned to Mark and Candy. “And I need you.” When he was at my house I felt safer, like he could protect me from my dad and he tries.
“Please don’t.” I said softly, pleading with him. “Please.” He looked at me, saw the tears streaming down my face and I could see him hesitating. Then his expression hardened and he looked away.
“I have to.”
“Look, Justin these people don’t know what we go through. Why pay attention to what they say? Why bother getting back at them? They aren’t worth it.” He wasn’t listening but I kept trying. Then I heard a scream.
To be continued...
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