I sit in class. My mind overrun with thoughts of wrong and right. No one seems to notice the utter turmoil bubbling under the mellow façade. Oft times I wonder why it isn't a bit more obvious to them. I hear a girl make an ignorant joke off to the side. How appropriate I think as I fill in the bubble for 'daily'. How many times a day I hear prejudicially derogatory slurs, that is. When is something done about them they ask now? Never! My mind wants me to mark, but I know that isn't true and instead, I fill in 'rarely'.
Now, class, how many of you intend to marry? Innocently asks the teacher. My mind scoffs and I keep my hand glued firmly to my seat. I inwardly laugh as I see all hands shoot up (save for the girl in the corner whom I have always admired for her 'boyish' ways). Now, the teacher continues, have you realized that the man you will marry is already out there, living his life? I blurt out, what if all of us don't marry a guy? The girl who made the previous stupid remarks glares and jeers at me. As I realize my mistake, the girl next to me giggles in sympathy and smiles reassuringly. She is not the only one who shows sympathy, another girl I corrected has apologized already.
At lunch, as I sit in the cool breeze, I contemplate. She might have given me tuberculosis from that swig and what is like to have your brother die? I am situated, as always, on the very outskirts of the circular, in, but slightly tucked away. I make her laugh and then some leave. Buried in her sweatshirt, I try to cheer her, but somehow the conversation turns into my pessimism. She is back from checking her email and chimes in. I am outnumbered. I am not 'light' enough. Why don't I do something rather than complain? I hate Catholics. I think everyone is gay. I only think about sex. I have never opened my mouth. I try now, but nothing correct comes out. They tower over me. I feel trapped, helpless. I say, I am tired of arguing with people. I walk away to class. They stand back mocking. I don't care. I do care.
I get the note, she wants to see me tomorrow in her office. I think she knows. I think she knows the awful thing I have done. But why, then, does it say dear? Why have I found this random survey incriminating? Why don't I speak my mind and scream what I truly feel? They all think I do. I sit on the verge of tears. What's wrong? She asks. I don't want to deal with her. She is too much like me.
Several more shes ask if I am ok. I nod politely, wanting to scream, Fuck you! Why do you care? You'll get it wrong anyway! But I don't, instead I smile and walk on.