Dear Diary

Dear Diary:

Today was just awful.

It started great, and went downhill fast!

First, the buttons tore loose on my favorite pair of chinos. I bent down to grab my bookbag after geometry class, and they just flew off. I barely caught my pants in time before they fell off me. I was lucky Mr. Lukenberger had some safety pins in his desk for me to use.

I’d gone down the hall to the girls’ restroom to use the pins while holding my pants at the waist. I pushed the door open, hoping no one else would be there. Instead, inside the restroom was Matilda Lewis and her group of friends.

You remember Matilda. She’s the one who came to my eighth birthday party and shoved my face into the rainbow pony cake – before I blew out the candles. She’s dating Emil Lassiter now, a running back on the school’s football team.

Anyway, Matilda was inside with her friends, and I walked right into her, on the other side of the door. Knocking my books out of my arms as I did so. Papers went everywhere!

As I was hurriedly gathering my stuff back up while trying to hold my breeches, Camilla Perkins stepped on my sketchbook. Laughing, she picked it up and thumbed through it. Oh, how the humiliation was growing for me! I attempted to grab my sketches from her before anyone saw my latest drawings.

But I was too late.

Matilda reached over, grabbed a handful of loose leaves from my book, and, laughing, she passed them around her group. I could only stand mortified as each of the girls began to giggle, then outright laugh.

It was my drawings of Emil!

You know the ones I’ve been doing. The ones I’ve patiently watched each move made on the football field to sketch. Poses of him gliding seductively down the school’s hallway. Even worse was the hooting they made when they saw the pages full of calligraphy where I’d practice writing Emil’s and my name.

Diary, you know how long I’ve been hoping that Matilda and Emil would split up. There was months' worth of work in that art book! Why did I not clean out my sketchbook weekly, as I did last year, and save myself so much humiliation!

I lunged for the nearest girl with a page and grasped for it, ripping it in half. A piece of my heart broke with that tear, but even then, I knew I’d rather destroy each drawing than have them in their hands. Further tearing the page into tiny pieces, I tossed it into the trash can.

In the ruckus of trying to get the other pages and the sketchbook back, I made a mistake and let go of my unpinned pants. Unintentionally allowing them to fall below my knees, causing me to stumble.

As I bent to pull my trousers up, the group of girls burst out laughing. Grasping the waistband about my thighs, I twisted around to face the girls in time to see them all with their cell phones out. Each was busy taking pics of me. Oh, and Diary, I was wearing my pink lacey bikini with ponies scattered across it.

It was horrifying! I wished for the restroom floor to open up and swallow me whole. I prayed to be granted the ability to become invisible. Of course, nothing of the sort happened, and I was still standing there, showing my drawers with my face all red.

Turning, I darted into a stall, and Tina Hatchet stuck out her foot, tripping me. Because I was holding up my pants, I was unable to check my fall. I landed, shoulders-deep, inside a clogged toilet.

There was more laughter behind me. Then silence. I sat in the stall for a bit, waiting for the halls to clear before heading to the girls’ locker room to sneak a shower.

Once I had showered and changed into my gym clothes, I threw my favorite outfit away. I’d never be able to get the stink out of the material, let alone the shame of the memory, every time I saw the lovely purple-colored material. I’m not ashamed to admit that tossing it in the trash saddened me.

It was lunchtime by the time I was done. I should have just left the school premises; instead, stupidly, I went to the cafeteria. There was no way I was going to miss Taco Salad day.

The lunchroom grew quiet as I entered. I nervously picked up my tray and turned to look for an open seat. As I walked towards tables with empty seats, my classmates would cover the spaces and shake their heads, motioning me on. In the center of the room, I began to rotate, nervously hoping to see an open table.

Suddenly, I was pelted with food, napkins, and papers. All the students in the lunchroom were joining in. I heard a few cries of “Pony Girl” and “Lacey Drawers.” I tried to run, but they were blocking my way, waving their trays like shields. Finally, I busted free only to run into Emil, who was standing ready to pour his milk on my head.

Tears were pouring out of my eyes, and my nose was running as I ugly cried. I fled the cafeteria and the school. Out the front doors, and down the street I went. Soon, dogs were chasing me, smelling the taco scent on me.

I stumbled and fell…

And landed on my bedroom floor, completely dressed in my nightgown. The sheets were tangled around my legs as if I had just run a marathon. The morning light was coming in my window, and Mom was hollering for me to put a rush on or I’d miss my bus.

My god, Diary, it was all a horrible dream, a nightmare! None of it had happened! You can imagine my relief when I realized this!

Jumping up, I threw on my favorite purple shirt, but looking at my comfy chinos, I opted for a different pair of slacks. When I grabbed my schoolbooks, one of the sketches I'd made of Emil dropped to the floor.

I froze in mid-step, looking down at the drawing.

Bending, I picked it up.

I went back to my desk and placed my old sketchbook atop it. There was no way I would be caught with those doodles, ever.

I grabbed a blank book. One that I would draw flowers, trees, and inanimate objects in. No more people for me to draw, Diary. Too risky.