PART 1 It started on a Tuesday. Tuesday mornings at Oak Creek Middle School always smelled like industrial floor wax and teenage desperation. I was sitting in the back of Mrs. Gable’s homeroom, trying to make myself as small as physically possible. I had mastered the art of becoming furniture. If you don’t move, if you don’t breathe too loud, the predators might just graze past you to find weaker prey The assignment was simple: “Career Narratives.” It was part of the district’s new initiative to get us thinking about our futures. We had to stand up, present a physical object related to our parents’ profession, and talk about what they did. It was basically a “Show and Tell” designed to highlight the socioeconomic gap between the haves and the have-nots….CONTINUE READING IN BELOW
THEY MOCKED ME IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE CLASS WHEN I SAID MY MOTHER WAS A BLACK OPS GHOST, CALLING ME A PATHOLOGICAL LIAR AND THROWING PAPER BALLS AT ME—BUT WHEN THE SCHOOL WENT INTO A REAL LOCKDOWN AND A TACTICAL TEAM BREACHED OUR CLASSROOM DOOR, THE MASK CAME OFF, AND THE BULLIES REALIZED THAT SOME LEGENDS ARE TERRIFYINGLY REAL.
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