Between the Lines

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class I would have found so interesting became one I so desperately wanted to leave. Earlier tha

class, they forever gaslight you and make life so miserable for you to live in. The poor say you're proud and you believe yourself better than them, while the rich say you want someone to leech off of. You can't even make f

I couldn't tell him but bless his heart for not asking. "Thanks, Dad. You don't need to come pick me up okay, I'll walk home or skate or something, it's just a few minutes away so I'll be fine". I did

ll in love, but it is a crime when you fall for someone not in your class, especially when that someone is Marvy" I heard a bitchy voice, the whole world knew it belonged to Sam. Right ...Marvy Reynolds, the crown prince of The

always ready to enforce the unspoken social rules of the school. At their center was Sam, short for Samantha the queen bee herself, arms crossed, lips curled in a satisfied smirk. Well, she said she prefers Mantha, because Sam is

antha sneered, leaning in closer to Lara. "Poor little mid

bag tightly, my heart pounding. Every fiber of me wanted to step in, to say something, anythi

ly, heads turning to see who had spoken. It was Marvy himself, standing at the door, hi

om smug to slightly panick

ugh to cut through steel. He crouched down next to Lara, who was trying to wipe her tears with tremb

handkerchief, her face a mixture of gratitude and mortification

hand. The hallway echoed with scorned laughs again. His lips were still in Sam's mouth when his eyes landed on me for a split second, and I felt like I was about to be swallowed by the Gaia. I could feel my heart sink in ...my chest. My pul

, he broke the kiss abruptly, his gaze still fixed on me. Sam, caught bet

rough the tension like nails on a chalkboard. "Got somethin

ion. My brain screamed at me to turn and walk away, but my legs didn't seem to get the

words spilled out before I could stop them, my voice louder than I intended

out a high-pitched laugh. "Oh, how noble. Guess the middlings he

ed away from Sam and turned to me. "What's your name again?" he as

my face. "Alisha," I managed to sa

nto something between a smirk

ng there when everything spiraled out of control? Whatever it was, it didn't matter. The m

itated, her wide eyes darting between him and the crowd, before finally nod

whispers in the air. Sam shot me a venomous lo

. The locker room felt emptier, but the weight in my chest hadn't lifte

d right now. I just want to be buried. Alisha, what happened to keep a low profile? As if all this was not enough, tell me why Ms. Finch asked me to explai

eah, I did, maybe if I stall a bit, the bell will go off. Or maybe

on?" Ms. Finch asked again in her Scottish accent like she could d

as done but Ms. Finch still kept nodding her head like she wanted more. I sucked in my teeth and then continued. "This technique serves several purposes. First, it sets a reflective tone. The question invi

sal. It applies not only to racial inequality," I did the air quote thing with my fingers, "the historical and cultural context of the poem, but to a

eet, glorious, life-saving school bell. I had never been so thankful for a break in my life. Ms. Finch paused mid-nod, her mo

ts. We'll pick this up t

of there, away from the weight of Sam's glare, although she was not in class and the lingeri

a few looked... impressed? No, that couldn't be right. I was Alisha Gray, the invisible middle-class girl who'd managed to momentarily paint

ossible. I put on my helmet and rode my skateboard with my ea