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Sal Fisher is stupid. I hate his stupid hair. I hate his stupid “prosthetic”. I hate his stupid friends. I hate him. He thinks he’s sooo cool by finishing his test early. He thinks he’s soooo cool when he yelled back at me today. He thinks he’s so cool by being friends with a bunch of gays. He thinks he’s so cool. Sally Face is stupid.
Travis Phelps sat in his room scribbling furiously in his notebook. He stared at his angry note before crumpling it up and tossing it in the garbage. Venting never seemed to help him. He threw down the notebook before brushing out his blond hair and grabbing his school bag. He managed to catch a glance at himself in the mirror. He looked almost the same as his father. Short, blond hair with brown eyes. He tried to cover the big bruise on his eye with his bangs, but he wasn’t allowed to. He resented his father for leaving that big bruise there in the first place. The overcast sky seemed to frown down on Travis as he left the house.
“Great”,
He thought. This day couldn’t have gotten any worse. He walked to the bus stop, cursing at the fact that he forgot his jacket. It was too late to go back now. His father would be mad. He doesn’t like it when his father gets mad.
“At least it’s bologna day.”
Travis loved Bologna day. It was the only day of the week he liked. He hated school, but he liked being away from his father. He stopped in front of the bus stop, sitting down on the cold, green bench. He examined the bench. It was covered in stickers, weird stains, and a faded lawyer advertisement. The big bus pulled up, the exhaust from the vehicle drifting over to where Travis was sitting. Travis coughed. Travis hopped on the bus. He walked to the back where his mood instantly changed. That fucking faggot and his fucking friends. Travis glared and sat down, muttering something about “a sin”. He hated Sal fisher. He hated the way he wore his hair in pigtails. Pigtails were for girls. Everyone knew that. He hated that Sal was so perfect and smart. He hated the way that Sal was popular. He hated the way Sal made him feel. Whenever he saw Sal, his face would go red with anger. Was it anger? It was anger. How else would he feel? As his emotions grew stronger, he heard a familiar sound. Sal’s laugh rang out. Travis tried to block out the sound but failed. His perfect laugh. His stupid, fucking perfect laugh. Travis had enough. He turned around in his seat and sneered,
“Shut up, Sally face.”
He regretted it. He didn’t know why he did that. As soon as the words slipped from his mouth, he mentally hit himself. Sal’s best friend, Larry, glared.
“Get fucking bent, Travis”
“Shut the fuck up, stoner.”
Travis turned back to Sal. His mind screamed NO, but his body was too quick.
“Does your mother know you’re a faggot?”
He knew he crossed the line when Sal slumped back in his seat, his eyes dark. Larry lost his own temper.
“Shut the fuck up, Phelps. How about you go crawl into a pathetic hole and fucking die.”
Travis glared slumped back in his own seat. Larry tried to console Sal while still shooting Travis the death glare. Travis felt like Larry’s eyes were burning a hole in the seat. It was a pretty awkward bus ride after that. Travis regretted everything. He felt his eyes get hot, and he tried to stop himself from crying as his vision got blurry.