I went to my very neat locker and grabbed my slightly- lighter blue Hydro Flask. I studied it, so I made sure no sticker fell off it. I always study them, just so I know that everything is ok.
They are like my babies. I would rather have a turtle die than have one of my Hydro Flasks be dented.
I shut my locker very silently, and headed to my next class, still offended because they had PLASTIC straws for the milk cartons.
I mean, who does that!? They don't even have a recycling bin in the lunchroom! And trust me, I saw some recyclable yogurt containers in the garbage.
The kids didn't even care either! They just tossed it in there like it was no big deal! Like there were too many turtles and they needed to kill some!
Just thinking about it makes me want to break six pencils.
They don't even have a recycling bin for paper in the classrooms! The moment that we are doing the persuasive writing unit in writing class, you will hear words from me.
I walked to Spanish class. My least favorite subject. I mean, what is the point of it? It is not like I am going to leave the country or even the state.
And believe me, there are NO Spanish speaking people in Boston. My mom is so overprotective that she has to get me a doctor's appointment before I even leave that city.
I am just glad Boston is big.
When I walked into the classroom, I could almost taste the Spanish. It tasted like puke. The teacher saw me and asked my name. I wanted to sksksksksk out of there, but there was no way out.
The last thing I need is for the Spanish teacher to get all excited about my name, even though I have no Spanish biology. "Rosalinda," I mumbled.
She looked overly happy. "Oh! How wonderful! A Spanish name, I got to say, a very pretty one too!" She said. "Are you from Mexico?"
"No, I have no Spanish in my DNA." Then I sksksksksed over to the farthest seat from her desk. I already hated her. The teacher went to the front of the room.
"Buenas tardes classe!" She said. "Our first unit will be Spanish culture! And today I am happy to tell you that there is a Spanish name in this class!" She looked at me. I looked at my desk.
I wanted to sksksksk out of there. "Can you tell the class your name?" She motioned me to stand up. I stood up very slowly.
"My name is Rosalinda," I said. She motioned me to say more. I sighed. "Which means 'Pink Beauty' in Spanish." Then I sat down.
"Wow! What a wonderful name! So pretty! And that ties in with our unit because names are culture! Thank you for sharing your name!" The teacher said. I mentally rolled my eyes.
I raised my hand. "Can I go to the bathroom?" I asked.
"Do you mean puedo ir al bano?" She asked.
"Yes," I said, already halfway through the classroom.
"Do you mean si?" She asked again.
"Yep!" I said, already out of the door. I brought my Hydro Flask. I don't go anywhere without it. I went to the bathroom and just sat there. I was going to sit there until the bell rang.
My locker was right next to it anyway. Even though I had feet away from the classroom, and the bathroom door in the way, I could still hear her talking.
So I got out of the stall and went to the library. It was nice and quiet there.
When I got there, I just sat in the back corner, where nobody could see me. Not even the librarian.
I sat there, reading the titles of books, in the seventh-grade portion of the school, because the library was central. I stayed there for about ten minutes before anyone came. Then someone came.
"Rosalinda! That is her name, right? Rosalinda!" I didn't breathe. I didn't move, I just stayed there with my Hydro Flask close to my heart.
If I was caught, I would be Coca Cola! Original of course. I heard her leave. I sprang up and quickly and quietly sksksksksked to the bathroom, I bet the teacher would be there soon.
When I got there, I sat and waited. Sure enough, the teacher came in thirty seconds later.
"Rosalinda!" She said.
"What?" I asked, sounding like I was there for a good reason.
"Are you ok hon?" She asked.
"Yeah, girl issues," I said.
"Oh, ok, if you are not out in a while, someone will check on you, ok?" She asked.
"Sure," I said. She left. I forgot the reason I actually came down there. You could hear her talking, and the words wanted to make me cry.
When I was little, my mom had me when she was seventeen, and she then fell in love with a Mexican boy.
He started living with me and my mom, and my mom would help him speak English, and he will help her speak Spanish. But one day, nothing ever went wrong, my mom's boyfriend tried to kill her.
My mom quickly packed our bags and sksksksksked out of there as fast as we could. I don't remember him. But I just remember mom's stories, and that scream that night. So yeah.
I don't have any Spanish in my DNA. But, it was close. The thought of it made me want to cry. So I did. And when the teacher came in and saw me crying, it didn't end pretty.
She told me that every family has issues and that I shouldn't be ashamed. But I knew that that wasn't true. I knew that some families were good and there was nothing we could do about it.
So I cried harder, and when she left me, it felt like a pit was in my throat and there was no point in crying anymore. So I didn't. I just sat in the bathroom in utter silence.
And when the bell rang, I didn't even feel like being a VSCO girl. I felt alone.