Speechless(57)

                Listening to Eminem makes me feel like a badass. Or at least as                     though I have the potential for badassery. I mean, the way he sings, it’s like                     he’d probably punch out a puppy if it looked at him wrong. Obviously I’m not                     glorifying animal cruelty here, I’m just saying, I could use some of that                     attitude. It’s better than the attitude I have now of just letting everyone mess                     with me all the time.

                I pull into my usual parking spot and leave the car on until                     the current song finishes, and when I walk through the school doors, I try                     holding on to that newfound sense of I-don’t-give-a-crap. My first test is the                     fresh graffiti on my locker, the word BITCH etched                     in black marker. For a second I flinch inwardly, stung, but then I’m just                     annoyed. Bitch? Really? Whoever is behind this is in dire need of a thesaurus.                     The level of creativity is tragic more than anything.

                I decide not to bother cleaning the slur off my locker this                     time. I even take a red marker out of my locker and dot the I with a heart. I’ll                     wear it as a badge of honor. Yeah, that’s right. You think I’m a bitch now,                     Grand Lake High? You ain’t seen nothing yet.

                “Chelsea?” Asha pops up behind me, clutching some notebooks to                     her chest and smiling wide. Her face falls as she notices the defacement of my                     locker. “Who did that?” she asks.

                I snap the lock shut and shrug my shoulders. I’m not going to                     waste time caring about it. I lean back against my locker and level Asha with a                     questioning look. She still hasn’t explained why she’s talking to me.

                She seems to understand the implied question. “I’m on my way to                     Advanced Algebra,” she explains, gesturing down the hall. “I saw you as I was                     walking and just thought I’d say hi.” She grins again. “By the way, I was going                     to ask you—”

                “Excuse me.”

                I look up in time to see Kristen shoulder her way past Asha,                     hard, sending her stumbling into the bank of lockers. Her books fall from her                     arms and her notes flutter to the floor.

                Tessa trails after Kristen, laughing. “What reeks?” she asks,                     her nose wrinkled. She eyes Asha up and down. “It smells like curry.”