Ficlets

My Rectangle

Again, jammed. Why can’t this school get new locks? One more time, finally.

My locker is messy, it has six pictures of friends on the door, a shelf, oh and an added bonus, a two week old gatorade gathering dust in the corner.

There he is, I bury my head into the blue rectangle, hoping he has forgotten my number. No, he’s still walking. Doesn’t he get it? I don’t want to see him. He doesn’t deserve the pleasure of talking to me. Not, after those words, “Do you think we could just be friends?” What does that even mean, anyway? Oh, yes you break my heart, yet we can still talk about the great game last night. Uh, let me think about that, no!

So for now, I’ll just hide in my rectangle, pretend you don’t exist, because for now it is the only place I feel safe.

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