(This is technically the opposite of what I am supposed to do, because I wished I hadn’t spoken up about this.)
The beat of the song hums low in my head. I can feel the eyes on me as I sit in the class room and each drop of sweat fights its way out of my face. Paranoid. They can see it. I don’t want them too, but nervousness crawls out of my eyes as I pathetically cower in my desk. The teacher taps a ruler on her arm as the song in my head gets louder and louder. Her impatience is rising as giggles can be heard and mummers are muffled in the silence. I wanted to get out of there, I just wanted to be relieved. I hold back. The pressure surmounts. My knuckles whiten as I clench my desk, hoping that nothing will incriminate me before I can escapes…
Then I pooted.
“Yes, I am the one who farted.”
And then my social life was even more over.
(Okay I know that it’s not that serious but IT WAS EMBARRASSING DAMMIT. People gave me shit (lol) for YEARS After)