Cherry Red

Bulllying.......

Today is the worst day ever. Today, in case you were wondering, is Valentine's day. Every man and woman, boy and girl, asking each other, “Will you be my valentine?” Like elementary kids. The heart-shaped boxes, the candy hearts that taste like chalk and paste mixed together, it’s sickening. I hate it, and I make a point to show it to. I wear a black tee-shirt and jeans with white tennis shoes. The only thing that could remotely be made to look like Valentine's day, is my hair, which is bright red from where I dyed it last Friday. I start my half-mile walk to school, but first I stop by my friend, Mike’s house. I knock on the door and he opens it. 

“There you are. Took you long enough.” He says with a laugh, looking me up and down. “Someone looks excited for today.” 

“Shut up.” I say back, only half-joking. We start our walk. 

“Did someone not get a Valentine date again? Hmm?” I push him jokingly and he laughs. 

“Sorry, Addison, I just don’t get why you don’t like Valentines day. It’s such a nice day, love in the air, everything is cordiform and flowers being given back and forth to lovers.” He says breathlessly, his dark brown eyes filled with fondness.  Yes he used the word cordiform, he spends too much time with his nose in books. 

“Valentine's day is society's way to-”

“Ensure those who don’t have a partner know that they are not whole. I know, I know. I just don’t understand why you have a vendetta against it. Valentines day hasn’t done anything to you.” I stay quiet for a minuet. 

“I don’t feel like talking about it right now.” I say, casting my eyes down to the cracked sidewalk. 

“Sorry Addison. I didn’t mean-”

“No, no it’s okay. I just don’t feel like talking about it.” I say. We walk in silence the rest of the way. When we arrive at the door, we say our goodbyes and separate inside. I walk to my class that had a makeover in one night apparently. Paper hearts hang from the door frame, plastic bags with the words “Happy Valentines Day!” are taped to the sides of our desks, decorations from the dollar store hang from the ceiling and I fight the urge to puke. I sit at my desk as couples start walking through the door, hand-in-hand, arm-in-arm. Statistically speaking, all these couples will be at an end by the end of the year. 

  The teacher walks into the room and looks at us, turns to the board and writes our morning exercise on the board. He frequently does this, even on days like this. He much prefers to have his coffee before he has to deal with us. I don’t blame him. I look at the exercise on the board and read it. “Write a short story/poem about something having to do with Valentine's day.” 

  I sigh, pull a piece of paper out of my binder, grab a pencil, and start writing. 

Being with you is cherry red,

When I am left alone, I feel a dark blue,

Every hand hold is a soft pink, 

Every kiss makes me rose red, 

When you speak a sunny yellow fills the room, 

Then you left me and I was sour green

I read over the couple of lines I had wrote, decided it was acceptable, and stood up, walked to the front of the room and turned it in. I gave it to Mr. Walker, he read over it, took a sip of coffee, looked at me, looked back at the paper, and nodded. 

“This is good, thank you.” 

“May I use the restroom?” I ask, feeling suffocated for some reason. 

“Sign out and take a pass.” He answers. I nod and do as he says. I open the door to the class room and walk out, closing the door behind me. I open the door and there Sabrina stands. Sabrina is my long time tormentor. 

“Hey there, freak. How you doing? How's your Valentine's date, oh wait, I forgot, you don’t have one. You’re so ugly, you couldn’t get one even if you tried.” She says, flipping her glossy blonde hair behind her shoulder, her blue eyes glinting with malice. 

“Oh, shut up, please. If given the choice to apologize or die, you’d choose the last one, not the right one, even if it meant you’d be a decent human being just for once.” I say back. She looked at me, her jaw dropped slightly.  

“Ugh, whatever.” she says, pushing past me. I wander down the halls, just to get fresh air. I don’t like it when Mr. Walker has us do writing assignments, because I don’t enjoy it when people read my writing. I look at all the art on the walls, I look in windows as I pass them, watching the people work diligently. I walk slowly, stopping every now and then to read a quote a teacher put up about body positivity, or to read a poem a kid put up about loving family. 

  Paper hearts hang from the ceiling, and are taped on walls, and art projects are layed on tables in the halls. I know I’m like the grinch of Valentine’s day, but I hate Valentines day. Everyone acting like love is eternal, or that it’s even worth putting effort into. Love is a high-risk, no reward game. It leaves everything sour green and sad. I tear down a string of hearts from the ceiling and rip it in half. A scream rips through my gritted teeth and tears run down my face. 

  Sabrina was right, I couldn’t get a date if I tried, and the one person I want to date only sees me as a friend. I sink to the ground, paper surrounds me on the ground, and I sob. I hear footsteps but make no effort to stand. I feel a hand on my back. 

“Hey, Addison.” Mike says, crouching down. “I would ask how you're doing, but you look crazy right now.” He says, and I can’t help but laugh. “What’s going on, kid?” I look at him, and I can’t help it, three words I said I wouldn’t say to anyone other than family, comes spilling out. 

“I love you.” I say, and I gasp. 

“Hmm, I love you too.”

“Like a sister, though, I know.” 

“No, no, like a girlfriend.” 

The End