I sat there, feet on my desk, chair leaned back, right arm slung over the back of my chair.

With my left pinky finger, I casually picked at my nose.

A girl in the corner of my class stared at me as if I had grown two heads.

I didn’t care. I flicked what I found in her direction.

I would have laughed upon seeing her gag, but I didn’t care enough to.

My plaid skirt fell back, its ends gathering about my creamy thighs.

The nun at the black board was still caught up in an arithmetic equation. It was good she couldn’t see how high my skirt was, or I’d be getting another slap on the knuckles before noon.

Then again, I didn’t really care about that either.

“Mary Magdalene,” some girl gossiped behind me, her voice intentionally loud enough for me to hear.

The girl’s taunt was responded to with the snickering of several classmates, one of whom— I didn’t see which— threw a pink eraser at the back of my head.

I scratched my ear.

Didn’t matter either way, I told myself. I’d be out of this dung hole soon enough.

Scratching my stomach, I looked around for my meal.

The girl next to me always brought the same food: a ham sandwich, a carrot, and milk.

I quickly looked elsewhere. I didn’t need a health snack today.

I’d tried almost everyone’s lunch at least once in the room before, so I had a good idea of where to look for what I wanted when I wanted it. Unfortunately, today’s particular craving was unlikely to be found in any of my usual meals.

My eyes— in mid-search— flickered over to a bright red lunch box at the foot of a desk several feet from my own.

It was probably in there, I thought disappointedly. That was the one lunch box I didn’t have rights to.

That bright red lunch box belonged to Joseph Miller, one of the only boys in my grade.

Not that the boys scared me. Most were victims of my temper as much as the girls were.

But Joseph was different.

He didn’t back down when I threatened to beat his lights out. He was a tough one to scare, and I tended to avoid conflict with him if it came to it.

Fortunately for me, although he was the savior to the rest of the class, no one else had decided to follow his stand-up act and defy me.

I scratched at my leg, causing my skirt to climb even higher up my legs.

I hadn’t made an effort to fix my right knee high stocking, which sagged a good several inches below my knee.

“I can see her panties,” whispered one of the boys to his friend next him.