“You can’t stay here.” He takes his glasses off.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“You have to leave this school. I’m afraid your comments to teachers as well as students, haven’t been quite been the standards we like to keep here. I’ve contacted your brother. He says he’ll be waiting for you at home. He’s coming to see me later.”
I hold in my breath, trying not to let the anger turn into harsh insults and loud yells that I’ll regret later. “Well,” I say. “Thank you for your efforts and time, sir. However, I must say that you are simply, most utterly, the best…”
I pause. I look at him and smile. He picks up his tea and takes a sip. I go in for the kill.“The best worst principal and person I have ever met with the dress sense of a 50-year-old pedophile. Good day sir.” And with that, I leave smiling, just in time to miss him choke and splutter his tea everywhere.
I often like to make a point, and leave my mark. Call me stubborn if you will, however I like to think of it as being a realist. I believe that everyone around you is fake, and it is extremely difficult to find people who are true to themselves. I’ve struggled in schools as I despise how social groups work. The often mean and spiteful people are classed in the most socially desired group. I find the way high schools function around social groups odd. I like to lead my own way, do my own thing, because I’ve found that everyone is exactly the same, and that will never change.
I grab a hot chocolate from Starbucks on my way home, and I look around at the busy streets of London. I see girls dressed in shorts way too short for November, white London boys attempting to be 50 Cent with oversized baseball caps on. I sigh. I hate my generation and what has become of it. I’m lost in my thoughts when I feel someone tap me on the shoulder. I turn around, and see my brother, holding his side, in his oversized, inspector like coat. “Yes, Will?” He straightens up, and crosses his arms, attempting to look manly. “What the hell, Lily? Really? WHAT THE HELL.” His voice raises a little too loudly and attracts some curious and awkward stares. I carry on walking, and he follows me. “What?” I ask him. “I hated that school. Full of posh and snooty rich kids. I spoke my mind, so I got expelled. So what, Will? I’m done with school. They’re all the same, and it’ll never change. “ I hold myself tighter, the freezing November wind blowing stronger.
“You’re done, Lily. That’s it. I’m done. Teach yourself.” Will stomps off, his bright blonde hair blowing wildly. I chuckle. My brother’s an idiot.
Later that day, I sit and think about how people talk and how no one ever truly speaks their mind. I’m glad I did, and that I do.
Because apparently, speaking your mind is illegal, and that will never change.