The seventh kid I hated stormed off at the end of the day and told me to “go fuck myself”. When we called her mother to raise our concern about the language, the mother responded by saying “You’re shitting me!”
I didn’t always hate this child. She was one of the ones on the brink of puberty who entered her first year of secondary as a somewhat academically challenged girl, sitting quietly and allowing the desert winds to swirl pleasantly through the vacant cavity beneath her cranium. She had a couple of friends, but went mostly unnoticed by the other students.
Under the surface her hormones were bubbling away ready to kick into overdrive. When it finally happened she became the most nasty, most disliked, most distrusted member of her cohort. She wasn’t a bully. She was just extremely frustrated.
It didn’t help that Kid #6 would continually remind her…
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