What would you think, if I told you that I hung out with the most popular boy in our school, every day?
You'd probably think, wow she's one of the big dogs in school; everyone must love her and I'm probably a skinny, little ditzy blonde right? That I prey on the weak and nerdy? That the most popular guy and I would be all buddy-buddy and dating? Well, here's a shocker; you'd be absolutely, positively wrong.
I do "hangout' with Ethan everyday, but it's not by choice. In fact, it's quite the opposite. If you were to look up "hanging out" on the internet, you would see that it is where friends spend time with each other while having fun. That is not at all what happens everyday.
Ethan's version of "hanging out" is making my life miserable. No, these words aren't strong enough to express how much he has ruined my life, but they'll have to do. You see, I don't like to cuss; wait, I loathe cussing! Why? Well my answer to that is, I'm tired of hearing those words and I'm tired of the people that throw them at me everyday. If I say one, just one little swear word; I would feel like I had stooped to their level.
Ethan and his friends aren't too creative either. They figure that these words are enough to tear me apart. They are right. Imagine hearing those words being said about you everyday since the 7th grade. You're probably thinking; what a baby! They're just words, move on you wimp!
Oh, how wrong you would be once you figured out it was more than just words. That's right ladies and gentlemen, Ethan and his group got bored of the names and words; so they got physical. I always come home with varying injuries; from a small scratch, to a broken bone and several bruises. My beatings really depended on Ethan's mood; if he got a bad grade or if his relationship went sour, I could guarantee a visit to the nurse that day.
I can remember he actually gave me a concussion once after his team lost a major football game. It was also the first time he beat me up on a weekend. That's right; he was so angry about the loss, that the next day, he looked up my address and sought me out. He didn't care that it wasn't a school day, he was frustrated and he wanted to take all his anger out on me.
Funny thing is, I didn't even go to a hospital after he knocked me senseless. I knew my mom wouldn't be able to pay for any medical help; we can barely get by with rent on our apartment. So, I just picked my sorry self off of the ground and soaked in a freezing shower to keep myself awake.
Mom never knew about all this and she still doesn't know. Ever since dad died from lung cancer five years ago, she's become a little distant from both me and the world. The only progress she's had in getting over my dad is moving here a year afterwards. Now she works most of the day as a housemaid, trying to scrap up the money to keep us going. I help her out though by working at the diner on 5th Avenue. As if school isn't enough, I have to take six hour shifts at work.
I think she knows that I am beaten up and bullied, but if she does, she doesn't say anything about it. I tried telling her about it once, but she fell asleep shortly after I began to speak. She may feed me and put a shelter over my head; but I don't think she cares. I don't think anyone does........except for Miss Sheryll.
I don't really have any friends, so Miss Sheryll is the person I turn to for help. She's a petite and lovely teacher; probably one of the best English teachers ever. It's kind of sad that she's my only friend, but I don't care; she listens to me and she is an amazing writer. She knows that the kids pick on me, but she doesn't exactly know the extent of it. I love her but I'm afraid Ethan will figure out what I did and hurt me beyond repair.
So this is my sad life. If there were a movie made about me, it would be called "The Pathetic Life of Waverly Webber." Catchy isn't it? But I'd probably have to replace my name on it and put "Winter", so people at my school would know it's about me. I don't think any of them even remember my real name anymore.
I don't mind the nickname, really I don't, but I just wish that people would use my actual name sometimes; you know? Of course the nickname didn't start without a little help from Ethan though. When I was really feeling low, I......I did something to my arms; something to permanently scar them. I started wearing long sleeved shirts everyday, making sure to hide the ugly marks; no matter how unbearable the weather got. Ethan took notice to the constant sweaters and found it amusing that I wore clothes meant for the cold; hence "Winter" was born.
Now here I am getting ready for another painful day; my arms and back screaming from yesterdays beat down, as I pull my dad's old blue hoodie on over my head and onto my body. I take my bland brown hair out from under the hood, and pull it up into a pony tail with light blue ribbon; trying not to think too much about what kind of mood Ethan would be in today.
With one final tug on the blue ribbon, I make a small bow on top of my head and walk over to my dresser to grab my converse and keys. Before heading out of my bedroom, I check the cracked mirror in the corner. The black eye I was "generously" given a few days ago is almost gone; my eye no longer swollen and showing the unnatural ocean blue of my eyes.
I sigh and head downstairs to the apartment garage; where I get into my beat up 1960's convertible and drive to school, where Ethan would no doubt be waiting for his personal little punching bag.