Ouch—that definitely hurt. The harsh crack from Aiden’s arm fracturing sent a mean shock down my spine. How is this even allowed on school grounds?!

Man, I hate sparring day.

The teachers always be haranguing to us about do’s and don’t of sparring, yet someone still gets hurt from youthful negligence.

We’re supposed to incapacitate our opponent, not decapitate them, but does anyone listen? Not at all ‘cause all anyone ever cares about is leveling up their deft and earning that “royal prestige merit of extreme honor” badge. Everybody here is a liar, a manipulator, conceited in every avenue. Me, well, I’m one of the better ones who isn’t some snobby narcissist who has to be pretensious and overachieving, but a down-to-earth rebel who could care less about some public status. I’m content with my middle-class life, yet what is someone like me doing here at this money house? Blame my father, Jerry Cooper, who’s best friends with…you guess it—the principal!

Like any other stereotypical, Type-A parent, they always yearn for growth and excellence from their offspring and since I barely had any of that back in elementary and middle school, he figured a change of scenery could do the trick. This is not just some change of school, this is a whole change of lifestyle that I had no choice but to enroll into. My mother wouldn’t be happy to find me here, but she won’t’ cause…you guess it again—she’s dead! Man, ain’t my life just so predictable.

My older sister’s already moved out so she doesn’t have to deal with rich boarding school, while my younger brother is only a 5th grader, but if I were ever on that gameshow “Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grade?” I would definitely lose against him, not ‘cause he’s being taught what I have to remember, but because well…I can’t remember…like at all when it comes to the important stuff like education and adulthood, all that stuff just goes in one ear out the other. My doctor can’t tell if I’m just really insular or just a knock off Dory, but so far nothing prescribed to me has helped. I should probably stop traling on about my life story ‘cause it’s about to be my turn.

Every sparring day, the teachers demonstrate to is about passive-aggressive locomotion. Just pin thw opposition and you’ll earn your check for the test. Now to the teachers this sounds simple and straightforward, but to us precocious, pubescent high schoolers, this was a guise to fight and wrestle with each other without worrying about charges or imprisonment. Everybody would pretty much bottle up all their negative emotion, then unleash it all into their moves on the mat. So yeah, this would get ugly way too quickly. And I mean, yeah, this school’s basically a breeding ground for cynical jerks who believe the world revolves around them, but I keep my cool from one sparring test to the next ‘cause that’s how you actually win and outstrip the competition—not by cookie cutter antics, but by individuality and self love that doesn’t need to defend themselves all the time to prove a point.

My rival’s a stereotypical jock with blanch hair, stocky bod, red and gold varisty jacket, royal blue jeans, and wayworn sneakers that deserve a paid -holiday break. Wouldn’t be suprised if he had athlete’s feet too? That presumptious look is so annoying; of course I have to verse this douchebag.

The classmates behind him cheer as he approaches the ring, while a few give-or-take “Woo’s” , a “Yeah Autumn!” and some indistinct chatter paves my steps. Am I nervous? Not really. Should I be? I don’t know. This ain’t my first rodeo, but it is against this two-faced son of a-

*Honk*

The air horn blares and I prepare to assail but…I don’t. My body doesn’t move, it just solidifies. The guy’s running towards me, but I CAN’T MOVE TO DODGE IT?! Am I being for real right now?! This like never happens, but it’s happening now against him of all people. Hate to say this but I might be dead here. Remember how I told you that I often fail to remember stuff, well, I think my body just forgot to function. Yeah, unfortunately right now seemed like the perfect time to factory reset. Everybody just watches as he aimlessly swings on me, yet misses—HOW?! I don’t know but it’s ludicrous. He keeps trying, but still no dice and he’s got me wondering how in the world is he missing a STILL target?!! Then I look down again at my statue of a body and realize that it’s kind of blurry throughout; like I’m moving really fast or something, like the Flash even. Maybe I really am moving and my body hasn’t given up nor out on me. But how am I doing this? I don’t know…I’m just some rebellious kid with nothing to lose other than my composure that I just lost when the jock I’m facing starts tearing up over not being able to kill me. Now that’s funny.

The teacher declared me the winner, by default, and didn’t even bother asking what on God’s earth was happening to me. Maybe they’ve seen this before or really just didn’t care and I don’t blame them ‘cause I wouldn’t either. A bunch of classmates run up to me afterwards asking what was going on but all I could think to say was……

Oh sorry, can’t remember.