The flock of birds flew into a tall tree, their small bodies casting over the clouds. My eyes swooped, following their graceful motion through a dirty window. Once they disappeared into the depths of the tree, my eyes dropped to my plate of food, a mushy-looking sandwich that a dull waitress had brought.
“Vic,” the boy sitting across from me said, almost pleadingly. He sounded worried.
I allowed my eyes to lift to look at him, James Maxwell-Sniyder. “I hate him,” I thought, anger erupting in hot flames that engulfed my heart. I would NOT talk to him; I would let him stumble upon his words, waiting for his apology.
“You,” he said, and followed that with a pause. Then he went on, shocking me with harsh words.
“You deserved it, Victoria, you really did.”
I stared down at my food once again. Was this his way of getting me to talk? No, by the look on his easily read face he was being sincere. I spoke, my voice rising with each word.
“I did NOT deserve it! But I know what you deserve! To be put in jail! Yeah, I could do that. That will look GREAT when you try to get into one of those fancy medical schools, Mr. Rich Guy.
He just sat there.



Why does she do this to me? She makes me feel guilty for something that is not my fault. I did it, I admit it, but I had every right to. But she doesn’t care, when has she ever cared? I don’t know why I ever liked her, or why I am making an effort to explain to her why I did what I did. I guess I was planning on being more tactful, saying she deserved what she did but contorting my words to seem more polite. But my thoughts just spilled out. “Mr. Rich Guy, getting into a fancy medical school,” she had said. What is wrong with having my career all picked out? I know I’m lucky, because even though I have good grades, I’ll still need a lot of money to get into a good college, which my parents have. But being rich doesn’t make me stuck-up. It makes my parents snobby, but not me.
I sat still as Victoria picked at her food. I tried to think of a response to her biting words. As I groped for a sentence, I realized that I did not care what she thought of me, what anyone thought of me. I’ll do what I want, and I won’t care if some people dislike me. I know there’s a lot of talk about how I’m a bad guy, because I hit Victoria, my girlfriend. Everyone gave me dirty looks and hugged her. But no one gave a damn when she hit me, screamed at me. But, to hold her back, I give her a little shove and she fakes a fall and acts as though I held a gun to her head. That is the type of girl I’m explaining my actions to? Yes, but it shouldn’t be.



“Goodbye, Victoria,” he said, and walked away. The nerve of that guy! I hope his life is terrible.



I’m free! My life will be better now, I’m sure of it.