10/22

"I'm sitting in Pre-Cal class," raps The Boy With The Underpants, "over here it smells like ass. But it's gonna go by real fast. Gettin' out my iPhone, checkin' my apps..."

A preliminary glance counts six phones hidden behind bags on desks and in laps as catlovingmathteacher goes over last week's quiz.

The boy to my right asks "Who're you writing to?" and I slam my notebook shut, saying no one, they're just words. Just words.

"Thank you for the help, Winston," says catlovingmathteacher.

"You're welcome, sir."

"I was being facetious."

A cowboy sitting on the other side of the room, the one who threatened to kill himself when his girlfriend (an acquaintance of mine) tried to break up with him last year and admits to being racist and I shy away from, interjects: "Hey, no big words!"

I have been feeling wordless recently, and it scares me. Words do not bubble up inside me. I'm supposed to have my college application essays written. I'm supposed to be figuring things out. I'm supposed to attempt NaNoWriMo again and apply to colleges and take the SAT again and hope last month's scores don't prove my idiocy as a human being.

I'm supposed to prove things with my words.

But my words feel cold.