Polished Floors

My gawky reflection stared back at me as I scurried through the hallways that have bound me for three years. The floors were freshly polished, which was a huge score for me since I despised making my way though the varsity cheerleaders between classes to check for food in my braces. I smiled at myself. Neon orange was all the rage these days, and with my new brackets, I would surely catch the eye of Peter Ricardo. He was always on-point with the latest trends, always stopping in the cafeteria to offer pictures of himself to oogling females like myself, garnished with his glorious John Hancock. I was so consumed with my dapper self shining upward from the floor that I lost sense of direction, not even seeing my classroom pass me by. The only alert I received was the short viewing of the staircase before I plummeted downward into the sea of underclassmen. The faces I saw looked down at me with distaste. All I could do was smile back to signal that I was wearing a popular color. It was only a matter of time before I saw HIM hobbling down the stairs to my rescue. It wasn’t Peter, but Eric Soggybottom, the towering 4’9” farm boy who had obviously never used a toothbrush before in his life. His father had quite the green thumb, and could always be seen after school rummaging through the garbage “because it does them foliage healthy”. I considered playing possum so that Eric would think I was dead and wouldn’t consider touching me. “Why, whatcha derrin’ there on the flurr there by yer lonesome?” he squawked. His voice could easily be compared to the sound of a garbage disposal. “Didjuh fall down from heaven?” I remained motionless.