As per the title, I don’t think I want to go to school anymore. I don’t know what it is, I just have a bad feeling. It’s the thought I’ve had running in my head all morning.
The day began normally. I went to the school office to turn in my phone. We aren’t allowed to have it on us. My best friend, let’s call him Sam, told me I was a “goody-two-shoes.” I laughed it off, stating not everyone can be a big rebel like him. We’re close like that, we can give each other a little bit of a tease, but we both know we’re still friends. Besides, I really didn’t care; I didn’t need my phone for the day, and getting sent to the principal Jenkin’s office for such a small thing just really wasn’t worth it. I don’t know why, but that office just really gave me an uneasy feeling.
Mr Jenkins was really quite harmless though. I remember one time Sam and I were sent to the office for misbehaving. Well, I mean, Sam had intentionally clogged the toilets in the bathroom with about 10 rolls of whole toilet paper causing a massive flood. The school Janitor was fuming over it and had pulled us by the ear all the way to Mr. Jenkin’s office.
It was probably the first time we had sat face to face with Mr. Jenkins. He was a short man with a receding hairline and buckteeth. He was one of those middle-aged types that tried desperately to relate to teenagers but his attempts always came across as insincere. When he tried to lecture us about the incident, he spoke with a stammer. He said something like: “D-d-do you kn-know ho-how m-much m-m-money you cost the s-sc-school??” I tried to apologize for it but Sam jumped in.
“D-d-do you kn-know ho-how m-much of our t-t-t-t-t-t-time you’re w-w-wasting??” Sam exaggerated every syllable, dragging out every obvious stutter to make it abundantly clear how empty Mr. Jenkin’s words were to us. And to be honest, I felt kind of bad. Mr. Jenkins was the kind of teacher that tried his best, but in return got constant mockery for his ugly appearance and nervous way of talking. It made me feel even worse when he immediately dismissed us, telling us we may return to class. Like what Sam did was bad enough to be at least suspended, if not expelled, yet Mr. Jenkins was so powerless to do anything about it, and we both got off scott free.
Anyway, that was the only time I’d ever been in his office. Ever since then, walking past it gave me a sense of terrible unease. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. There was nothing unusual about it. It was an ordinary office with a wooden desk, a computer and a small monitor that was almost falling apart. Mr. Jenkins did have a collection of dolls in a class cabinet, but I didn’t really get a good look at them. They might have been those old antique dolls; he was probably just a collector. Even so, I feel like lately Mr. Jenkins has been giving me these odd looks. Like he knows I’m up to something. Almost like he can read my mind. Which is just silly of course. I’m not sure why I’m even talking about it.
In math class today Sam got in trouble for misbehaving. It wasn’t anything major, just some goofing off that got out of hand. You know, just too much chatting, and joking around. We both drew a crude picture of Mr. Jenkins and I think he may have also been blamed for that. I don’t quite remember. Either way, he was sent to the principal’s office. Sam thought it was an amusing punishment and was off on his merry way. After all, last time he openly mocked Mr. Jenkins and completely escaped punishment.
Anyway, later on it was modern history class. I kept looking around searching for Sam. He never showed up. That was odd, I thought, surely he wouldn’t miss out on a whole day of school over one tiny little incident. Maybe Jenkins was more angry than I thought he’d be. Maybe he was suspended. I don’t know. It seems like an overreaction if that’s the case. I mean, something like this was not nearly as bad as clogging the toilets.
Anyway, by the end of the day Sam was still nowhere to be seen. I started to get a little worried. Maybe he really did get suspended. Or maybe he got sick or something and they sent him home. When I got my phone back from the school office, I immediately checked my texts. Nothing. I hoped quietly that his phone wasn’t confiscated, and looked for him in my contacts. Nothing there. Wait, that’s unusual, why wouldn’t I have his phone number saved? I asked the admin lady if she knew where Sam was.
She raised an eyebrow and said: “I don’t know who that is.”
And I said, “He’s in my grade. C’mon, he’s - “ - I started to describe his appearance, but suddenly I couldn’t remember the color of his hair. Was he tall? Maybe he was my height? I grasped for his face desperately, but all I could conjure up was an abyss. A terrible dark and deep abyss.
The admin lady clicked her tongue. “Last name?”
“His name is Sam - “, I started to say. But I stuttered on my words. Sam… Sam who?
The admin lady shook her head. “Stop playing games with me. Go home.” I found myself at a loss for words. His name is… He…
“Sorry, Ma’am,” I said, “I don’t remember why I’m here.” My gut was shifting and twisting; my hands trembling. Suddenly, the office seemed to come crashing down on top of me. I darted and kept going until I was out of breath. I leaned forward, retching, struggling to catch my breath. Somehow, I could not calm my nerves. It was the middle of autumn, yet I was dripping sweat.
From the corner of my eye I caught Mr. Jenkin’s 3rd storey open window. Some terrible curiosity overcame me and I turned slowly to peek inside. My jaw dropped. My heart pounded like a jackhammer. My eyes were interlocked with Mr Jenkins who stared at me with blank eyes but a foul grin. . What little remnants of his hair was left was tattered. Then his teeth fell out. I had no idea he wore dentures, but they slipped out of the window and landed in the garden bed below. He began pulling the remainder of his hair bit by bit. I tried to move towards his office, but it was as though I was caught in stinking sand. Instead, I called for help. Please, someone help the poor guy. But no words escaped my mouth. Nothing. My larynx was straining itself, but the words just dissipated into nothingness. And then things took a turn. His face began melting. I don’t know how else to describe it. Literally, his skin was dropping off his skeleton, dripping away like drops of water.
My phone rang. I realized I could move my arms so I pulled it out. A private number. Odd, since only my mother ever called me. But I answered it anyway.
“Help me,” a familiar voice said. A voice belonging to a person who’s name I could not recall. Who’s face I could not conjure up.
“W-w-who are you?” my voice quivered.
“We’re best friends, what do you mean?!” the voice snapped in anger.
“S-s-stop m-m-making fun o-o-of me!” I yelled back. There was no response. The phone was cut out. When I looked back up, Mr. Jenkins was gone. In his place, a teenager I didn’t recognize was standing there looking at me. He seemed a little curious maybe. He sort of, I don’t know, maybe he looked like me? Which was ridiculous of course. I was definitely imagining things. I decided to ignore this whole thing and head home.
At night my brother hogged the TV all night playing Fortnite with his mates. I let him be. I didn’t have anyone to play games with anyway. No one would play with me. They all thought I was weird. And no one would be able to stand me stuttering into the microphone. So I just went to my room. I am my best company, I thought to myself.
That night, I started browsing twitter as usual. Since I didn’t have any friends, I found myself stalking the people in my classes and studying their behavior online. But tonight, someone posted a crude image they made in Microsoft Paint. An ugly image. A balding middle aged man with buck teeth. I clenched my fist. It was me, of course. I started hammering out a comment, but none of my words seemed strong enough to bother with. Frustrating. I wanted to punch my monitor.
It isn’t fair. Why am I like this? Why is my hairline already receding at just fifteen years old?! Why is my face already full of wrinkles like a middle aged man? Why do I stutter so badly? The thought of going to school again to face the bullying just made me sick to my stomach. I just really, really, do not want to go to school again. To have to sit by myself at lunch. To speak with a stutter so bad that no one can stand to listen to me. Why can’t I speak with a clear voice that commands your attention? Like Mr. Jenkins the school principal. I don’t get it.
That’s why I’m posting this thread on reddit. As per the title, I need advice on making friends. How can I stop stuttering so people will take me seriously? Is there anything I can do about my teeth or my hair? I really, really, don’t want to go to school anymore.
Please help.