"Shut up!" I shouted as I turned swiftly around to see that woman crouching down staring at me in shock. She was covering her face. She tried to open her mouth but there I was screaming, repeatedly punching the wall - what was I even saying? My books which I had thrown at her were sprawled across the floor. Suddenly, I realised what a terrible thing I had done.

The door to the classroom opened slowly and a teacher who had never taught me walked past.

"Sarah, what's happen-?" but she froze when she saw the blood flowing from my hand . Both our eyes met and I could see she was scared of what I might do. I was scared of what I might do as well. I stepped back holding my arms.

"I'm-" I opened my mouth to explain myself however it was in vain. The teacher had sprunt to the staff room just at the end of the corridor and immediately a couple of teachers who had free periods due to the year eight workshop rushed out concerned for their colleague - and what that dangerous student might do.

I watched as my English teacher was escorted somewhere.

"Mira! Mira!" a voice echoed in my head.

"Huh," I said. It was my French teacher: Madame Samuel, "Come with me,"

She almost had to drag me up the stairs to the learning support room. I was too engulfed with that dreadful feeling I had thrown away my future - I had broken the dreams and hopes of my parent as well as flushing down their pride.

I was led into the learning support room which had only seen from the outside. I never had to go into it and as I entered I was immediately greeted with blank colouring pages and crayons.

"Would you like to sit there, Mira," Madame Samuel instructed. I nodded taking my seat. She waited just outside of the room as if to provide me with some private space. I just stared at my hand and could see the dark bruised on my wrist and compared them to the fading scars on my arm.

In the classroom, I had been fine, smiling and enjoying the activity we were doing. It was a snow day and the class was scarce. I had got up to stick blue-tack on my posters when she told me to hurry up. She kept ordering me to hurry up not understanding that I had to not prepare just my poster but my friend's as well. She had told me something but then shouted at me because she had meant something else. "Don't you have any common sense?" she had asked. I remembered my dad teaching me about the importance of common sense when I was younger and when she had asked that I felt as she was insulting him. That was when it had hit and my patience was stolen and I turned. I closed my eyes as if trying to forget will erase the event completely from history. Yet, I knew it would be there - forever in my record. The lunch bell rang pushing me back into the present and reality.

I hated colouring - it was too pedantic yet right now, I knew that my mind was racing so quickly that unless I took my mind of my thoughts now, I would probably end up in tears or worse lash out in anger. Slowly, I shifted my attention from the suspension that was probably awaiting me to filling the dark outlines of the flowers.

No sooner had my green crayon touched the paper that the head of my year, Mrs Reaver and the student support manager, Mrs McLeon. Mrs Reaver was angry but I was used to it - she was also my P.E teacher and I knew she hated me because I was terrible at it. I had never spoken to Mrs McLeon before but she had a softer and more sympathetic look than my former P.E teacher.

"Mrs Reaver, would you bandage up her hand?" Mrs McCleon said.

"Sure," she said as she reached for the firsts aid box and begun to wipe the blood on my knuckles. It stung but I didn't care.

"Mira," Mrs McLeon called and I was happy she was the one to Reaver continued to look at me.

"Yes," I said a bit shakily.

"Are you okay? Do you want to tell me about anything?" she asked. I stared at her for a fraction of the second. I wanted to tell her everything but I was not so sure if I could - tell her about how dejected and depressed I am half the time and elated and optimistic for the rest. I wanted to tell her how I had allowed myself to force the blade into my arm as if it was my canvas. Was I okay compared to all the other teenager in this school who also had depression and insomnia.I remained silent.

"Mira," it was Mrs Reaver and now she looked much softer and I actually liked her.

"You can tell us," she said. I just sat in silence.

"I'm okay," I lied but the teachers didn't believe me but they didn't force me to tell them either.

"You had attacked a teacher over there," Mrs McLeon said. I wanted to tell her how I didn't meant to - I just could not hold it in anymore - it was just that my English teacher happened to be there when my feelings exploded.

"She is quite injured," she said gesturing to her nose. I just felt more and more limp. I nodded looking her in the eye.

"This type of behaviour is not accepted in this school and this is the first occurrence in a long time," she continued. Why was she telling me all this? Was I meant to take pride in being the first to do such a terrible deed. I remembered watching year eleven students and wondering why they would behave so rebellious at school and with so much attitude. The feeling that I was worse with them made me shudder.

"Mr Evan wants to see you," As if on cue, the headteacher arrived followed by the deputy headteacher arrived. I had never spoken to him. The deputy had been my science teacher in year seven and had praised me for my work in the first week and gave me the certificate for best scientist but now I was just a disobedient student.

"Mira," he said. I nodded my head. He sat down opposite me.

"Your actions," he said, "you will know will have to be followed with serious consequences,"

I didn't do anything. "It seems you will be permanently excluded but we will see what we can do,"

Mira just stared. She had been expecting to be excluded but not permanently.

"Wait, but," she said instinctively.

"We will try and make it so that is the case," he said, "But it will be unlikely,"

The teachers left as if to give me some private time which I was grateful for. Mrs McLeon hurried in with a sandwich and water.

"Sorry, if it you don't like the favour," she said before leaving again. I knew the teachers were not far and Madame Samuel had resumed to her post but I covered my face and my tears soaked my hair. I had a thumping headache. What was the time? I took out my phone and noticed texts from my Mum. I decided that if I didn't look at them, it would be okay yet I had to.

Mira, what happened? Did you hit someone.


And you're getting excluded permanently?



My eyes welled with tears. This is why I had been reluctant to look at my texts.

I'm unwell.

You're sick?

I wanted my mother to understand I meant I was mentally unstable.

With that, I locked my phone and stared at the screen. I waited in there almost for an hour switching between daydreaming and colouring in. Sometimes I wondered what I could have done to predict this. If I had chose different GCSE options, I may have not got this English teacher who I would not have punched and thus permanently excluded. I was even hopeful. What was I hopeful for? For a time machine? For the impossible? It seemed like an eternity as the bells inviting each year group to their lunch rang. I didn't want to eat my sandwich but I had eaten it just for the sake of lunch. The bell for the end of lunch and preparation time rang. Mrs Reaver reappeared.

"Mira, do you want to go get your stuff?" she asked. It was an order disguised as a request. I got up and sauntered through the corridors. I had been pretty loud and students from classrooms nearby had probably heard my shrieks and even seen me punching the wall and my teacher. It had probably spread. My class probably knew. I was dubbed the innocent, goody two shoes even considered a nerd at a selective school - which I have just been forced to leave. Well, doing the eleven plus seemed pointless now. What were they going to think? I didn't even swear. As we approximated the classroom. I decided to go for the tough look - not seem like I wanted their pity. I stormed in vehemently opening the door looking them in the eyes and smiling before walking to the back of the classroom to collect my bag and coat. It had been a snow day and half the class was not even here. I knew the class and year chats would be flooded with comments of me.

"Do you want to say anything, Mrs Reaver asked.

"Yes," I said clearly not murmuring like I had been doing so since the incident, "I really enjoyed being part of this form and … bye," I smiled and was meant with a a mixture of smiles and confused looks. I just turned and walked back.

"For the next ten days, we'll be sending work from school," Mrs McLeon announced. What was the point.

"Thanks," I said realising I might have come off as sarcastic. I was told to sign out. My mum had been spoken to you and she was just staring at me - her disappointment burned into me. I just looked her in the eye and the two of us departed out of the school. I was aware this would be the last time I would ever step into this school.

In the car, it was silence. I didn't even dare turn on the radio but simply opened my window allowing the wind to crash against my face and take away whatever I was feeling.

"Mira," my mum said. She was going to punish me. She was better than most parents but my actions were worse than most children. "From now on, I would not tell you to do anything. You can live your life how you want. Forget your studies. Go out by yourself,"

She was just speaking in anger. We were at a traffic light and I could feel her turn to me. I also turned and we both look at each other in the eye.

"And you are on your own now,"

That was when I didn't care my mum was just taking because she was angry or not. I became proud. I had disappointed her and my future was bleak.

"Okay," I said and for the rest of the car journey we went home in silence.