Missy0209's writing contest, Round One

Instructions

There are a lot of people in this world, but I always feel like I'm the weirdest. My ninth pair of foster parents definitely didn't help me fit in. Useless, annoying, and abomination were some of the nicer words they used to describe me to their friends. Good thing I didn't stay there long. I guess part of my problem with making friends is that I'm a shy weirdo. An outcast to society. A yellow skittle in a bag of red ones. But the other 90% of my troubles is that I'm constantly on the move. The second I finally settle in and think I have a possibility of finding another weirdo who can deal with me, my foster parents sit me down and tell me to pack my bags. I'm not exactly a problem child, but I'm nowhere near perfect either. People just don't see my perspective. A couple years ago, I promised myself I wouldn't make any connections to anyone. Ever. But that was before I started the grand drama that can only be found in high school. Now, I've resorted to hiding in the corner seats of classrooms, trying to hide from the view of the teacher so I don't have to talk in front of the class. I don't need another reason to be an outcast. I have enough of those. All of my life problems began when I was born. I was told that my parents didn't want me and left shortly after I came into this world, but I like to thi- "Elizabeth?" Mrs. Jameson's shrill voice interrupted my self-pitying. "W-what?" I looked up with the automatic panic that rose in my throat every time someone paid attention to me. "Are you listening to anything I'm teaching?" Oh no. This was the beginning of every one of Mrs. Jameson's lectures about paying attention and responsibility and what not. "Um," I really didn't want thirty-one kids mad at me for triggering one of Mrs. Jameson's infamous rants, "Yeah. Yep." Apparently, I didn't sound as convincing as I thought I was because Mrs. Jameson cruelly decided to test me. "Then how would you solve the equation on the board using substitution?" I squinted at the board. "X=3?" The few people around me that were able to hear my timid voice giggled. "I um... don't really understand substit-" "Because you weren't paying attention. Have fun in lunch detention." Mrs. Jameson looked down at me like I was a disgusting rat in a lab before launching into a grand lecture mostly consisting of not getting far in life if you don't listen. As if the humiliation of lunch detention wasn't enough, my teacher shot me death glares throughout her speech. After thirty-nine minutes of pure torture, the bell finally rang, releasing us from Mrs. Jameson's punishment. First period was always the hardest, so I figured the rest of the day would be smooth sailing. I couldn't have been more wrong. My walk across the school to reach my second period felt like mere seconds before I found myself in front of Mr. Moore's door. Mr. Moore was an old grump who was always complaining that he couldn't use 'the old methods'. When we really get on his nerves, he'll threaten us, but never actually do anything. I shoved my backpack underneath the two-person desk in the back of the room that only I sat at. Seconds after yanking a bright blue notebook from my backpack harsher than was needed, I was called down to the office. "Elizabeth, do you know these people?" Ms. Woods immediately asked when I opened the door to her bland office. "They say they're your birth parents."