The sloppy girl strutted over to the wall, looked at the paper in her hand, and then looked directly at me. Oh no. No. No. No. Why me? She slammed her trash bag down. “46-12-03” she horsed out. WHAT THE HECK!? Was she trying to expose my secret to the entire world? That nasty girl glared at me and gripped my knob with such force, all I wanted to do was bite her. “50-10-5”. Why on earth would you put in those numbers when you JUST said my secret out loud? She corrected herself and opened me up. Usually, students wash me out before putting their clutter inside of me, not this chick. She thrust all of her books into me. It reminds me of when you try to pour four gallons of liquid into a three gallon bucket. That’s right. It’s not possible.
I began as a small amount of metal alloy. The locker manufacturer made me a fresh new bright blue locker. All of the girly lockers fell head over heels for me. I was just a beginner then, didn’t even have half the knowledge I have now. The years passing were becoming more and more noticeable. These days, I am an old locker at Jefferson High School on the Pacific shore of California. I have seen a lot, but what was to come was far above me.
When the girl finished shoving her books, pencils, backpack, notebook, folders, pens, coat, markers, colored pencils, protractor, textbooks, maps, pencil case, erasers, post-it notes, highlighters, ruler, lunch bag, flashcards, and a bunch of other useless things, she smashed my door shut and walked away. There is no point to slam me shut, especially if she is going to use me the rest of year. Anyway, all I heard of her as she walked away was the “slap slap” of her old, smashed up Converse sneakers against the cold, hard concrete.
The next day greasy bun came over to me. She had long sweat pants and a tank top on. Somehow teachers didn’t mind this stuff. She seemed to have mastered my combination overnight because there was no hassle when she opened me up. A fresh scowl on the horrid girl today put me in a bad mood the minute I set eyes on her. When she grabbed a folder and a pencil out of me, she again slammed me shut.
I saw the witch turn around and bump right into a freshman. He tried to scurry away, but it was too late. “Where do you think you’re going freshy?” she threatened. All the freshman could do was stutter and walk backwards. She grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and hoisted him against me. “Better not run into me again little boy. If so, there will be consequences.” She spat as her fist unclenched his shirt and he ran away.
It was a hectic first week. Little ones were running into me here and there. My owner (whose name I found out was Rose) only came by a few times a day. She was so rude and pushy. Rose was not only a bully, but was late for school almost every day. She had a GPA of about 0.5 and was getting F’s in every class. (I saw her report card.) This girl was a rebel at heart.
Some days were harder than others and you could really tell which ones those were. Rose always had an aura of murder when she was having a bad day. Once, Rose punched a kid so hard that his nose bent inward - just for picking up a pencil for her. She was such a badass, the teachers didn’t even want to mess with her. Usually they waited until the damage was done, then take care of the wounded kid. It seemed as though no one could stand up to this girl.
Months went by and it was already Winter break. You could tell Rose was excited…