THIRTY NINE

I was a target from Paris pranks yesterday. It wasn't dirty water this time but nasty words on my desk with permanent black ink that said "SLUT" or "BITCH" or someone spelled "whore" wrong. It was written as "HORE." I don't even think about who wrote their elementary school spelling on my desk. This wasn't the first time Paris and her friends had destroyed my desk. It's probably their fiftieth time ruining the desk, and I would have to go to the school storage room to get myself a new one.

Then today, my gym locker was unlocked like someone used a cutting tool to break the lock and stole my P.E. uniform. It didn't take long when I spotted my clothes in the trash; I came prepared when I went to the cashier's office and got a new lock and a new P.E. uniform that had already been paid for when something like this happened.

I sighed.

I do not have my week.

Paris has been secretly harassing me, and I will ignore her pitiful and stupid games like I always do. All her pranks were overrate