I walk home from school and stop in front of my house, sitting down on the lawn. I don't want to go inside. I like school and fifth grade, and I wish I could stay there all day. Everyone else can't wait to get home, but not me. My mother is always criticizing me, telling me what's wrong with me every time she see's me.
"You asshole," I snap, standing up and walking myself to the door. A ring? He'd probably give me a plastic ring from one of those vending machines and tell me to be happy with it.
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