I run to school today. I have missed the bus. Mum yells at me for it - again. She doesnt realise that it makes no difference. I get £5 for my lunch money today, which will not be spent. Nor will the next lot of lunch money. Just like the last years worth. And she wonders why my clothes are baggy.

This school is no better than the last one. I creep into my first class, Biology, and they all stare. A) because they all do when someone walks in late and B) because I am That Girl Who Is Covered In Scars. Even though I hide most of them under my long sleeve-shirts I cannot do the same for those on my face. The teacher looks at me but she does not stare. They have not Been Informed about me. This is good. I take a seat in the corner of the classroom, near the front. I dump my bag on the floor and try to focus on whats written on the board. Photosynthesis.  We are to read the section in the text book, take notes and answer questions 1-3. I stick my hand up half-heartedly and she comes over to me. I ask her for a notebook. She presents me with a bright yellow A4 book. I scrawl my name on the front in tiny letters and flip through the text book to find the questions I'm supposed to answer. I look behind me. Everyone else sits with their friends and mucks around. These are the people who will fail in their exams and will end up working in fast food restaurants. I decide I do not want to be one of these people. I get on with my work. When I'm finished I stand up, put my book on her desk and sit back down. She looks at me, and then at the rest of the class, the majority of which are playing on their phones and throwing paper aeroplanes, and then back at me. She checks her text book to mark my work. Hands my book over. Full marks + well done + smiley face. She appears baffled. How can someone in her class not only manage to focus on the work, but get it right too? I don't know. I would rather have worked and used my brain than sit in my seat doing nothing. She tells me to have a go at the next lot of questions on the next page. So I do. She does not seem to believe people in her class are Capable.

After 10 minutes I'm done. She marks the book again and hands it back to me. Full marks. Why dont I seem to care?

She turns to shut the rest of the class up and fails so she resorts to bashing  plastic tray to death on her desk. The class has either gone silent or I have gone deaf. I stare at my book while she rants on at them. I do not wish to pay attention. This has been hard enough.

I move school every month it seems. More new faces, more new bullys. They see my scars, put 2 and 2 together. The answer should be 4. To me 4 translates to : I Do This To Myself - This Is How Upset I Get - Talk To Me. To them i think it means : Oh Look Lets See How Long We Have To Pick On Her Before She Cuts Herself To Shreds. They think it is a game. Well it's not. I'm not playing anymore. Pick on me all you like, I'm not moving again.

Some people in this class know already. They had friends in my other schools. One of them puts a sharpener blade on my desk. They watch me. It's teasing me, playing with my head. It's like being on a diet and standing in front of the pic 'n' mix section in ASDA. Theyre whispering about me now, chanting under their breath. 'Cut, cut, cut'. Sick. The teacher looks over at me. The blade on my desk. I pick it up. I glance at her. She looks me in the eye and just slightly shakes her head. I look back at the blade. Listen to the kids behind me. I take a tissue from the packet in my bag and wrap the blade in it. I get up, shaking slightly, and put the blade on her desk. Sit back down, silent, saying and doing nothing for the rest of the lesson. The kids behing me are disappointed. I don't know why. Sadists, in a fashion. The teacher watches me on and off until the bell goes for break. I scoot out of the door before she has time to ask questions.