The locker row smells like a wet dog

The locker row smells like a wet dog

and the vanilla spray Sarah uses

to hide the fact that she smokes.

I got the essay back with the red ink

bleeding across my opening paragraph

like a car wreck I couldn't steer out of.

On my phone, they’re all in a kitchen

holding red cups and laughing at a joke

I’ll never get to hear.

I’m supposed to be at the start of it all

while I’m just trying to figure out

how to breathe through the damp wool

of this sweater that never quite fits.