Seeds of Hate Read Online Free PDF

conversation. Not a single soul really paid me any attention. My head rested against the wall and my body dropped to the floor. I reached down to tighten my laces, but they weren't there. My fingers grazed the black fuzz of my slippers and I cried. For the first time in public, I cried.
    Covering my eyes with my hands I let myself be—be who I needed to be.
    Broken. Angry. Alone.

Chapter 7
    It Started Early
    (Selah)

    I saw him. We all saw him. And yet, none of us, not a single person out of our group of rejects said a single word or offered to help. Was it out of solidarity? Respect? Privacy? Fear? I wasn't a crowd follower, yet here I was following the crowd. A small crowd, but nonetheless a crowd of people who didn't want to help or didn't want the burden of being bothered. I moved down the orange bench—no one ever joined me—and slid closer to get a better view.
    It wasn't a surprise to any of us that it was him. Javier Rios was a very troubled person. Not always, but these last years, definitely troubled. I had sort of been watching him ever since I came to this school. Sometimes you stumble upon a person and you just become intrigued. He intrigued me.
    I was an awkward fourteen. Heck, I don't know a single person who isn't awkward at fourteen. Javier was the only person that smiled at me that day. It was a smile of encouragement, of acceptance and kindness. It said, "I know what you're thinking and what you're feeling—being here, around all these new kids, is intimidating. I get it. But you're fine. Just smile along with me and everything will be okay." Yes, his smile said all of that and it lasted two seconds. Neither of us had ever spoken to each other, but I repeated those words to myself, with his face in mind, often.
    High school, from what I had observed over the past three years, hadn't been easy for him either, but then is it really easy for any of us? And for those who say it is, are they really lying to themselves just to sound cool? I wanted to know how many of the popular kids cried themselves to sleep at night or wondered when they woke up in the morning if they'd be accepted or rejected. It was a dicey time of life. One I didn't wish to repeat.
    I watched as his hands covered his face, and by the shaking and vibrations of his body, he was either manically laughing or crying. Considering that he wouldn't remove his hands, I decided on crying. A boy crying in the middle of the day on a high school campus—social suicide. Not that he had any social status worth saving, but just because you were the lowest mark on the food chain didn't mean you wished to be eaten. Or did he?
    I guess it would make more sense. Why try to fit in and partake of normalcy when you found yourself in his shoes or lack thereof? Another oddity. I witnessed him walking on campus barefoot on several occasions. See, he intrigued me. Odd, abnormal or interesting behavior didn't put me off or scare me. It was the normals that I feared—the head cheerleaders, ASB presidents and captains of everything. High school students with any amount or sense of control should be feared like meth heads. One could never be too sure when they would turn on you.
    My lunch sat half-eaten and less desirable by the minute. The surrounding rejects continued to ignore Javier. I seemed to be the only one who wouldn't look away. Couldn't look away. He was a ten-car pile up on the freeway and I couldn't help but stop and stare, hoping to see what happened. I tossed my lunch, walked over to the wall he had thrown himself against in his fit of rage and sat beside him.
    He didn't move. So I sat and waited.
    And waited.
    And waited.
    Lunch ended, but classes continued. He didn't move. Classes dismissed as I sat next to him, and now I felt awkward. I was afraid he'd look up and freak out, not realizing I had sat down.
    My face began to make weird gestures all in an attempt to say something, but nothing came out. I couldn't even utter a loud sigh. Maybe this was