"Don't you want to tell everyone where you're from?" the teacher asks. I groan. Definitely want to cry now. But I have an idea and smile instead. "What you mean, where am I from? Ah! You mean rossiya?" I ask, saying "Russia" in Russian. She purses her lips. "Yes, I do." "Terror!st." I hear that from the front, the voice loud and clear. But the teacher doesn't. I go to my seat and plop down, and put my backpack by my feet. The teacher begins her lesson. I realize I still don't know her name. I don't really care. I continue gnawing at my lip. I look at the class. It's clear that the teacher allows free seating. I see a group of kids and know that one of them called me a terror!st. "Ozzy, would you please answer the question?" I don't reply. "Ozzy." I don't reply. The kid next to me does instead. She says the answer right. The teacher gives her smile and congratulates her. I continue biting my lip. I didn't want to be the snarky new kid, but here I am. The bell rings, and I brace myself because I know what the teacher is about to say. "Recess, everyone!" Called it.
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