The Power Of Makeup

...

At the field, Mr. Derulo, the toughest and strictest teacher in Mauve High, barked orders as we arranged ourselves in a straight line. His commanding presence was undeniable, and everyone complied quickly. With an unbeatable reputation for disciplining students, he was not to be messed with. Even the most unruly students behaved in his class.

As we began our first lesson, jogging around the field, the athlete, a tall and lean girl, took the lead, while I trailed behind. It wasn't that I wasn't good,I didn't have the confidence enough to lead. Back in middle days, I was the champion athlete winning over competition like a breeze. Until she entered high school, and was bullied for her status

Mr. Derulo's eyes scanned the field, his gaze lingering on me with a hint of surprise. "What're you doing back there?" he growled, his voice firm but controlled. "I don't train lazy students, you hear?" The words sent a shiver down my spine, and I quickly picked up my pace, moving to the front of the pack.

As I ran, the wind rushing past my face, I felt a surge of adrenaline. My legs pumped furiously, and my heart pounded in my chest. I was surprised by my own endurance, and before I knew it, I had finished the race track. Mr. Derulo's smirk told me he wasn't surprised by my performance. "Well, that is new," he said, his eyes glinting with amusement.

It was then I realized he had known about my past athletic abilities and was testing my waters. My nickname "Flexi Bones" echoed in my mind, a reminder of my flexible body and athletic prowess. I had given up on that lifestyle when I was told girls weren't meant to be athletes, but Mr. Derulo's words and actions sparked something within me. I felt a glimmer of hope, wondering if I could reclaim my former self.