PE felt like a different kind of classroom chaos. Balls thudded, whistles blew, and Mr. Wilson kept moving across the field like a sun that missed a spot. I was focused on catching, on the rhythm of my hands and the ball, when Cameron came up behind me and tripped me with the back of his shoe.
I went down hard enough to feel the gravel kiss through my shorts. My knee scraped open and stung like someone had taken a match to the skin. For a second the world narrowed to the hot, stupid pain and the sharp gravel smell. People turned. A laugh somewhere, quick and thoughtless. Cameron smirked and walked away like I was nothing more than a footprint.
Mr. Wilson did not see. He called out instructions to someone on the other side of the pitch and kept his head turned. I stood up, clamped my teeth together against the burning, wiped the dirt off with the palm of my hand, and pretended it did not hurt. There was a small wetness on my shorts. I tucked my knee under my bag so no one could see.
In English class Mrs. Foster asked us to keep journals for the term, to write honestly about small things and big things, anything that matters. The word honest felt like an invitation I had been waiting for. My chest loosened at the idea of writing without the neatness of expectations, of paper that would hold what I could not say aloud. I wanted to tell her everything, but the part of me that folds like paper kept the words inside.
At the desk next to mine Sophie smiled at me. It was a small smile, like someone passing a note in class without making a scene. My stomach did that flippy thing adults call nerves. She said, quietly, "That looks like a good journal. Do you like to write?" Her eyes looked like she wanted to know, not judge. I nodded and tried to not let my knee twitch when I shifted.
Lunch was the same as the other days, alone with a book that I liked because its words did not expect anything from me. The story pulled me into another person's head and for a while the world felt larger in a safe way. I read until my sandwich tasted like paper and the bell made the edges of the school wobble back into focus.
After school I sat on the bench in the corridor and touched the small scab under my shorts with a careful finger. It was already darkening at the edges. I considered saying something to Mum, but the thought of her worry made me fold the pain away. I had to be light for them, at least in small ways.
At home Ahmed had his headphones on and was yelling at his game, celebrating like someone who had saved the world. Soraya held up a crumpled worksheet and asked me to show her the long multiplication trick Mum had taught her. I did it step by step, showing her how to line up the numbers and breathe through the hardest parts. She giggled when she finally got it right and hugged my arm like she had discovered treasure.
Mum glanced at me as she handed out dinner and asked with gentle eyes if I had made any friends yet. Dad looked up from his laptop for a second and smiled at me the way he does when he is proud without being loud. I wanted to tell them that my knee hurt and that people at school had been mean and that sometimes I felt like I was folding flat to keep everyone else comfortable. Instead I said, "Working on it."
Later, when the house had settled into the low hum of dishes and the television, I opened my laptop on the back step. The night was cooler and the cricket players on the next block sounded like a rhythm section. I typed a few lines of code for the small music sorter I had started. The program did exactly what I told it to, no guessing, no assumptions. Fixing a bug felt like putting a bandage on something you could see and touch.
Diary Day 3
PE, Cameron tripped me and my knee scraped. Mr. Wilson didn't see. I hid it. Mrs. Foster wants us to keep journals and that actually made me feel something like hope. Sophie smiled at me and asked if I like to write. I said yes. Lunch I read a book alone. Ahmed was loud at home and Soraya needed help so I helped her. Mum asked if I made friends and I said "working on it." I lied. It felt easier that way. I coded a bit in the backyard tonight. The code listens and does what I ask. People do not. Maybe paper will. Maybe writing will. Maybe tomorrow Sophie will say hi again. Maybe tomorrow my knee will stop hurting.