Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock… Sounded the large clock in the front of the classroom. It hung there by a piece of string between two large whiteboards. On one whiteboard there was writing. It was in this form of writing that I couldn’t quite read yet. It had many curves and looked like a drawing, the letters were all connected and I couldn’t make out what it said. On the other board it was in print? very clear to read with straight lines and with a little space between each letter. I could make out the time that it was trying to say, 9:45. Tick… Tock… My heart started to race. I looked around at the 10 other desks that are evenly spaced out, as if they are glued to their spot. I looked again at the large clock on the wall and I could see that the time had just struck 9:45. I then looked to the door that was all the way to the right of the classroom and I could see a shadow. I looked down at my feet and could see my two Dora shoes, one of which had been chewed by my dog. I looked back up at the shadow as it came closer and I knew that it was time to leave the classroom once again. This was an experience that I suffered through everyday in my fifth grade class, and one in which killed my confidence and lead me to despise reading. “Journey, grab your things and go with Mrs. Meek. It’s time for you and Johnny to go to your special class,” Mrs. Stott said. Mrs. Stott was my teacher, with stiff, curly, but thin brunette hair. She had firm eyes and from a distance they almost appeared black. She was in her thirties, but it was hard for the students to tell. Her face was small and she had very tired eyes, eyes someone would expect her to have if she were 10 years older. She didn’t have a tall build, she was quite small but held a very powerful presence that could make anyone uncomfortable. She always wore a button down shirt with a long jean skirt, except for Fridays when she wore pants. Mrs. Meek was an absolutely compassionate woman. She was a tall and slim woman with red, short, and straight hair. She was always smiling and never ended the day without telling me a joke. Everyday I would leave the classroom and at first I enjoyed it. But as time went on I began to receive different treatment in normal classes. Because, when I came back to class, that was when the torment began and suddenly leaving didn’t seem positive. “Does anyone have an answer as to what this story is about?” Mrs. Stott asked one day. I scraped together the courage to raise my hand. This was my moment, I thought I knew the answer, but then Mrs. Stott said, “Journey, I will come over there and check your answer, but for now, I am going to ask someone else to answer.” I put my hand down, looked to the floor and anxiously waited for the curious gazes to move away. Shortly after she returned to me, looked over my answers and handed it back with a disappointed frown. “Journey, it’s common sense, you need to pay close attention when you are reading.” Mrs. Stott growled. Everyday she would have me sit by myself and make me analyze my work that Mrs. Meek had given me. My confidence in myself was destroyed and many of my friends, or so I thought were friends, began to make fun of me. “Alright students!” Mrs. Stott exclaimed, “Get into groups, read the text, and answer the questions I have assigned.” I walked over to a group of students and asked them if I could join their group. They looked at each other, looked at me and then said, ” No, but Johnny is over there. Go ask him. You are probably just as smart as he is.” I remember one of the girls at that table laughing as I walked away and towards Johnny. After class was done we had recess and I was working on my math homework, which I enjoyed, until a small group of students walked over to me and began to bully me.In this group I remember one boy named Daniel. He had curly red hair and many freckles. He was a bigger kid, but I think it was because his mom bought him McDonalds everyday and brought it to him. ” Look at her,” Daniel laughed, ” She’s doing her math homework! Journey, you shouldn’t even bother. You shouldn’t even be in our grade. I mean, you’re never in the class anyways.” I stood there silent as they walked away and I began to cry. I was bullied everyday for not being smart. ?Even though I was good at math, it didn’t matter. I began to wonder what’s the point. My teachers didn’t believe in me, and the students just made fun of me. I stopped doing my readings, I stopped doing my math homework, and I stopped turning anything in. My grades fell and it was then time for meeting with my parents. At the time I was to scared to tell my parents about what was going on. “Journey has not been doing her homework, and I don’t understand why because she hasn’t even asked for help.” Mrs. Stott said with a stern voice. I began to turn in my homework after that meeting, but I never got my grades up, passed a C. My parents knew that something was wrong, so for two years I was homeschooled and eventually returned to public school in eighth grade. Ever since the 5th grade I have not enjoyed reading. This experience I faced everyday destroyed my confidence and caused me to get bullied. Students should not be pulled out of class for extra help because surely they may suffer the way I did.