We're getting a little scared

I feel guilty a lot. I always apologise, I have a permanent guilty conscious, even when I've done nothing. I worry about looking guilty, something is being announced in assembly about, anything, everything, kids scrawling "dictation" on the back of chairs (doing the dick, something boys seem to have a constant fascination that they could fill by looking at themselves in the mirror, not in fact by drawing the male genitalia everywhere and at any point in time, and then completing with "tation". "Woah! Did you come up with that yourself?") and I feel guilty. I look worried, I swallow. Then wonder if my swallowing of saliva has been realised and someone will conclude that I am the guilty one. That yes, I have been the one in my lunchtimes running to the Maths department and scrawling obscenities on the back of chairs. I sometimes try not to swallow and leave my mouth parched, I worry that the strained look will lead to my arrest. In the end I just blank out during speeches which often leads to me missing all announcements meaning I often don't go to things or have to read the notices ritually, looking like a right nerdy twerp.

This stems from the time some real bitch brought her dumb "under the sea" themed Polly Pocket. I hated her and her spiffy, glittery shiny things so stole her sea horse. It was a tiny, stupid purple thing that has a plug on the bottom that would stick into the Polly Pocket. I took it home, I remember holding it in my hand feeling ultimately evil. The next morning I tried to sneak it back into her bag.
I can't remember if I was successful or not, I think I probably felt guilty trying to do the right thing and failed, all I remember is I felt like a thief, an evil dirty thief. I still do.

I was later repaid for my evil deed by her doing my hair for my school photo. I ended up looking like a bad Rastafarian, inclusion of hat and my mother wondering what the hell happened. Karma I guess, yet she does not have to deal with the photos being rehashed and mentioned nearly every year, enduring the "peer pressure" speech and "don't trust girls" speech.

Sadly, this performance was beaten by last years photograph in which, angry at the world, I gave myself a hair cut. This ended up with a sort of mullet that my friend assured me looked good, "framing my face" (note taken, don't trust girls). So my photograph was taken, my friend giving me the thumbs up, to later be laughed at endlessly by family and friends alike. Then placed in the corridor, for the whole school to see, their lasting impression of me. Thankfully my hair has finally grown out and the mullet is no longer evident, besides on my father on his wedding day.

Though, apparently that girls a right bitch now as she was then and I may still own her sea horse, she may not know it, but I have won.