freudian psychoanalytic theory

this is a story - a true story, perhaps a cliched story.
it begins in high school - tenth grade - a class called "careers."
the setting is easily imagined - a classroom: desks in rows, a blackboard, a map on the wall.
i am the protagonist. i am mainly characterized by the presence of the tightly wound bun on the top of my head, also a debilitating shyness and tendency to blush.
the antagonist is a boy who sits behind me. he is characterized by his tenth grade charisma and affable nature.
the climax is quickly approaching.
i suppose we need a rising action first. okay, he makes fun of me a little bit. pokes me with a pencil or something, makes me do his homework. i barely speak, keep my head down.
the climax is unexpected - or perhaps not. he pokes his finger into the hole of my bun, sticks his index finger into the coils of my tightly wound hair, hair still wet from the shower. he pokes his finger in and out. in and out. all the while i do not speak, keep my head down.
the denouement is short: he gets bored and takes his finger out of the hole.