Chapter Two- A Big Gray World (June)

SCREWED

Chapter Two- A Big Gray World (June)

June 07, 2010
Liz:
Beep, beep! Beep, beep! Beep, beep! The alarm clock droned on and on, savouring every moment as it slowly and painfully tortures my peaceful sleep to its demise. To common simpletons, they simply choose to press the snooze button and sleep five more minutes than they're supposed to, until they realized that they accidentally pressed the stop button, and accidentally slept through half the school day. But to determined and succesful students like me, I choose to be ready and alert as soon as the clock goes beep. I opened my eyes more groggily as I had hoped to be. As my eyes found the ceiling above, one sentence slipped out of my mouth, like an unstoppable cough, or vomit after drinking ten shots of tequilla. "Time to go to school". I hopped off bed, grabbed a towel from my drawer, and stepped inside my bathroom. After baring all my clothes (I feel so inappropriate while saying this), I hopped inside the shower, and bathe under the hot water. As I scrubbed parts of my body with soap, I felt a slight twinge going on inside me. Every morning in a school day, I precisely go on with my daily morning rituals in such a uniformed manner, and in order to maintain a clear mind for the day's learning, I have to clear my mind withall thought. There is of course such days that I cannot help but think thoughts of succumbing again to my peers or something academic and the like. This is one of those days. I just can't help but think...I mean, academically, I am so fully prepared for not only this day, but for the next three months as well, but socially....I'm as bare as a prehistoric caveman. I guess I've just cherished my summer so much that I forgot to prepared about the other things that happen in schoolbesides academics. I have friends of course , intellectual friends at that thank you very much,but I'm talking about the other variables that make up for the wholestudent body equation: the whores, the numbskull jocks, and most especially...HIM.

I washed over the soapy substance all over my body, and stepped out of the shower, and placed the tower well above my breasts. I stepped out of the bathroom, and from the drawer, I picked a white shirt and black jeans, or should I say, perfectly normal and clothes that states: "I'm a student that fills the need to learn and excels in doing so". I put on my clothes,and looked at myself in the mirror. I pulled out a comb from one of my dressers, and smoothed out my hair. As I combed my graceful yet proper-looking long brunette hair, my excellent mind got into thinking again. And this time, the twinge changed into something bittersweet yet...
inspiring. Why should I succumb my life over those meaningless toadstools? I'm better than them, I'm better than all of them combined. I shouldn't get affected by their tactless "insults" and pranks, because I am a proud and strong woman. And besides, thirteen years from now at my batch's alumni reunion, I'll laugh at all their misfortunes, financial difficulties, and job occupation while I finally achieved my dream: the youngest CEO in history of the Weston Corporation. Oh I can't wait to see all those cheerleaders be disgusting looking hookers with three kids, while I'll laugh at the jocks' mutilated body size and their dead-end taxi jobs. Oh I can't wait to see Si-

Knock knock. Mom's voice spoke from outside the bedroom door. "Liz, honey, breakfast time", she said. "Your father's down in the dining room already". "I'm coming down in precisely thirty seconds, mom, thanks," I replied. "Alright then". Mom's sounds of footsteps grew faint and faint until I heard none. I put the comb back in the dresser, pulled out my blue headband, and placed it carefully on my head. I looked at myself. The headband definitely was the icing on the cake for my proper look. I looked ready. Ready freddy. "Here or not, here I come", I said to myself. I turned back and grabbed my brown bag from the computer chair. I already finished organizing my school things last night,so my notebooks,ballpens, and my mini PDA are properly tucked inside. I left my room, climbed downstairs, and went inside the kitchen where my parents sat waiting for me. Dad was already writing the surprise quiz he was going to give the new Juniors in his trusty planner, while Mom talked busily with her employer in the cellphone. Since I already finished telling you about my loving Dad's occupation, let me tell you about my dearest Mom's job too. She is one of the top representatives of this junkyard metal business, which meant she travelled a lot in international waters to talk buisness deals with wealthy men who wish to use the money for construction means. It's another reason why the Dawsons have such well-respected reputation in the community. Fun fact, yeah? "Good morning", I announced as I sat down in the chair. I looked at my breakfast plate. Strips of bacon with egg sunnyside up and fresh pulpy orange juice. Very very appropriate, may I say. "Morning, Elizabeth", Mom smiled at me. Dad looked up from his planner to my face, and smiled as well. "Ready for another year at school, Elizabeth? I assume you plan to surely excel in school this year?" "I couldn't be more ready, dad", I replied, while slicing the piece of bacon on my plate. "That's my girl", Dad smiled. I chewed my bacon, swallowed it, and said,"So how was the dinner last night, dad?" "I won an honourable mention award", Dad said without the slightest of surprise. Now that's a real man. Proud yet modest. "That's wonderful, dad". "Thank you, Elizabeth", Dad replied. "Though it is kind of...underwhelming. Honourable mentions in our school is merely child's play. The Schermann's Honorable Prize. Now that's a true honourable mention."
"You might get it someday, dad".
"Hopefully so. By the way-" Dad pulled out a sheet of paper from his planner and gave it to me."-here's your schedule. I'm handing it out to you earlier so there willbe less hassle when we get to school".
I looked at the sheet of paper:

"
"

Student's Name: Elizabeth C. Dawson

Year Level: Sophomore

Student No.: 892021

CLASS SCHEDULE

( S.Y: 2010 - 2011 )


Time Subject Title Teacher Room No. of Days

7:40 - 8:40 Ecology Ms. Karen Tuchi 209 M-T-W-TH-F

8:45 - 9:45 Guidance Counseling Mr. Darren Ritcher 109 M-F

Computer Applications Mr. Bill Jobs 402 T-W-TH

10:00 - 10:30 RECESS M-T-W-TH-F

10:30 - 11:30 Asian History Mr. Ernest Basho 104 M-T-W-TH-F

11:35 - 12:35 Geometry Mr. Bonifacio Ravelo 303 M-T-W-TH-F

12:35 - 1:35 LUNCH M-T-W-TH-F

1:35 - 2:35 Communication Skills Mrs. Gabrielle Dilla 401 M-T-W-TH-F

2:40 - 3:40 Home Economics Mrs. Frida Sweetums 207 M

Physical Education Mr. Philip Silverman 112 T-W-TH

Club Activities F “

"And also, the first assembly will be held on the 2:40-3:40 time slot", he added.I briefly looked at the sheet of paper, and continued to eat my breakfast.Like they say, "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day". After I finished eating my breakfast, me and dad both kissed mom on the cheek, and went outside. It was quite a sunny day, with the sunlight spreading all over our front lawn. I could see a couple of kids (Freshmen, to guess) walking together, talking excitedly about going to their new high school. Such uncorrupted innocence.Me and dad walked towards our driveway, and hopped in his black BMW. What can I say? Dad really wants to show class...and I could hardly blame him. Dad started up the car, and drove off. It took just a couple of minutes to get from my street to school, so there was time to relax, listen to a bit of jazz music,and review study notes. Dad never likes to talk while driving (he says it distracts him from the jazz music playing on), so it's basically a time for me to review my notes. Since class hadn't started yet, I decided to look more closely to my class schedule. Ecology, huh? I hope there's astrophysics embedded in it, it would be wonderful if it did. Guidance Counseling? Meaningless. Then, my heart skipped a beat. I looked briefly at my dad, looking to see if he was observing me. He wasn't, he was too busy keeping his eyes on the road. I looked back at my class schedule. So does this mean-

"Here we are", said Dad. He turned a curb, and holy mackerel, the plain sight of Pebblecreek High came to view. It was a fairly big school building, with three floors. The school was constructed with red bricks and the roof was painted green. The front entrance was a big archway with a pair of big brown double doors hanging on its sides. Outside the main entrance was a big space, with red bricks covering the ground, benches scattered all around, plants on every side, and a big statue of a horse and its rider on the very center of the school. The school was already filled with kids outside, talking to their friends or just showing off with their newoutfits and skating tricks. "Welcome back, Sophomore", Dad smiled at me. I smiled back. But why did I get a sense of feeling like dad gave me a chocolate ice cream but covered it with thorns? Dad turned the car to the school parking lot, and pulled the car over his reserved parking space. We both got out of the car, carrying our bags. Dad locked the car, then we both walked towads the main entrance. If your parent happened to be a teacher with a unique reputation, like mine, and you andyour parent happened to walk to school together every morning, it is common for incoming people to look at you, and pay their respects to the teacher, and it is also common for the people to snicker at you after you passed them. But don't get affected. They're just jealous that my father happened to be a well-respected teaching figure, while their father happened to be a frycook at McDougall's.

While people were looking and snickering at us, we went inside the school, where everything seemed so busy. Kids were running around, laughing, talking to their girlfriends over by their locker, forming a line outside the restroom, etc. Dad pulled out his wallet and gave me a P500 peso bill for my lunch money. "Have a nice day, honey", he said to me, and headed straight to the faculty lounge on the right, leaving me alone in this brutal forest where nothing is safe.

I looked at my schedule again. Ecology with Ms. Karen Tuchi at Room 209. I climbed the stairs on my left, and as I stepped in the second floor hall, I stopped dead. Ten meters away from me were a couple of jocks and cheerleaders, and I could recognize some of the abusive ones, like Ronald Krazinsky and Darwaina Lopez. Thankfully, HE wasn't around, but that dosen't erase the fact that there's a couple of predatory animals a few meters away waiting to claw their way into my sensitive skin. I quickly turned the other way around and walked fast. Fortunately, they didn't notice me. I looked at the number plates on top of the doors of the hall, looking for Room 209. 203...205...207...209! Room 209's door was already open, so I went inside. There were already a couple of kids around in the room. Some I recognize, like Mike the glee club member and Allison, my fellow debate club comrade. Some, of course, I do not recognize, like a weird Korean guy sititng alone at the back of the room and a couple of talkative girls. Allison spotted me, and shouted,"Liz!" I waved at her, and came to her. The thing about Allison is that she's really excitable. Sometimes, excitable people can be charming, but she's so excitable that it's just plain annoying. You could just imagine how she debates.

"Come on take a seat beside me here!", Allison half-shouted at me excitedly, while pointing to an empty seat on her left. I nodded and sat on the empty seat. "So how's your summer?", Allison asked me. "Well-", I started, but Allison just blabbed her excitable mouth all the way through. That's another thing about over-excitablepeople like Allison: they talk too much. "My summer's been great, really really great. Me and my cousins spent a lot of time together, my aunt made lots of lasagnas, I ate a lot so much that I could swear I gained ten pounds over the summer. It's a pain yeah but I'll recover. What about you? How was your summer, Liz? I heard that you were working in a public library, that's so cool. Well,is it true? Is it true?" She said this in a span of eight seconds. As my mouth opened to speak, a short,thinAsian woman walked inside the classroom, carrying a couple of books with her. Her entrance cut short to my brief (or not) conversation with Allison, since both of us immediately fell silent as she went inside. She laid the books down to the table, All of us sat down, quiet. Ms. Tuchi closed the door, and spoke with a cool calm voice:
"Welcome to Ecology. I am Ms. Karen Tuchi. But I prefer for all of you to call me Tuchi-su instead. It brings me inner zen inside as I feel absolute balance and
just in my soul. Can you all say my name?"
"Good morning...Ms. Tuchi-su".
"No, no, no, boys and girls. Just Tuchi-san, not Ms. Tuchi-su".
"Good morning, Tuchi-san".
"Very good, very good", Tuchi-san closed her eyes while she smiled serenely. "That just lifts up the negative energy in this room to a...significant amount".
She sat on the chair, her eyes still half-closed, though I couldn't tell thanks to her Asian heritage.
"This year, we will learn all about Ecology. How the world turns, how animals reach zen by interacting with each other, how our environment grows to be...infinite.
Before that, can anybody tell me what ecology means?"
I immediately raised my arms up. Tuchi-san looked at me."Yes,umm?" "Liz Dawson", I said. "Okay, then what is the answer, Dawson-san?", she asked me. Dawson-san?
Really? Tuchi-su is one thing, but Dawson-su...really?
"Ecology means interaction", I answered with ease. "Interaction, in this case, means of two things: abiotic and biotic. Biotic interaction involves living things, while abiotic interaction involves non-living things".
"Very good, Dawson-su", Tuchi-su smiled at me. "Impressive indeed". Good first impression: check.
"Now class, one thing about subjects, not just Ecology, but in all subjects as well, is that not only is the whole body important, but the mind as well. The mind is
where everything comes from, so Ecology must be learnt first by its history. Now, Ecology comes from the Greek words-"
I raised my hands up again. "Yes, Dawson-su?", she asked. "Oikos, meaning environment, and logos, meaning discourse", I recited. "Amazing work indeed, Dawson-su", Tuchi-su said, impressed. I smiled and kept quiet again. Another point up for Liz Dawson, class."Ecology,class, was first studied by-" I was about to raise my hand again, when a girl who was dressed like a diseased whore came in the room. Her violently bright yellow striped jacket blinded my eyes a bit. "Sorry, but is this the Ecology class?", the girl asked Tuchi-su. "Indeed yes, now please take a seat and I shall continue discussing the lecture...which you already halfway missed".
Tuchi-su dosen't seem to like latecomers very much, because she gave this girl with too much mascara a frown. The girl blushed, turned around, and walked to the back in a strut-like manner. She sat down three seats behind me. Tuchi-su continued with her lecture, and I managed to answer almost every last of them. She discussed a lot about Ecology's history and interestingly, our current environmental situation as well. The moment she came in the room, it was clear she was a nature freak.. In both a good and bad way. After the lecture, she gave us an assignment due tomorrow (Research and discuss the population increase from 1900-2010 and describe its effects towards the natural environment), and dismissed us as the bell rang. I walked outside the hall with Allison by my side, talking all about her summer, and asking me how was my summer, and brings up a new topic before I utter out an answer. I pulled out the schedule from my bag. Guidance Counseling with Mr. Darren Ritcher on Room 109. I enthustically bade goodbye to Allison, and climbed downstairs. I found Room 109 easily, and slid inside. There weren't that much kids in the room,all of whom I do not know of. They were all kids who looked like they were into skateboards and stuff like that. So, I sat down in the front, and waited patiently for the teacher to arrive. Guidance Counseling. Pfft. What a joke. Sure, kids sometimes need guidane counseling, but it should just be a choice to them, not to be a prequisite to every high school student's schedules. Kids don't need to LEARN guidance counseling. There's too many important subjects to cover on and in desperate
need of time slots, unlike Guidance Counseling. Forget Calculus for all I care, I just want Guidance Counseling! Oh no, I don't want to take Health and Medicine class, I want to take up Guidance Counseling! Little did I know, that in just a few seconds, Guidance Counseling was about to get worse. Not just worse, but worse than armaggedon.

Besides the Nazis and the Ku Klux Klan, the most vile and inhuman group of people walked inside the room: the sports crowd. The jocks and the cheerleaders. High school's own version of the Joker and Harley Quinn. Two jocks and a cheerleader came in, laughing about something, and when they spotted the sight of little old me, they jeered. My heart stopped a beat. I recognized that jeer. It wasn't just any other jeer. It was a sign...the Anti-christ was with them. And there he was, stepping inside the room, looking like the devil himself was Mark Silverman. Gah, even the mere thought of that godforsaken name makes me want to pour holy water all over my brain. He spotted me at once, like an eagle spotting a rabbit down below, and bellowed: "Well, lookie what have here. It's Dawson-no-bosom!" His horsemen laughed hysterically, like he just said one of the most funniest jokes of all humankind. Be strong Liz, I thought to myself. Don't let this foul cretin get a hold of you. Battle face, Liz, come on, battle face! I turned my anxious expression into a face that clearly states,"I couldn't care less about you, you evil Nazi".
He approached nearer and nearer towards me, and sat on the table next to mine. He pulled out an apple from his pocket and ate it, while his blood red eyes watched over me."Now, how was dear darling little Dawson's summer?", the demon asked me. "What's it to you, Silverman?", I said fiercely. "Touchy-touchy there, Dawson", he said, his expression pretending to look hurt. "I simply wanted to ask how was your summer. I mean, it's just a friend-to-friend-, wait...I retract that, I meant owner-to-dog conversation basis." "You sexist freak", I looked at him, disgusted. He smirked. He revelled at the sight of my suffering. Liz,Liz,Liz, you're slowly losing the battle!, I thought to myself. You have to be strong! Don't give that humungous bonehead what he desires! Fight back! If Mark Silverman wants to play games, then let's play games.
"If you must know, Silverman", I said his last name in every disrespect. "I happened to had spent my summer working in the public library. You wouldn't know. Your tiny brain would implode once even if you step foot in that building". I heard some laughter from the unknowns (the sports group remained silent, as predicted), which meant, in basketball language, three points for Liz Dawson! But Mark remained unaffected. In fact, his vile sneer seemed to grow wider and wider. "Well I'm sorry I wouldn't bother stepping foot in the haven for immaculate virgins", Mark hit back, which earned some laughs from everyone in the room."I'm quite surprised you haven't burst into flames yet when you said 'immaculate', Silverman".
"It's better to burst into flames than to remain a virgin forever, Dawson. I'm sure you can absolutely relate to that".
"I'm sorry if I'm not one of those AIDS-ridden whores that you have sex with, Silverman".
"Speaking of sex, how do you take it, huh? Are you ashamed of yourself, Dawson? Trying to...slut out in the library, hoping for old nerdy men to take you in for
a bumpy ride, but you failed to do so. Dosen't that degrade your pride? How does it feel?"

I was about to retort on what part of his body is degraded into a miniscule size, when the teacher walked in the classroom. Everybody who was looking at our battle sat in their seats, while Mark and his sports comrades sat at the back of the class. As he sat down, Mark flashed his stupid smirk at me. Oh What I would do to kick him where it hurts. But I have to let it go. My rivalry with Mark Silverman must not get clash with my academics. I won't let it, I won't succumb to it. So, I quit looking at that snarky arse, and turned my full attention back to the teacher. He looked like he was in his early 30's. He looked strangely innocent. No signs of
proper authority was etched on his face. He looked clueless to his surrondings, not knowing the true horror that surronds this very school. He put down his bag on the table, and smiled to all of us in the room.
"Good morning to you all, class", he said brightly. How naive. "My name is Mr. Darren Ritcher, and I will be your guidance counselor for this year. Guidance counseling, class, is like...colors. We live in quite a confusing world, class. It's like one big gray world. Besides your parents guidance, none of us are safe in this world. We tend to...search what we can find, to hold on to, to grasp on to, something that will make this world have much more sense. The thing is, class, we never know what kind of thing we find and grasp onto in this world. There's quite a chance that you were able to grasp on to a good influence, and for that, I congratulate you". I smirked proudly. He looked to us all and changed his expression to look grave and serious. "But...almost all the time, those of us unknowing and clueless to this world most often latch onto the bad influences. And trust me, my dear students, it's something that you never never ever want to latch onto, because if one of those tentacles grab you, it takes a difficult time to make them release you from their harm. Guidance counseling, class, will offer you help and advice towards your situations, and of course, we will learn all the essentials to human life, from teenhood to parenthood. I assure you class that I will do the best that I can to help you and to teach you. Because I, class, would like to world to have a bit more color into it." He clapped his hands once and continued. "Now, class, before we start our first lecture, I want all of you to introduce yourselves to this class. If we want to make this class work, we need companionship, and for that, we first must be comrades with each other. Now, just say your names, your nicknames, and what you like to do most. Just as simple as that. Let's do this vertically, people. Let's start with you sir". He pointed at Mark Silverman. Oh brother, I thought to myself. Mark pointed at himself, and asked,"Me?" Yes, you dimwit! "Yes", Mr. Ritcher nodded kindly. Mark cleared his throat, stood up and spoke:"Er, my name is Mark Silverman. My friends called me Mark or Marky Mark. I like playing basketball or any sport that dosen't involve gay-ass shit". People in the classroom laughed. I scoffed. Really? All of you would laugh at that stupid remark? “Gay-ass shit"? REALLY?
"Thank you, Mr. Silverman", said Mr. Ritcher, and Mark sat down. "Next, please, you ma'am on Mr. Silverman's front". Mark and the others snorted with laughter.The girl in front of Mark said playfully,"Shut up you". She stood up, and spoke: "Hi, I'm Darwaina Lopez. My friends call me Waina. I like cheerleading". The sports group applauded and laughed. "Next!" A shady-looking guy with a moldy-looking jacket stood up."Uhhh....I'm Alcide. Call me Als...I like....uhhh...eating".
The following "Next!" went on for almost half an hour, and I was just dying. Even for a simple and idiotic question as this, I must be ready for it. I cannot be unprepared. I must make a good first impression upon the teacher. I cannot let Mark Silverman win. Oh no, they're clashing.
"Next!", called Mr. Ritcher, and I knew I was next. I stood up, and said,"Good morning Mr. Ritcher and classmates. My name is Elizabeth Carrie Dawson, but you can all call me Liz. I like learning about all fields of what is there to learn about, like English,Mathematics,World Studies-" "-acting human", Mark chimed in. Laughter rang all around the classroom. One jock slapped Mark a high-five. "I'm sorry, Mr. Silverman, but bullying is not tolerable in my class", said Mr. Ritcher disapprovingly.
"Right, I'm sorry Mr. Ritcher", said Mark in a sarcastic tone."And I'm sorry, Ms. Dawson". He flashed me his annoying smirk once more. Mr. Ritcher hadn't even notice the sarcastic tone, since he said,"Alright, class, now let's move on to our first discussion in guidance counseling: family matters. Get your notebooks out and copy what I'll write on the board, class". A loud number of people pulling out their notebooks from their bags ensued, me included. As I wrote down what Mr. Ritcher had to say about family matters, I thought about him. How could somebody like Mr. Ritcher be a guidance counselor yet be so clueless of his surrondings? What kind of counselor is that? A counselor for the mentally retarded? And Mark Silverman...don't even start about Mark Silverman. As I wrote down words in the notebook, I began to realize that this is going to be one long gray year. No doubt about it.



Jimmy:
Thump, thump, thump..... As, I repeatedly thumped my head on the bathroom stall, I realized that I've been doing this mindless shit for thirty minutes now. I haven't gone to the cafeteria for recess. Plus, it's better out here. Quiet, cool, depressing. Just what I needed instead of some crowdy noisy place like the cafeteria, where people see you and laugh at your humiliation. The place where your pride and dignity goes down to an all time minimum. The place where evil businessmen are born and where busboys at some grimy diner are created. What an Oz.

I mean what numbnut teenager would go inside that hellhole? Seriously? I mean, to the outcasts, they know they'll be humiliated in there, but still they haven't got the brains to realize that they could just make their own recess and lunch raher than buying it at the cafeteria, so they could somewhere more significantly peaceful, like the benches outside, or for me to recommend, the boys comfort room. Sure, I didn't bring out my food, but who cares? As long as there's peace and quiet, I'm deal with it, even if I lose fifty pounds rapidly in here due to food deprivation.

As mindless old me continued to thump my head over and over again to the vandalized and dirty piece of wood, I recalled the events that occured earlier. Let's see, I woke up at six-thirty, I dressed up, and my Dad gave me and Wendy a ride to school, like he always does. Wendy ditched me as soon as she saw her annoying friends outside on the benches, so I went inside the school building alone. At an instant, like I was stuck in this Amazonian jungle, a bunch of onlookers with eyes of a half yet brains of a snail suddenly caught wind at the sight of me and either snickered or said something on their friend's tiny ear. As if my dignity wasn't already damaged enough, high school kids made it just lower for my consideration. How nice of them, right? After an extremely long and dreadful walk to the Admissions Office in order to get my timetable, I went to my new locker, stuffed my bag inside, and got my head nearly decapitated by some big passerby who happened to slammed my locker dsoor, and laughed "accidentally". After insuring that no nerves and neck muscles were severed, I proceeded to my first class, which was Asian History.
Our teacher, some Chinese Buddhist guy whose name I suddenly forgot (it was either Fujitsu or Bunny, I dunno. Your guess is mine) called out the students name in the class with his ancient broken English accent, and when he reached my name, nobody reacted, to my surprise. Seriously, I was surprised. And I actually enjoyed the class, even though I barely listening to the shit that Fujitsu guy was talking about. I was having a bright morning. It was awesome. I thought I could expect the same for the second class and beyond that, but unfortunately, I just jinxed my luck. My second class, which was Communication Skills with some girl named Tongue, a couple of people in the class snickered as they caught the vulnerable happy sight of me, and kept giving me mysterious glances as the class went on and on. And after that, now I'm in this comfort room, bashing my head in some plank of wood like an idiot.

Should I stay in this cramped piece of space forever? Should I dare open the crooked door and continue to live out my life as a high school social outcast? The school bell's rings echoed in the comfort room. Shit, it's time for another class. I pulled out my schedule from my bag:







" Student's Name: James P. Wittington

Year Level: Sophomore

Student No.: 865212

CLASS SCHEDULE

( S.Y: 2010 - 2011 )


Time Subject Title Teacher Room No. of Days

7:40 - 8:40 Asian History Mr. Ernest Basho 205 M-T-W-TH-F

8:45 - 9:45 Communication Skills Mrs. Gabrielle Dilla 111 M-T-W-TH-F

10:00 - 10:30 RECESS M-T-W-TH-F

10:30 - 11:30 Computer Applications Mr. Bill Jobs 409 M-W-F

Physical Education Mr. Philip Silverman 112 T-TH

11:35 - 12:35 Ecology Ms. Karen Tuchi 207 M-T-W-TH-F

12:35 - 1:35 LUNCH M-T-W-TH-F

1:35 - 2:35 Geometry Mr. Al Ritmus 309 M-T-W-TH-F

2:40 - 3:40 Home Economics Mrs. Frida Sweetums 209 M

Guidance Counseling Ms. Thomas Mapother 312 T-TH

Club Acitivities F “

And Computer Applications it is then. So, Jimbo, should you stay or should you? That you really don't know? Baby, you've got a pussy so. Oh fuck you. Argh, that's it, I don't care, I'll just fucking go to my classes, and I'll rush the fuck out of here as soon as it's dismissal. I stood up, got out of the comfort room, and found myself completely alone in the hallway. How long was I in the comfort room? I looked at my timetable again. My class was at the fourth floor. Shit, that's gonna be an exhausting climb. And it was. I gasped for breath as I jogged up to the flight of stairs that led up to the fourth floor. How in the world can Glass Onion High School can get a set of elevators and my shit for a school dosen't? Glass Onion High only has two stories, for crying out loud! I reached the fourth floor, panting, and looked around in the hallway for Room 403. I found it shortly on the left wing, and went inside. The class already started, since every last desktop computer in the room was on, and all eyes (even the teacher's) were on me. I heard some fast quiet winds of chattering and some snorting of laughter thanks two girls on the back row. The teacher, a rather tall withered-looking guy with full ream glasses turned his head on my direction, and said,"You're late, son". I'm not your son, dumbass. "Sorry sir", I apologized, my voice still panting up a bit."Got...caught up with something". Another snort of laughter. Teerrrifffic. "Alright, well you can take a seat anywhere in the class". I nodded in thanks and looked around my class. Some were looking
at me, while others didn't give a damn about me. A few were squabbling to their friends about something while one or two looked at me like I was shit to their eyes. I spotted an empty row at the back, and sat at the middle. "As what I was saying, class", Mr. Jobs began. "The internet has become a revolutionary tool on what made the '00 decade what it is. It was called the Technology Generation for a valid reason. Anything, educational material, work and business productity, games,and for the guys, porn". Many laughed. I simply folded my arms and looked at the teacher with dull expression. Could I please leave now? I telephatically asked him. Apparently, this guy was telepathically retarded since I heard no response from him. "The internet seemed...innocent, in some ways, earlier then," Mr.Jobs continued. "It was simply a means of communicating with other people thousands and thousands of miles away from us. But then, along came sites like YouTube, Friendster, and Twitter, and internet has redefined its purpose. It's still communicating with other people, of course, but it has become an identity to the ones who use it. They feel like the internet has
indeed become part of their souls, and without it...they are lost". He looked around the class dramatically with his hands clasped together before continuing: "There may be some of you who might not entirely have the will to digest these thoughts in their mind" he frowned at a guy two seats in front of mine who was gazing onto space with his bloodshot eyes. "So, let's do an activity, shall we? How about we all tell everyone in the class about our favorite websites and give a brief description on what it means to them. Let's start with the latecomer at the back". He pointed his shaky finger on me. Everyone looked at me. Some were sniggering. And I knew why.
I stood up, my feet shaking with nervousness. God, I hate reciting in class, not just in the first day, but for the all the days that make up the school year. I'm just not the dude you first think who's self-esteem is high enough to let him recite in class confidently. "Ugh, my...my...", I stuttered. Some people snorted with laughter. "Yes?", Mr. Jobs asked me kindly. "New Grounds", I slipped from my mouth. "And why?", Mr. Jobs asked. "Uh...uh...uh....uh...games", I said, and I did a might mindless thing. I imitated my hands typing fast on the keyboard in midair. People started laughing their heads off. Even Mr. Jobs was smiling. I felt my cheeks burning red. Please make me sit down now, please, please, please. "All right, thanks...gamer", Mr. Jobs said, while typing his hands in midair as well. The laughter continued. I dropped to my seat, shameful. Nice job, Jimbo. You really had them going. Seriously, the world's funniest comedian called. He said he wants his jokes back. "Next, you girl, with the pigtails", Mr.Jobs pointed to a girl with a heavy Chinese-looking pair of eyes. She stood up, and spoke in a very annoying high-pitched voice:" Hi, I'm not saying I like this site, but it's funny. It's a blog called "The World According to Jimbo"-", Oh shit, oh shit, I thought to myself. Not again, not
again. "-and I'll give you a sample on why it's funny." I couldn't watch, I just dropped my head to the table and hide from the upcoming embarassment that was about to haunt me. Tina the high-pitched pig cleared her throat, and recited a passage from the monitor showing my journal.
"November 7, 2009
Hey Jimbo
I don't know why everybody in my school is just too hard to understand. There's the sports people, the popular people, the nerds table, they're all highly cliched.
Why does my school have to be so unoriginal? How come it's too invaded with people with such big heads? I can never seem to find any friends in this godforsaken school
of how much frustrating I find it to be. ARRRGGGHHHHH!!!!!"

People laughed when she made the "Arggh" noise (probably because she sounded like a pig getting raped). I found some people chattering in their classmates' ear and pointing at my direction. Great, they're spawning new blood. "Thanks for that, Tina". Tina the pig looked like she just won an award and sat down to chat and giggle with her other farmville friends. I was left but to hide my face for the entire session. By the time the school bell rang, I dashed out of the room, leaving some of my classmates looking at me like I was crazy. They already thought I was so what's the point? I didn't know what to do next, I didn't want to go my next class, and I didn't want to face theoe morons again. There was really only one thing left to do: Go back to the bathroom stall and hide in there for the rest of the day. As I walked towards one of the fourth floor comfort rooms, I began to realize that this was a big mistake. From the distance, I saw one of the jocks from my Computer Applications class. He was standing at the side of the comfort room door, his eyes looking at the sight of little me, grin growing broadly. "Oh shit", I muttered, and I turned back, but instead, I clashed onto the chest of another jock. I dropped to the ground, and saw that there were two of them, looking at me, smiling.I heard the footsteps of the giant jock who was waiting for me at the comfort room heading towards me. The two jocks forced me to stand up, held my arms together, and made me face to the direction of the jock heading this way. The jock looked at me, and spit on my face. "Hello, freak meat", the jock growled, while other two who were holding my arms together guffawed loudly. What happened next...I don't even want to talk about it. All I can say is what happened after they left the comfort room. And it's not pretty.

I withdrew my head from the toilet bowl. My head was soaked with urine. I ran and vomitted all over the sink. After that, I frantically washed my head all over many many times, but the stench of urine still remains. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like shit. Literally. My soaking hair was just flew around places. I didn't feel the sense of remorse nor had the feeling to release my humiliation. I was humiliated, of course, but I was angry and shaking all over. "You're pathetic", I spat at the mirror, and I turned off the water from the sink.

At the same time, the comfort room door opened, and I almost jumped. Could it be those jocks returned to give me extra flushies? Wedgies? Purple nurple, perhaps? But no, the person who came in was no jock. In fact, if he was even a jock, I would have laughed my ass off. The guy was skinnier than I was. He had a very neatly done hair (combed every five minutes, I bet) which gave him the look of one of those preppy school spirit kids. He even wore a sweater vest. The guy looked at me, and his eyes widened at the grim sight. Of course, who wouldn't be taken by surprise of seeing a kid simply drenched and smelled like urine? I felt my cheeks burning with embrassment. Just go, man.Just...leave me alone to my despair.
But he didn't. Instead he smiled in a very unususal way. Not smiling out of malice or smiling out of awkwardness, but smiling out of friendliness. Weird.
"Woah-ho, what happened in here?", the smiling guy asked. He walked up next to me, and washed his hands on the sink next to mine. I looked around a bit stupidly, thanks to the mix of awkardness of humiliation burning up inside me. "Uuhh, err...nothing". "Dosen't seem like nothing, friend", the guy replied. His voice sounded....weird. His voice sounded a lot like those salesmen you see selling microwave oven on the Shopping Network. He turned off the water, and looked at me again, while drying up his hands on his sweater. I just looked at him stupidly. "Errr..." "Oh I see", he said, holding his hand up and nodding like I just made a very valid statement. "Flushies. Don't worry, friend. It happens. I got one a few months back,so...it happens". He smiled at me. okay, this guy is just...weird. And why does he keep smiling like that? He walked nearer to me, and held out his hand. "The name's Downer, friend", he told me, still smiling. "And yours?" I didn't take the hand.
"Uhh...Jimmy". "Jimmy, that's a nice name", he smiled, withdrawing his hand. "Listen, Jimmy, would you like to hang out with me after dismissal? We could go to my house and play some video games, watch some TV. What do you say?" Okay, this was getting more awkward. I had to find a way out of this. "Uhh...I can't...got...things to do...at home". "I see, I see", Downer nodded, as if he understood what I said clearly. "Well, if you change your mind, just call me on my cell. Here's my card". He took out a plain white calling card from his pocket and gave it to me. What kind of skinny teenager has a calling card these days? Either way, my shaky hand took it and kept it in my pocket. "I'll see you around, Jimmy". He smiled at me one last time and left the room.



Wendy:
"Just a little more puff", I said to the mirror. I had to go to the comfort room again. PE class with Coach Silverman just left my face dripping with sweat after the warm-up was over. I mean, why would anyone put a yucky subject like PE that only leaves you sweat and germs on your body? I dipped powder on the puffy furball-thingy and dibbed it more and more on my cheeks until no signs of facial moles can be seen on my face. "And done". I put the furball back in my make-up kit and put my make-up kit back in my bag. I looked at myself in the mirror. I look absolutely... wait for it...FABBY...LOUS.Fabulous. The powder certainly whitened my face significanty. My mascara looked heavy enough to showcase my wonderful blue eyes. My heart-shaped ear rings certainly put a playgirl lolita-type of thing to my appearane, plus my yellow-and-white striped jacket? Unspeakable fabulousness. I was ready to go. I smiled at my self, and gazed on my pink wrist watch. 11:39. What was my next class again? I took my timetable out of my purse.

" Student's Name: Wendy Q. Wittington Year Level: Sophomore Student No.: 865211

CLASS SCHEDULE
( S.Y: 2010 - 2011 )

Time Subject Title Teacher Room No. of Days
7:40 - 8:40 Ecology Ms. Karen Tuchi 207 M-W-F 8:45 - 9:45 Asian History Mr. Ernest Basho 302 M-T-W-TH-F 10:00 - 10:30 RECESS M-T-W-TH-F
10:30 - 11:30 Home Economics Mr. Wrigley Ernest 109 W
Physical Education Mr. Philip Silverman 112 MWF
Guidance Counseling Mr. Thomas Mapother 305 TH
11:35 - 12:35 Geometry Mr. Al Ritmus 401 M-T-W-TH-F
12:35 - 1:35 LUNCH M-T-W-TH-F
1:35 - 2:35 Communication Skills Mrs. Gabrielle Dilla 111 MTWTHF
2:40 - 3:40 Guidance Counseling Mr. Darren Ritcher 312 T
Computer Applications Mr. Bill Jobs 307 M-TH-W
Club Activities F”

Geometry. Oh noooo. My worst subject? Why? Either way, like the cool fabulous girl I am, I simply ignored this fact, and walked out of the comfort room, only to be almost slipped over by a puddle of water coming from the boys' comfort room. Ugh, they can be just so...eww. I ran to the right wing of the floor, and found Room 401.

I didn't come in the door but I pressed my ear near to it. From what I heard, The class already started, and the Geometry was now calling out the names. "Perry", he called. "Here!", yelled a boy's voice inside. "Quistina!" "Here!" I felt my jaw drop. O.M.G... Martoinette Quistina, the French exchange student is in my class! She is like one of the most beautiful and most popular girls in this school. IF I get to be friends with her (which is inevitable), then I just got myself a hot ticket to the latest Pebblecreek High parties! I almost hyperventilated at teh very thought. "Okay relax, Wends" I said to myself, while fanning my hands. You have to make a fabulous first impression, Wends, I thought to myself. You have to act not just fabulous but FABULOUS, in all capital letter glory. I have to look fabulous and I have to at fabulous. That way, when she sees fabulous old me walking about the classroom, Martoinette will think."My God, who is this beautiful gir? How come I've never seem her before? I must be BFFs with her ASAP!"
“Ricci!”
“Here!”
Okay, okay. Wends, “Wittington” isn't going to arrive in like ten years. You HAVE to think of a grand entrance right away. I practiced strutting back and forth, but had to take my heels off so I wouldn't make any disturbance, or let the people inside the room hear my fabulous heels and give me away. I carefully took them off, and placed them against the wall. One thing I knew was that I would only come inside the room the moment that geeky teacher announces my name. Then I make my entree in such a dramatic fashion that people could just freak with admiration.
“Tesla!”
“Here!”
Criss-cross,criss-cross, I walked calmly again and again, correcting any signs of imbalance, and just maintaining my perfect figure. I spotted a passingby janitor looking at me with wide eyes. Pervert.
"Vista!"
"Here!"
Oh gosh, I better get going!, I thought. I quickly took my heels, and put them on.
"Weller!"
"Here!"
Argh, the left heels was a wee too tight! I had to force them in, but be careful of ruining it.
"Wittington!"
My heart jumped a bit, that the shoe finally gave way, but...
NO!, I thought. One of the laces were severed when I forced my foot in! My shoes are ruined! Ruined! I felt like sobbing my eyes out.
"Wittington!"
That had to do later. I stood up and pushed the door open.
"Here!", I announced gracefully in tone. Surely enough peoples' heads turned at my direction. Even the teacher's eyes widen as he looked at me. Really, there's too much pedophiles in this school. I saw Martoinette sitting at the middle of the class...looking at ME! My heart almost jumped for joy.  But,  I found no seat even remotely close
to Martoinette's. Stupid wannabees. The only chair I found vacant was at the back, so I strutted my way towards there. Due to the hasty timing, I found my strut to be slightly wobbly and imbalanced as well. But I tried to improve the best as I could, but when I finally felt like my strut pattern improved, I already reached my seat, so I stopped and took a seat quietly. I looked at the room in front of me. Martoinette was really the only popular girl in the entire room, since the other students were just a bunch of nobodies who didn't even care about improving their social status, like those girls with super-short bubble pink colored hair with black-painted fingernails two seats beside me. They were just hideous to look at. No fashion sense at all, it's disgusting. How can those girls live with themselves?! At least Martoinette had some style. Her beautiful dirty blond hair was gracefully placed, and she was whispering with her friend. Now she knew how to work it. When those girls start asking why Martoinette and I were so close and they weren't close with me as well, I would not even think about replying to them saying that it's their own fault why they didn't even care about the way they look. Good riddance for them.

The old guy clapped his hand and started talking:"Okay now that we finished taking attendance,  let's start on...Introduction to Geometry. Now guys, Geometry is actually considered an art. You know why? How do artists measure up the horizons or the figures that they paint up? By the way they angled their artwork, of course. Say one artist wants to paint a scenery with mountains and forestry and the sun rising up, like this one-" He pulled out a pretty picture from his briefcase "- he'll measure how large how big the mountains will be, and how far the sun's rays touches each mountain."

His babbles went on for like decades. I could swear that my make-up was wearing off. Oh gosh, this is taking so long. All he was babble,babble,babble, like it's just...ugh. Then, as if Mother Chanel just played one on me, he announced:
"Okay guys, let's have our first quiz!"
Many groans erupted in the classroom. Even Martionette frowned.
"Oh come on guys, it's easy, it's just gonna be about prime and composite numbers, it's easy!"
Martionette started getting her paper and pen out of her bag. This is definitely the time for me to shine, for everyone to truly notice Wendy Wittington,  all-starry glory. I cleared my throat. "Can we like not have a quiz on numbers? I mean, act like a real teacher for once, darling". Everyone turned their heads on me. But no one laughed. Everybody looked at me like I was...Jimmy. The old guy frowned at me. "You know, it's just been one day, and I almost can't stand at your behavior, young lady", he snapped. "You either take the test or get out and I'll drop you out of my class". Gulp. I flashed a very weak smile, and looked at Martoinette. She was looking at me, and her friend was whsipering something to her ear, and she nodded along. Great. I took out my pen and paper at once.

After the quiz, the bell rang, and I almost ruined my heels (again) just to rush out of there. I felt like crying. That period was a disaster. Thanks to my awful teacher and socially-deprived classmates, Martoinette's gonna look down on me! Argh, I hate those people. How can they NOT get my joke? If everyone had a BRAIN, they would have all laughed at my joke, and Martoinette would have done the same. Argh, it's so unfair, unfair, unfair!

My cellphone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and answered it. Krishna's voice came out: "Wends, we're at the cafeteria, and you won't guess...our table's almost at the center of the room!" My down-spiritedness changed. My voice shrilled with glee. "No way!", I almost shouted with excitedness. "Yeah way!", Krishna replied, also giddy. "Everyone's just loving our new outfits so much, that the B-kids offered their table to us!"
"I knew it! I always felt they wanted us to join their gang ever since last year!"
"I know, right? Anyways, come here ASAP. Jean's here with me".
"All right, sweetiepums, see you!"
"Love ya!"

Oh my gosh, I can't believe it! We're almost at the center of the table! Looks like Mother Chanel was sorry for my embarassment earlier on. I forgive you, Mother Chanel. I forgive you. I went straight to the comfort room at once to apply more mascara and make-up to my face, which took about fifteen measly minutes. After that, I was good as new. Everyone just looked at me on the way to the cafeteria.

After I climbed down the staircase, I stopped a few good steps before the cafeteria doors. This is it, Wendy. Everyone in the entire school's in that cafeteria, and they're all gonna look at you and love you.This it it. Don't screw it up like Geometry, okay?

I took a deep breath, and went inside the cafeteria.

It was a mad packhouse. Almost every Freshman, Sophomore, Junior, and Senior high school students were inside, eating their lunch, talking, and looking at the table on the near center. There they were, Jean and Krishna, my fabulous friends, looking entirely gorgeous. Jean's scrunchy blood red dress and red stockings were tops. But between you and me, Krishna was just...mindblowing. I had no idea where Krishna got that giant frame (most likely from her host parents...remember, they're naturists, and what's the difference between them and art lovers? Nothing), but she hung it inside her Indian green robes in a slanting position, like those Indian pashminas she wears all the time. They spotted me, and waved an enthusiastic yet graceful wave. I waved back, and strutted towards our table. As I walked, I felt clicks of cameras following me, and I just couldn't be any happier. It felt like I was in the red carpet premiere of some romantic comedy starring Wendy Wittington. I sat down in our table. Jean and Krishna were just smiling so broadly that they couldn't believe what was happening to them as well. We held hands and made a 'yeep' sound like what we always do when we're all excited. "Can you believe it!?", Jean said joyfully. "We're in the center of attention!" "I know!", I replied happily. "We've been stared at all this time ever since we came here", Krishna told me. "Everyone's just looking at us and flashing their cameras. We are so going to be in the school newspaper!" "Yeep!", we all cheered again. "And guess what?", Krishna said.
"What?"
"Jeremy Landons was totally staring at me a while ago!"
"No way!"
"Yes way!"
"This is so like the best first day ever!"
"I know, right?"

As we started eating (carefully, since we were all aware we were being watched by our admiring crowd), I noticed the environment around me. People were pointing at me, and were just grinning like...I brought something new in their table. I felt like they finally knew the purpose on why Wendy Wittington ever existed in this world: for their admiration and entertainment.

It didn't take long for something special to arrive once again. At the same time when I was asking Krishna how come the B-people weren't sitting with us at their table, Mother Chanel sent her angel to us once again. As I have told you before, the A-kids' table sat near the B-kids table. I noticed throughout the break that the A-kids were all looking at us with smiles and grins (something of which just brought a nuclear explosion of excitement towards us girls' spines). Now, one of them was standing up from her seat and walking towards our table. It was Charlotte Piggins, the most popular Sophomore of all Pebblecreek High. Oh my gosh, my dream had come true. She's finally hanging out with us! We were trying all our very best to restrain our giddiness and excitement as she walked closer and closer. Finally, she arrived, and looked at us with a smile. Her arm touched her perfectly curved side, and then she spoke to all three of us: "Hey,those are some...nice dresses. What were your inspiration?" "Lady Gaga", Jean replied quicker than me and Krishna did. Krishna was so excited that she shouted "Lady Gaga" loudly. People were starting to laugh. Me and Jean shot Krishna a dirty look. Her cheeks were turning red from embarassment. She had to ruin our cool. "Nice", Charlotte said, her smile growing wider and wider. "Say, you don't mind me taking a photograph of you girls, right?" She pulled an expensive-looking camera from her pocket. We all said "of course" almost at once. "That's awesome, girls", Charlotte said. She held up her camera high and focused it on us. "Don't you want to join the shot, Charlotte?", Jean asked her in a tone as if they were BFFs for years. "No, no", Charlotte said, her smile growing wider and wider, and her voice sounding a bit funny. "This picture is all about you...girls.Say cheese!" "Cheese!", we all chorused. Click! "Thanks girls", she said. "Do you want to sit with us, Charlotte?", I asked her automatically. I felt a bit ashamed after saying that. How can I talk to CHARLOTTE PIGGINS without thinking about it? I must have sounded bossy. But Charlotte didn't seem to mind. In fact, she thought it was quite a really friendly gesture, because she was giggling. "No, I should go back to my table, girls". "All right, thanks Charlotte!", Jean beamed at her. "Ta-ta", giggled Charlotte once more and walked back to her table, where her friends were gathering around her, asking what just happened. Jean, Krishna and me looked at each other, and just couldn't believe our luck. I was right all along. This was going to be the best school year EVER.


Mark:
"Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah", the humongous parrot droned on and on. On and on she went, her horn-rimmed glasses almost slipping off her sharp face, but that didn't matter. Nothing else mattered. It's like time has dramatically slown down, because all I could focus on were those...sags. I could barely take my eyes off it. I may be fucking bored in this classroom, but those...those cannot be normal, those bloodsuckers under those arms of hers, waving to me and begging for my attention. "Hey Mark! Come touch my beautiful sags!", those Spongebob-deformed pair spoke to me telephatically. Not telephatically...it's more supernatural and paranormal than telepathic...the power of those sags has been here in this planet since the beginning of time, where God and Satan still had a bitchfight over who gets to sleep at the top bunk and who gets to sleep on the bottom bunk. Those sags looked like teeth God punched out of Satan's gross-out mouth. And fuck, it's trying to lure me fucking in. I tore my eyes off those saggy arms of hers (which took a great amount of effort, trust me), and looked at the blackboard behind her.

" Ms. Frida Sweetums
Home Economics Teacher "

I felt like puking. Oh fuck, I should have never found out what her name was. Now I'm gonnastart imagining those sags of hers as pastries. FUCK IT.
Okay Mark, I thought. Stop looking at Sagzilla over there. Think about something else. How about that hot chick who winked at you at Asian History? Or giving Nick Webster that sonic wedgie over the boys' comfort room? No...how about looking at your right, dumbass?

I turned my head right, and there was Charlotte, mouth widely open in shock while her eyes still hadn't escape SweetSags' power. Fuck, what I would give to put my cock inside that mouth. Look at it, wide open, begging me to put it in. Fuck, she must be a good sucker. All conservative Christian girls are. Why do you think they like lollipops when they were kids so much? For practice in later life. My eyes lowered down to stare at her perky breasts. My heart jumped. SHE WASN'T WEARING ANY BRA. I could see her tits pointing up in the air like a pair of thumbtacks. Oh sweet mother of Peter. Fuck, what I would give to take that shirt off, and suck one of those tits of hers. My fuck, I can't imagine how loud she would moan with pleasure if I did until I made her nipples wet with saliva. Fuck, she would be a good fuck. A GOOD ONE.

I felt Marky Mark slowly getting a whiplash from below. I tore my eyes off those magnificent breasts of Charlotte Piggins, and looked at the blackboard (while trying to ignore Sweetsags' gaze at the same time). I need to tame Marky Mark. And I mean tame it immediately. I can't just stare at those tits of hers and not do anything about it like some desperate 14 year old loser. Dammit, I never even got to fucking SECOND BASE with her yet! And I can't let this stay for long, I'm fucking Mark Silverman, for the love of all saint's fuck. I can do this, even if we're at this fucking class. Just touch that sweet girl's tits. I can do this. Just start it all slow, and work your way up to the top, like what you did with Mrs. Zimmerman last year. If you can get inside a teacher's pants, there's no way you cannot get into a normal girl's pants.SERIOUSLY. So I straightened my back out for a bit, leaned back, and slowly raised my arm and placed it on Charlotte's left arm. Charlotte felt my sweet and horny touch, looked at me, and smiled. She leaned forward, and placed her head on my chest. Awesome, I'm halfway done. Just slowly, but surely, I moved my arm closer and closer to her sweet pointy breasts, and-

Charlotte suddenly slaps my incoming hand. Ngek,ngek,ngek, Game over! Fuck. Groaning, I retracted my hand back to her fucking shoulder. Charlotte giggled slightly, like it was all a joke. Yes, funny, two months into a relationship, and I never even got to touch your boob.ONCE. Haha, that's reeallly funny, you bitch. Shortly, I found out that anger was the best food you could ever give to Sagzilla because for just thirty seconds, I was sucked right back in to looking at those sags.

After what seemed like saggy months, a yellow piece of paper was passed to my seat. I tore my eyes off Sagszilla, and looked at what was written on the paper. It said "GIRLS' RATING: HOME ECONOMICS EDITION" on top, and below was a list of all twenty girls in this class. There was already ratings for the girls on one column, with "ALAN" written on top, and next to "ALAN" was an empty column written "MARK". I looked at my left. Alan Broderick nodded at me. I resisted to make a 'pfft' sound. Thanks to me being the coach's son and also the sure person to get into the varsity basketball team this year, guys have been trying to suck my nuts off all summer and today just to convince my dad on how great they are as potential basketball players. Alan Broderick is a preppy. He's not a jock, he's a preppy, and preppies can't shoot for shit. And seriously, how the fuck dare he manipulate a serious the Girl's Rating. The Girl's Rating is a way for us guys (or simply, my group) to determine who's hot and who's just butt ugly in our classes by rating them from 1 to 10 in this sheet of paper. It's a great way for us to acknowledge who deserves to suck our cocks and who deserves to eat our turds. It's like the letters between the KKK back in the Spanish Rule. It's an important thing for all dudekind. Now dorkheads and dickheads have fucking stolen our sacred ritual and turned it to a fucking sell-out, like this faggot nodding at me right here. Asswipe.

But yet, I was bored. I was willing to do anything to resist the sags and to tame down my whiplash. I had to answer this ritual, but I have to remind myself to throw Alan Broderick into a dumpster later.  I retracted my arm from Charlotte's shoulder,took her pen and began Girl #1: Stacy Anastakis. I looked at the girl at the top left. Brown hair, hazel eyes, Greek facial features. "9/10", I wrote below "MARK". Next, Girl #2: Alexandra Chang. Deadly short black hair, pierce rings on her nose. "2/10". Girl #3:  Ginny Kendrick. Brown hair, nice red cheeks. "7/10". Girl #4: Hilary Larson. Black hair, pink lipstick."9/10".

The list went on and on and was a so-so way of keeping me busy (though it was a hassle to cover the paper away from Charlotte's gaze; girlfriends actually don't like it when they see their boyfriends making a list of girls they think are fuckable. How prude of those girls.), and it helped me pass by twenty more minutes of sag time, so when the school bell finally rang (I was already at Girl#18), I gave my unfinished ratings back to Alan, and left the room with Charlotte, while Alan was smirking at his friends, as if his slot at the basketball team is safe. I reminded myself to force Alan to eat more trash than he originally had to later on).

I nibbled Charlotte's ear until she giggled uncontrollably, and pushed my head off her ear. Yeah, laugh it all off, bitch. Fuck you and your conversative tight ass.I smirked, and kissed her on the cheek. "So, what's up next?", I asked her. "Assembly at the auditorium, then dismissal time", she spoke as she scanned through her schedule. "Fuck that, babe", I said. "Let's just ditch school". "What in the world are you talking about, Mark?", she smiled. "You know, hop off this hellhole, stroll at the park, go to some fancy restaurant, renting a motel room. You know, the usual". She laughed and punched me playfully on the ribs. Why'd you have to go laugh at my misery, whore? "First, like that's going to happen", Charlotte said. "And second, your dad's probably at that assembly, and he'll fry your butt off if you don't come". "He dosen't care", I replied, smirking. That was a fucking lie. Dad cares. A LOT. He wants me to be everywhere if it's some school-oriented shit, just to show that his son isn't like any of those gung-ho assholes you see down the hallway. He wants to show to the whole fucking world that his son is the real fucking ace in the hole. He ain't messing around. He has the perfect face that spells varsity basketball captain, and he'll tear your ass apart if you disagree. "But still", Charlotte said. "You wouldn't want to know what happens if you don't show up, do you Mark?" "You're too careful, babe", I chucked. Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.

So we skiddled along the corridor, greeting some passingby people (and also made this douche-looking asshole trip over. The guy's face was annoying me), slapping high-fives with the guys while Charlotte chatted with the girls, until we went inside the auditorium, which was pretty packed with talkative people. We didn't need to look for seats. Since we're not asswipes, like most of the people here, people actually take in mind to reserve seats for us, so when we got there, a couple of people, who insisted that we had met before, gave their seats to us. We shooed off these insects and sat down. I continued kissing Charlotte's neck (but if I got my way, she would be giving me a dry handjob by now)  and entertaining her (at least one of us is entertained), when Ronald jumped behind us. Charlotte gasped, while I elbowed Ronald in the nads. While Ron was howling with pain, Thomas, another friend of mine who's an exchange student from London, also came up to us  and sat next to me. "What's up there, old chap?", Ronald asked me in his British accent, which is a subject to much ridicule, but Thomas is a very big guy so we're careful to not be that assholish towards him. "Nothing much", I replied. "Aside from Ronald being a complete douche". "Haha, fuck you asswipe", Ronald said, as he sat down next to Ronald, with his hand on his crotch. "And thanks for that, I ain't sharing any of this". He pulled out a gigantic bag full of weed in his pocket. All of us gasped. "Buggers", said Thomas, with his mouth wide open. "Woah", I said. "Where the fuck did you get that?" "Found it in that dork Peter's locker. Turns out even losers actually smoke weed". "Yeah, that's pretty plausible", I said. "That explains why they're fucking losers: they got their heads all smoked up with weed". "That's disgusting", Charlotte grimaced as she looked at the bag. "You just don't like it since Jesus Christ never smoked weed", I smirked, while Ronald and Thomas snorted with laughter. "Hey, don't take Christ's name in vain, you dumbass", Charlotte snapped. "But babe, come on, weed is a plant", I soothed her. "God creates plant, henceforth, he wants us to smoke weed".  "Eww, fuck that", etched Charlotte. You're just lucky you're hot, you sacriligious bitch. I turned my head back to Ronald. "So, wanna give some a-lightin' in your house later, man?" "Fuck you", sniggered Ronald. "I ain't giving you my shit. Not to fucking boneheads who like to rub my balls all day". "You don't know the meaning of balls unless you get a pair of bowling balls and hang them on your crotch, asswipe", I chuckled. "I know I got a bigger pair than you, Peewee Herman", Ronald shot back. "Pair of what? Titties?" We all laughed, which was cut short when Thomas pointed to the doors and said,"Check it".  I turned my head and saw three girls wearing absolutely the strangest shit I've ever seen. One had so much mascara and make-up on her face that she looked like The Joker. One was wearing some kind of spacesuit, while the other one had a frame stuck on her body. I could see people pointing at them and sniggering. "What the fuck", I said. Charlotte laughed at my reaction. "I know, right? They were like that at the cafeteria at lunch break. Me and the girls are planning something...special for those retards later". "Like what, build them a spaceship?", I said. "Close, but not the cigar", grinned Charlotte. Our eyes followed those girls as they searched for a seat, with everybody backing away from them (their costumes took about two seats each). What the fuck is going on in the fucking world these days?

The teachers then suddenly came in the room. They were all talking casually, with my dad guffawing with Mr. Frye, the Chemistry teacher. Teacher after teacher came in, until I found the flea in the hair. It was Liz Dawson-no-bosom, coming in the room, talking with her dad, who was also a teacher here in high school. I noticed dad was looking at the sight of father and daughter with a leer on his. Dad HATED Mr. Dawson. They hated each other since their own high school days. Dad told me that when they were young, Mr.Dawson was exactly like Liz: an overachiever. Dad was captain of the basketball team while Mr. Dawson was the student body president, which meant they always tried to one-up each other with just about anything. Mr. Dawson even tried to sabotage Dad several times to make him fail in their conquests. Dad,unlike Mr. Dawson, had common sense, so he knew exactly what Mr.Dawson was getting up to and forced it back to that academic ass of his. The feud still resumed today, but with a new form: Both had spawns. Liz Dawson was an extremely irritating person. She thinks she's all smart with that big-ass brain of hers, but like her dad, she has no common sense. Everything about that girl, even of the very sight of her, makes me want to hang myself.

My eyes followed Liz as she left her father, and took a seat beside those numbskull nerds far away from mine.Even at such a distance, Liz' eyes found mine, and her face grimaced like I was some kind of leech. I gave her the finger, which she responded to a fake smirk and made up that 'W' sign with her fingers. Fucking bitch.

"Ahem-ahem", Principal McAllister's voice boomed from the front. My face turned away from Dawson-no-bosom, and looked at the teachers, already seated behind speaker on the stage. Dad looked still, with a smile on his face, like a cowboy all ready to go. Mr. Dawson, on the other hand, was scanning through his suitcase, his glasses almost slipping off his nose. Tsk,tsk,tsk, so much like her daughter. No wonder how she turned up to be such a bitch.

"Good afternoon, students of Pebblecreek High, and welcome to another school year. Hopefully this year will be fulfilling for all of you, with your brains be full of knowledge and learn a few valuable things that you hopefully will adapt in your own personal life. Classes have started earlier, so I hope all of you are adjusting fine and having a good time, and also keeping in mind that all of you have homework to do when you get home in your sweet loving homes."
 
He then started to introduce all the staff and teachers in the school, so one by one, all of them stood up from their chairs, walked to the empty space next to Principal McAllister's speaker booth, and bowed down. Notable mentions were Ms. Wienershnav, who bowed way too low (not that I'm complaining), Mr. Ellis, whose false teeth fell out as he bowed down, Dad, who flashed a wink towards the audience after bowing down, and Willie, the janitor who gave everyone the stink eye after only a few (three or four people, I think) clapped for him.

After the introduction of the staff, Principal McAllister spoke again:

"That was wonderful. Now moving on, announcements for this month. Varsity basketball tryouts will be held this Wednesday afternoon, 3:40pm, at Room 112. Only Sophomores and above can audition, so sorry Freshmen, but you have to wait next year."

Some groans from the Freshmen boomed out. Dickheads. They couldn't shoot if their mommas wouldn't give them fresh diapers first.

"Auditions for the glee and drama club will be held this Friday, so for those who are interested, feel free.  Also, going out of the school during recess and lunch break is strictly not allowed, so if I hear another call from the local residents of this city, complaining about vandalizing or harassment, the consequences will be severe. Same goes for the conduct here in school. No vandalizing in the libraries, no using of classrooms with improper intentions, like that fight club those boys had last year. We are a top-rate high school, everybody, so let's show everybody how true Pebblecreekians behave. Well, I guess that's all of it. Thank you very much for listening, and have a very pleasant stay here in Pebblecreek High."

Chapter One- Summer (April-June)

CHAPTER ONE- SUMMER (APRIL-JUNE)

April 12, 2010
Liz:
" Good morning, Desposition! This is DJ Tumbletom, and my oh my what a wonderful morning! What better way to spend your summer days than to go outside, have a dip at the beach, and relax, eh? Now you might ask me,"Oh DJ Tumbletom, I don't want to go to the beach!" Well, I say, "Screw you!", but oh well to the squares out there, at least you'll be better off at our wonderful park! Forecast, thanks to our awesome weather guy, seems to be one cloudy day, so what a perfect way to "read a book" or "play chess", eh?Eh?Eh?Now, let's go to-"

I turned the radio off, and instant silence flew out of my tiny earphones. What joy does the radio bring if there's something else better off that's just right under your nose? No high school kids. I just realized it. One of the best things in the world, in my opinion. And I just realized it. I couldn't help but have a big flashing smile in my face. I felt like a deer who just found out the entire forest is clear of wolves, or Kanye West who found out that Obama is actually a black person. I waved to old Mr. Crockett who was opening up his hardware store, I helped old Mrs. Mason cross the street, I avoided the pedophile Mr. Mason's gaze. All is well.

I turned right, and stayed put as I gazed at my castle. My own version of Hogwarts. The Pebblecreek Library.

I inhaled the beautiful morning air, and stepped foot inside. There I found were rows and rows of books. From the classic daring novels like The Catcher in the Rye to...Twilight (I mean every disgust). I struggled with the urge to as what the foul cretins in school say "jizz in my pants", and walked towards the librarian's corner, where the wonderful Ms. Danderburg sat, sleeping with her head down on the table. I faked a little cough, causing Mrs. Danderberg to lift her head up. Her sleepy eyes found mine. "Oh Liz Dawson, you gave me quite a start!", Mrs. Danderburg said lazily. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Danderburg", I said politely. "It's alright, dear", she said, starting to stand up. "It's good that you came by, I need to get something from my house." She took her purse from the table, and faced me again. "Now, you've been here for only a week, but it seems like you already know what makes this place tick...unlike Mr. Giardi." She made a face. "I think Mr.Giardi still needs some time to heal", I told her emphasizing traces of kindness left in my firm yet understanding voice. "After all, he did catch his wife having sex with a-" "I don't think I want to hear Mrs. Giardi's pansexuality again", she said shivering. "But perhaps your right. If more people had mind like yours, Ms. Dawson, then maybe this city could actually rise up towards the economic crisis." "Oh shucks, Mrs. Danderburg!", I smiled at her. She smiled back. “Well, I guess I better be going then”, she started to walk. “Take care of this place, Elizabeth.” “Will do, Ms.Danderburg”, I flashed my smile at her once again. “Ta-ta!”, she waved her tiny right hand, and walked away. Away from the rows and rows of welcoming books and into the sunny yet apprehensive world. “Ta-ta”, I said a little softly. I could feel the ultra sweetness of the scene bleeding out from my ears. But like what my father always says,”Be more, please more”. If I want to get out of this dead end city and set my sights on the bigger stuff, I have to go right to the big people, and play devil's advocate for them.
I set my backpack down the table, and looked around my environment. I could see two people in the Horror section, one old lady in the Periodicals section, and some young guy in the Children's section. Oh, and the usual staff: Brundle, sleeping inside the Photocopy corner and Mr.Alexis, sorting out the law books and medical journals upstairs. Hmm, not really crowded, but hey the usual. I took out a book from the 'Reserved' shelf, sat down, and began to read. “The Laws of Astrophysics”. I have to admit that I am a bit slow in terms of astronomical subjects. It's just not something that interests me. I guess my dad just made me focus on literature so much that I forgot all about science. But hey, that's why God invented books.

“At first, only empirical rules are discovered, such as Kelper's Laws of Planetary Motion, discovered at the start of the 17th century. Later that century, Isaac Newton bridged the gap between Kepler's laws and Galileo's dynamics, discovering that the same laws that rule the dynamics of objects on Earth rule the motion of planets and-”

“Excuse me”, a voice echoed out. I plunged myself out of the astrophysics universe, and faced my intruder. Outside the librarian's corner stood the old lady who was looking around the Periodicals section. She held an ancient looking magazine, with some typical 50's Marilyn Monroe stereotype model as the front cover picture. “Yes, how may I help you, ma'am?”, I asked politely, expertly and cleverly hiding my sense of annoyance."I was just wondering how much this magazine cost, dearie?", the old hat asked, her voice cracking with dust. Are you kidding me!? "Err, ma'am, this is a library, not a bookstore", I said a little more polite than what was necessary. "Yes, yes, I see that, so does 50 pesos cover it?", asked the old lady, clearly not listening to a single word that I said. Self-control, Liz. Self-control. "Ma'am", I said with a little firmly this time around."This is not a bookstore.This is a library. You can only read periodicals here, not claim them as your property. However, you can get a xerox copy of the magazine. There's a fellow named Brundle over there who would be more than happy to assist you." I pointed to the photocopy section where Sleepyhead Brundle still lay his head down the expensive-looking xerox machine. "I see", the old lady said softly. "Well, thank you for your time." "My pleasure", I lied. She then walked away to dear Brundle's loving sleepy arms.Good luck, Brundle. I turned my attention back to my book.

To my great displeasure, I encounter a lot of people like the old clueless lady in the library. Much unfortunate to say is that I encounter them everyday. But to mark the most special ones, let's see, day two of my summer employment, a dungy looking college student asked if the papers in the books could be teared up for "natural purposes". Day five,
a man with an aura of a preschool kid asked if he could borrow the books in the library. And now, day seven, the old dingbat who couldn't tell the difference between a library and National Bookstore. I laid my head down, and attempted to absorb myself once more with the book.
"-the moon. Celestial mechanics, the application of Newtonian gravity and Newton's laws to explain Kepler's laws of planetary motion, was the first unification of astronomy and-"


Jimmy:
"Excuse me".The girl tore her eyes off the book and looked at me. Is it me or did I just hear a growl? "Yes?", the girl asked, her teeth clenched. I felt a bit nervous to speak. This is why I hate going to libraries, offices, principal's offices and other places where stuffy people lie inside, waiting for their next prey. It's like they're waiting to tear their claws at my neck. I heard a stutter coming out of my mouth. "Yes?", the girl repeat, a little more loudly this time. Shit, this girl is tighter than Mrs. Crabsapple, the old lady next door to my house, which is saying much since Mrs. Crabsapple once threw her cat to a bunch of kids in Halloween. She's been in prison ever since.

I put the book that I was holding on the table. The girl held and looked at it."Through the Looking-Glass", she said. "Tweedledum, Tweedledee", she added, and surprisingly made a grin. Alas, she has a soul. "Err...excuse me?", I asked without thinking. She looked at me back, put the book down, and returned to her old business-like self. "Nothing, just characters in the book", she said in a hurried tone. "Good choice.I reckon you read this book when you were a little kid?" "Err..no", I replied. This is looking more and more like a job interview at the Pryce Building. "Just curious, that's all." "It's a wonderful book", she said earnestly (or i think it was earnest)."It's a perfect sequel to Alice in Wonderland though I don't really call it a sequel, it's more like a...retelling or some sort." "Err, yeah", I said smiling awkwardly. "You're gonna love it, make sure you read the part about The Walrus and the Carpenter.Ooh, and also Jabberwocky". "Right". She gazed at me, feeling myself being x-rayed...not the hot kind. I know that look she was giving me right now. I can't count the many times people gave that look to me, particularly the teachers at my high school. Clear as day. You have no idea what I'm saying, do you? It felt like she stared at me for like a century, so I was more than thankful that she finally tear off her yuppie-like eyes off me, and continued to strut about like her other predecessors.
"Well", she began."I hope"-she pulled out a big old-fashioned stamp underneath the table-"you'll have"- she opened the back cover of the book-"a nice time"-she plunged the stamp at the gray paper glued at the last page-"at"-she closed the book and handed it to me-"Wonderland". I looked at her a bit mindlessly, thinking what to do next, then I quickly took the book. "Have a nice day", she smiled at me, but underneath her smile she sent a clear message: "Get the fuck out". I'm more than happy to. I turned around, and walked to the big old-fashioned door, and the moment I stepped out of the library, the sun pretty much made a shit on my face by shining its beams directly at me. I squinted, climbed down the stone steps, and walked to the sidewalk on my left. I could feel my poor posture slumping back on its old place -my shoulders crouching like The Hunchback of Notre Dame. As the sun's warmth surronded my ever so passive brain, random thoughts just took over. So what next, Jimbo? I have no friggin idea. Eat at McDougalls, maybe. Two weeks down, six more weeks to go, Jimbo, that's a reeallly long time. No shit, Sherlock.

I flagged over a passing jeep, and got in. I sat beside a grimy-looking old man who carried a strong smell of gasoline. Awesome. I took out my iPod Touch from my pocket, placed a pair of headphones in my ears, and played a Doves song.

"Out of here
We're out of here
Out of heartache
Along with fear
There goes the fear again
There goes-"

"What's you playin'?", asked the gasoline man abruptly. I could feel his greasemonkey eyes looking at me. I ignored him. "What's you playin'?", the guy repeated a little loudly this time. I tiptapped a little, and scanned my iPod Touch. "Jackass", the man muttered. Screw you, I thought. Nice retaliation, Jimbo. Real nice. Fuck you.

The jeep rode on for five blocks until I signalled it to stopped. I handed out some coins, and gout. I could feel the old greasemonkey still looking at me as he and the jeep rode away. I looked around saw that I was at the old moviehouses that used to show nudie flicks. Now they're just abandoned buildings with faded paint and perfect habitats for ghosts and hobos everywhere.I walked to my right, and stopped right in front of a cheesy looking fast food joint, with a signboard of a mutated smiling banana and orange on top of the roof. I went inside. The inside reflected the outside completely. Loads of pictures involving the banana and orange are plastered all over the walls, the walls and the ceiling are covered with stripes of yellow and orange paint, the floor is covered with yellow and orange tiles. The cashiers,waiters, and busboys were in banana and orange suits, which clearly degraded their human dignity to a significant level. I walked up to the cashier counter. A 20 something guy in a banana suit greeted me with a sense of dullness.Clearly been up partying with the oranges."Welcome to McDougalls, may I take your order?" 'Err...one big breakfast meal please", I said. Yes folks, even I stutter around people who dressed themselves as fruits. "Cut the bananas, just the orange." . The cashier pressed some buttons on the register, until the price showed up at the small monitor."87 pesos,sir." I reached my wallet from my back pocket, and it fell down, scattering coins everywhere. "Shit", I said quietly. I quickly crouched and awkwardly started getting the coins back in the wallet. I could feel the cashier guy watching me. I hurried up, stood up, took out a hundred peso bill from the wallet and placed it on the counter. The guy took it, placed it inside the register, and said "Wait a moment, sir." I looked around, and saw that the only customers were two guys in biking gear eating a couple of fries, chattering excitedly about their recent biking adventure, and a couple of high school kids (not from my school, I think) talking and guffawing loudly about some hilarious thing that happened to them last night. I wanted to snort loudly. "Here you are, sir". The cashier guy placed a tray with a plate of a nice juicy burger patty, scrambled eggs, garlic rice, and a pair of fresh oranges inside. I nodded the guy in thanks, but of course, he wouldn't give a crap about thanks, and then I took the tray and sat down in the table with farthest distance of the two parties, and began to eat. As I chewed on a big chunk of patty in my mouth, at the corner of my eye, I could see that a guy at the high school kids table pointing a finger at me, said something to his friends, and all of them laughed loudly. I tried not to look at them, and focused on my food. Wished that you didn't go to Health-Hazard Diner now, do you? You think?! How come you didn't just go to the park or go to one of your friends' houses? The park's a fucking dud-dome, and I would go to their houses if I was more close to them. Wait a minute, that's right, you don't have friends, do you, Jimbo? I do have friends, thank you very much. But they're just passerbys, I know that and you know that. They won't even give a single crap if you got crashed by a Hummer or even a SmartCar, for Christ's sake.Neither would they for you, fucker. That's because I'm inside your mind, dumbass.

I quickly finished my meal, and got out fast. It was getting hotter by the hour, so there was nothing much to do than go home, and face my beloved family: Dad, the hard-working architect who always overworks every Monday and Wednesday nights; Mom, the efficient accountant who always takes Tuesday and Thursday nights to get her accounts done; Wendy, my bitch twin sister, most likely up in her room with her similarly annoying friends, talking about "hot boys","makeups",and worst of all ,"school". It's Monday morning, so mom and dad are out of the house which means I'm stuck with Wendy and the crew at the house for the whole day. Oh well, here's hoping that she's out of the house too, giving blowjobs to some hot jock or whatever.

I signalled a jeep, got in, and after six more blocks, I got out. I was at Cherybl Street, near the Austens' house. Mrs. Austen is one of my mother's bestfriends, and...fuck, she's hot. All those times I've been inside that house (while being accompanied by my mom, of course), all I could think about is Mrs. Austen's perfect breasts, just bouncing around (and unfortunately sagging sometimes too) in front of me as she laughs while my mom tells her stories about the business transaction she and this other accountant named Travis had the night before. Wish I could say the same to her daughter, but Mary Austen is the current president of the Chess club, so need to say much?

I snooped around a bit, looking through the windows, trying to see if Mrs. Austen is at the kitchen, washing the dishes. Unfortunately, nobody seemed to be in the house, so I walked away,disappointed, until I reached my house. One of the things I like being a Wittington is that I have a lot of rich relatives. Not to say that my parents' aren't rich, they are, but not in the level of fortune as having goldmines around the province kind of rich. But at least my parents were able to buy our house, which is actually pretty nice. The dining room and the living room are huge, we got about two guest rooms, an attic (though we rarely go inside it much, since it's pretty much insect-infested), and this neat pool outside the backyard.
I went inside. I could hear a distant mixture of chattering and giggling upstairs. I sighed. Great, my great twin sister is here along with her rodents. I climbed upstairs (loudly as I could, even if they won't give a damn). The one thing I don't like about our house, however, is that Wendy's room and mine are next-door neighbors. Our walls, unfortunately, are far from soundproof so everytime one twin's music overcomes the other twin's music, we massacre each other. And it's such a pain in the butt that Wendy ALWAYS leaves her door open, and I can always hear snippets of her cheesy boyband pop songs and a glimpse of her room's violently pink wallpaper. My door, on the other hand, is always locked, and even has a "Do Not Disturb" sign posted on the door. I pulled out my wallet, got the key out from it, unlocked the door, and locked myself inside, while thinking to myself:Two weeks down, six weeks to go, Jimbo, and that's a reeaallly long time...


Wendy:
"What was that?", startled Jean. "Probably my brother", I said without looking up. "Does that all the time". My eyes were completely focused on my phone. My pretty pink fingernails were shining gleamly from the sunlight outside, and they were completely busy tapping the keys on my cellphone:

" Good morning, fabulousness! :)
O.M.G. Guess what? Jean and Krishna are here! :D Guys and gals, you are MORE than welcome to join us. Just head over to #48 Davenport Street. See you later! :)
.pop.princess.gm “

I specifically added Jeremy Biggins, Alice Morndof, Denny Marshall, Krissy Munchkins, and Charlotte Piggins. I got Charlotte's number yesterday (thanks to our beloved source, Ginger Reyes), and I'm fully prepared to give her my introductions once she replies.

Jeremy,Alice,Denny, and Krissy only texted me once or twice (usually has the phrases"Who's this?" and "Where did you get this number?" within it). I hit the red key, and the menu sprung up, showing a picture of me and Jean, making funny yet pretty faces ,as my wallpaper. I keypad locked it and placed it gently on the surface of the bed. I rose up my legs and moved it back and forth repeatedly, and also with my knuckles placed on my cheeks. "All done!", I said brightly. "Fabulous, girlfriend!", replied Jean,still busy painting her toenails. She was squatting on my pink carpet floor, while Krishna was busy with Facebook in my computer. The summer heat reached the insides of my room, causing its warmth to make me feel dazy and stupid "I will so totally freak out if Charlotte answers", I said dazily. "I know,me too", said Jean."You can thank me again for getting you hooked up with Ginger, by the way." "You had the number, I had the effort", I stuck my tongue at her. She gave me the finger, and we both giggled.

Jean's very very fabulous. We've known each other since the second month of Freshman Year, when she offered me a seat in the canteen. She has a pretty vivacious attitude, and can sometimes be a teensy bit demanding, but she's still a fabulous gal. Krishna, on our other table, is fabulous, I guess. She's an exchange student from India, and she's pretty conservative, which means she NEVER takes off that choli of hers. It's a bit distracting, but she gossips like a cow (a pretty cow, I meant), which makes her at least fun to be with.
I lay down at my bed, gazing at the white ceiling above me."Oh gosh, I could remember the times when I soo wanted to be her bestfriend back in Freshman Year", I said dreamily, like I just fell down in the rabbit hole. "She's sooo pretty and not to mention that she has the most fabulous Gucci handbag known to womankind".

I wasn't lying. I could still remember my first day in high school, and while I was at the hallway, getting eyed on by older high schoolers already thanks to my fabulous hairdo and the heavy mascara that I wore, she just walked in the door, with her long hair getting blown from the windy air outside. The air surprisingly didn't mess up her hair, but in fact, it gave her a much more dramatic entrace, like those girls you see in the Pantene commercials. It was clear from that moment on that Charlotte Piggins is going to be one of Pebblecreek High's most popular freshman students that year. And she was. Last school year, half of the popular kids eat with her, and they all seem to be having the time of their lives, laughing,giggling and chattering. I sometimes have these little fantasies where I'm sitting with them, laughing and chattering as well, while trying to be swooned over by Jeremy Biggins, the very very hot Junior soccer varsity player. I have to admit, it was pretty hard that the only text Jeremy ever gave me was "Who gave you my number?", but he never saw me, and there's always this thing called "love at first sight". Or maybe he's crushing on me as well, and we've been trying to find the courage to introduce ourselves to each other. Maybe he was too shy to reply me back since he knew that I was the one who was texting him, and he couldn't think of anything cool enough to say to me. And everybody's just cheering on for us to get together. Oh the possibilities!
"Oh you can have Charlotte, kiss her if you like", Krishna piped up laughing. Jean giggled. Still feeling a bit stupid, I grabbed my pillow from my bed and hit Krishna playfully. "Hey!" Krishna reacted, still laughing. "That's for calling me a lesbo,like Eloise Danford", I muttered amusingly. "Speaking of which, is now I heard has a girlfriend". Krishna stopped typing, and Jean almost dropped her brush. They looked totally shocked, as in "O.O" shocked. "O...M...G...", Jean laughed a little. "Yeah, very OMG", laughed Krishna as well. "Who's the lucky thing, I mean 'girl'?" I threw the pillow back to my bed, put my right hand on my hip, strutted a bit, and teased "Not gonna tell you".
"Come on, Wendy!", Krishna pleaded. "That's for telling me that I'm a dike", I stuck my tongue to both of them. "Never again, pwomise with all my weart", Krishna crossed her heart. "Come on Wendy, you know you want to tell us", Jean egged on. I stifled a giggle, and said "All right. It's Susan Croxley." Krishna gasped in shock and delight, while Jean said "Figures. How'd you figure it out, Wends?" "Saw them", I replied, very pleased with myself. "Making out in one of the stalls in the girl's bathroom in the girl's room at the mall. Very sloppy work, if you ask me." Krishna etched in disgust.
I jumped back to my bed, and began to feel a bit sleepy. Sweat was trickling down my forehead. "But seriously though", I began."All the hell with Charlotte, but Jeremy Biggins is maahhnn".
"Fuck Jeremy Biggins", said Jean (Krishna giggled in surprise)."There's only one man for me.Two words, ladies: Mark Silverman". Me and Krishna giggled. "Good choice", I nodded in approval. "Very good choice", Krishna added. "I'd so tap his ass." "Krishna!", I laughed in surprise.
We've spent the next two hours just staying in the room, waiting for the heat to settle down. Jean finished manicuring her nails a long time ago, and started looking and fixing herself up in the mirror. Krishna was chatting with Katy Jennings, another social spy. I looked at my cellphone again. No messages. I threw it back.
"So, what should we do now?", asked Jean, still occupied with her looks. "You got me", I said. "Maybe eat some lunch, I guess? We have some bread in the kitchen, maybe cook up a fabby peanut butter and jelly sandwich." "Eww, no", Jean said. "How about sushi and salad? You have those, Wends?"
"Nope, mom forgot to buy groceries".
"Well, then-"
"OMG", Krishna interrupted. She then typed faster than she did before. She's unusally quick on typing. Maybe Indians are just really good at handwork or something.
"What's up?", I asked. Krishna looked at us, and said "Some of the p-kids are at the park now. The p-boys are playing basketball, most notably"-she looked specifically at Jean at this one-"Mark Silverman". Jean grinned, and said," Well gals, turns out we got something to do today, after all. Let's get out of here, come on,go." Krishna quickly logged out of Facebook, and turned off the computer. Then the both of them started getting their scattered belongings. "Where's my lipstick-", Krishna began."-oh there it is". "Better hurry up, Krishy", said Jean, doing finishing touches to her hair and admiring the effect."We don't want Mark to be kept waiting". "In your dreams, Jean", I laughed. Jean winked at me. "How do I look?" "Absolutely pretty", I grinned. "Got everything you need, Krishy?", asked Jean again. Krishna got her purse (and trying not to crumple her choli cloth) and said,"Yup". "Then come on, let's make the F-girls salute". We formed a little circle, put our right hands together like those kids who decide the "It" in "Tag, You're It". We chanted,"One,two,three,FABULOUS!!!!!" We raised our hands up high, then placed them on our hip, and strutted out of the room. Thank god that I dressed myself up before Jean and Krishna got here a while ago, or else, I would have never shown my unpampered face out in the open world.
We called for a cab (as if we're going in a jeep, eww.) and got out of it when we reached the Montgomery Park. The sun was hotter than ever, but thank god that we wore hats. The park's big, with a big fishing pond on one side, a basketball and volleyball court on the other hand, with tons of people going for a picnic, playing chess, playing catch, buying food from the hot dog stand, or just showing off. Of course, those who showed off DEFINITELY had no style to show it. They were disgusting. Example, a girl can be seen walking inside beside us. The girl wore a fabulous Versace outfit, but she walked like a sinking boat, floating left and right, and waiting to get stumbled by an iceberg. Disgusting. It didn't take us long to find the A-kids. They practically looked like they owned the basketball court, and not in a bad way at all. The A-girls were sitting on the benches, chattering and giggling, while the A-boys were already playing basketball, with sweat glistening from their bare arms. Jean,Krishna, and me looked like we were about to faint. We were walking towards the court, but some big muscular guy told us that the court is for a private party at the moment, which explains why there were a lot of people outside the court, with their hands clenched on the metal net, looking hungrily at the A-kids. We had no choice, but to reside with the other people as well, and watch the A-kids go about their fabulous routine.



Mark:
The ball was on me. I tried not to think of the sweat glistening and trickling on my skin, or the fact that the summer heat getting my tongue dried-up and dehydrated. Ronald was coming for me straight ahead, and the hoop was just meters away. I quickly dodged him, and shot the ball on the hoop, gaining myself a very very easy three-pointer. I could hear Charlotte and the other hot chicks cheering for me. Jared clapped a hand on my back. "Nice one, Mark", he said. I flashed a grin. "You got that one easy, Silverman", teased Ronald. "Up yours, Krasinski", I called back. I looked around, and saw that there were people lining up outside the court, observing the game. Too bad all of them were nearly butt ugly. I jogged towards the bleachers and turned my attention to Charlotte, my new girlfriend for five days now. She wiped off the sweat on my body with a white towelette. I pulled back my straight brown hair, brushing some sweat off of it. She threw away the towelette, wrapped her perfect tan arms around my neck, and kissed me. I opened my mouth, and slid my tongue inside hers.
I could hear a couple of frantic noises from outside. I stopped kissing her, and looked around. There were a couple of girls pointing at us, looking like they're about to freak. "Social mongers", Charlotte groaned. "From school".
"Anyway, nice job out there, baby". "Nah, Ronald just really sucked", I said, grinning. "I heard that", said a passingby Ronald, who approached the bleachers and got out a bottle of Gatorade from his duffel bag. "I know", I chuckled. I looked around again. Tommy, Axel, and Ross were still on the court, laughing about something amusing. Steve was at the bleachers (texting something on his cellphone), Jared was pretty much skinfucking Jordana on the bleachers above us, Ronald was drinking some Gatorade off his bottle while Darwaina was talking something to him, and Denver was joking around Marcela and Raquel. "So what's going on back here?", I asked Charlotte, while my suave hands moved around her hips. Charlotte giggled and replied,"Nothing much. Me and the gals were just talking about what to do tonight. Any plans?" "Well, I guess maybe you and me can go somewhere...Pine's Creek maybe...maybe get on a little romantic music, under the moonlight?" Charlotte giggled. "I'll think about it", she winked. Good, because this better get me laid already.

Let me give you a little background about Charlotte: She pretty much has one of the most beautiful girls in Pebblecreek High, and I'm talking about beautiful in every places. Yet, it dosen't erase the fact that Charlotte is raised by couple of over-religious dickheads that mindwarped Charlotte into chastity. So, all those nights where I sneak inside Charlotte's bedroom, making out with her on her bed, we only reached first-base. NEVER second-base. Which, aka, makes the possibiity of third-base pretty much impossible, unless Charlotte's bipolar. God, I hope she's bipolar.

She crumpled my brown hair, and reached out again to kiss me, but we were sorely interrupted by Ronald,who got out of Darwaina's reach, and snuck out between me and Charlotte.
"Yo Mark, I'm fucking hungry", Ronald said. "Wanna grab some hotdogs?" "Uh, sure", I said. I quickly kissed Charlotte on the lips, and said "Be back in a bit, babe", and took off with Ronald. Jeremy, Jordana's butler, let us out. I could feel some eyes following me as me and Ronald walked away the court. If only they had any looks, then I would so bang them till they're dry. The sun ached on our backs, and I could feel sweat glistening down my forehead again. On the other hand, the park seems to have a big turn out today. Lots of bratty kids running around. I could see some people from school talking around with their other buds. Almost all of them waved at me, to which I wave back. The hot dog stand wasn't too far from the court, but it was near the pond, with all the people walking back and forth on the bridge between it.
"So you think we got the team worked out already for next year?", Ronald asked. "Yeah, but shit man, we have to practice waayyy more", I replied."As in every fucking day". "Oh come on, man", he sneered. "We all know you're gonna get in the varsity. Your dad's the fucking basketball coach!" "Dosen't mean he's not uptight about it though", I said. Ronald snorted.

I wasn't kidding. Dad really is batshit when it comes to basketball practice. His everlasting motto was "If you don't suffer, then you better on just put on a dress and get castrated".Ever since the beginning of time, dad started making me play basketball. When I was three, he got me this tiny cheap Taiwan-made basketball set. He said I rarely missed a shot. Now, he's getting me prepared to get in the varsity team next school year by making me wake up at 4am, jog two miles, drink freakin' egg whites, and basketball practice at the backyard for three hours. Three more hours in the afternoon after a brief break. Told you, batshit crazy.

"So, how many slots are empty for next year?", he asked. "Four slots. Mayers, Bell, Richards, and Hume graduated a month ago. Wait, Richards didn't, he's in jail after he went apeshit on the guidance counselor". I didn't have any difficulty at all at remembering this .Anything that is even remotely related to basketball, dad says it and repeats it to me over and over again until I got the fucking information welded in my brain. I even know who was the inventor of the basketball.
Ronald turned his head to me, and asked again repeatedly and endlessly,"So out of the seven of us, who's gonna make the cut?" "Me, obviously", I said without even thinking about it."Then, Jared maybe, you, and Ross". "You might as well cut Ross off", he said. "The guy can't block for his life". Neither can you, cumfuck, I thought. Ronald could barely even score a three pointer, even if he's at the perfect spot for shooting. "Yeah, yeah".
"So-", he began again, and then I punched him hard on the shoulder. "Ow!", Ronald exclaimed. "What the fuck did you do that for?!" "If you keep pestering me again, I swear to God I'll shove this up your ass", I said, while raising my fist high. Ronald fell silent and kept walking. I grinned. Man, I love playing with everybody. It's like they were born to be tied around my middle finger. The chicks, I mean. The dudes can tie themselves on my ring or index finger for all I fucking care.
We reached the hotdog van, where there was a very very small pile of line going on. Behind the college couple who were already at the cart ordering was a a skinny nineteen year old guy with dimples spreaded all over his miniscule face. The couple got their food and left, and right when Skinny McDimples was about to head, I shoved him out, and faced the vendor. Sixteen, nice tits, gorgeous smile, short hippie brown hair. I like.
"Hey what the fuck did you do that for?", complained the skinny guy. "Get lost, asshole", I told him, with Ronald nodding in approval. Muttering, the guy walked away. I turned my head back to Ms. Hotdog Lover. She smiled at me and asked,"What are we having?". "Two hotdogs and a large Coke", said Ronald. She turned to the oven behind her, showing her glorious ass. Ronald punched me on the shoulder, snickering. "Bet I can tell how many hotdogs I can put in that thang", I said, and he snickered louder. Ms. Hotdog Lover came back, giving us our food. "Anything else?", she asked. "Yeah, your number", I winked at her. Ronald guffawed. She smiled. "No thanks, I don't date Freshmens". "Wait honey, let me stop you right there. First, I'm going to be a Sophomore, and second, well at least tell me your name", I said. "A beautiful girl like you is bound to have a vivacious and beautiful name". She giggled, and said "Bye guys.Next!". I winked at her We left, giving way to skinny college guy who was right behind us. We laughed at him before we head straight back to the basketball court. "I am so getting some ass", I smirked. "Yeah right, in your fucking dreams, man", Ronald laughed. "Wanna bet?" "She's a Senior", he sneered. "You're a Sophomore, so yeah, in your dreams." "We'll see about that man". "Indeed we fucking shall". We got back inside, with Jeremy flashing us a thumbs up while we got in. There wasn't much people left outside, yet the giggly group of girls were still there. "Come on guys, let's go, game time!" The other guys went back in (Jordana was withdrawing her hand from Jared's pocket), and we all formed in. 3..2...1...."Game time!", I yelled, and the game commenced.


April 22, 2010
Mark:
There's three type of sounds in the world that I absolutely love. First is the hard crunch of a big Hersheys bar getting broken in half, second is the nice healthy sound of a basketball getting bounced again and again, and the third is the loud moans of a nice young girl being fucked, gasping for her dear life . Play me soundclips of the three on my funeral, and I'll die a happy man.
I must have been shittingly been really good to God lately, because now all I can hear is:

"OOHH YESSSS!!!! YESSSS!!!!YESSS!!!! OH MY GOD, YESSS!!!! FUCK, OHHH, YESSSS!"

She gasped for breath, and clinged her nice tan arms around my back. I could feel her shirt rubbing against mine. I pushed and pushed with fuckin' ease.

"OH MY GOD, YOU'RE SO GOOD, OH GOD, OH GOD, YES!!!"

All was well, till...KNOCK!KNOCK!KNOCK!

"Is someone inside there? Hello, we want some food here!", said a voice outside the van. The metal covering the window kept thudding and thudding. She gasped and groaned, and started to get up. I tried to pull her back down.
"Oh come on, baby, ignore that dipshit!"
"I can't!", she giggled, straightening her shirt out. She crouched to find her panties and cut-off shorts, exposing her glorious moonshine to my eyes. "Sure you can!", I groaned but in a nice cool way. "No, Mark, I got to get them hotdogs", she replied, clutching her panties and putting them on. "You can have my hotdog if you want", I winked at her. She laughed. "You ass", she said. "You have to go,by the way, you can't be seen with me here, I'll get fired", she added, while she put her skirt. I was reminded that I was still sitting on the floor with no underwear and pants on. "Oh come on, Lauren", I groaned. "Can't I just stay here, take care of the dipshits, and after that, let's get back to business?" I winked. KNOCK!KNOCK!KNOCK! "HELLO!???Anybody there!?" "I'm coming, I'm coming already! God!" Lauren shouted. She turned back to me. "And this is why I don't date Sophomores". "Alright, fine, fine, I'm going", I said. I reached for my boxers and pants, and put them on quickly. I tried to find my shoes. "Now where are those-", Lauren kicked the shoes on to me. "Thanks", I said, and put them on. Lauren clutched the handle of the metal window, while I opened the door outisde, but before I opened it, she said to me,"Call me tonight, okay?", while wearing a flashy grin. "Always, babe", I replied sweetly, and I rushed outside, at the same time as she opened the metal window, exposing her face to the grouchy customers outside. Thanks to the dark environment the hotdog van has provided me earlier, the summer sun came on my face like a slap on the wrist. I squinted a bit and kept moving.
The park was crowded as ever. All I could hear was laughter and some wails coming from the little brats and angry tones from the people who came with the little brats. I could remember the old days were I was, believe it or not, was one of those little brats who cried for a Happy Meal, played some Optimus Prime action figures, slingshot the incoming dogs passing by my house, and shot their first jizz on their older sister's orange juice (and little did those older sisters know what that faint salty taste was all about). I could still remember the time where my dad took me to the park to play with this small basketball he got for me the day before that. I treated that ball like my two own. I bounced it a lot with such glee and enjoyment. I could still remember the grass staining that ball, the way that ball would crawl up just about anywhere, from a family's picnic blanket to a grouchy bulldog's mouth. I could also still remember the time that I accidentally swung that ball so hard that it hit my dad's nards.Hard. That earned me an ass-whooping, but that's just one of those times when you look back at your childhood, and you just can't help but laugh about all the shit you've been through, even if you weren't that entertained yourself when you were still living in those moments.

While my Nike shoes scraped along the grass, I looked back, and saw that there was an old fat man waiting impatiently outside the hotdog fan. I recalled what Lauren last said to me..."Call me tonight, okay?" As if.

You see, the thing about girls is that they're like iPods. They're shiny, they're high-tech, they're fun to use. But the thing is, there's always a new iPod that comes out every few months. So of course, you're tempted to get that new iPod. But what about that old iPod you've been using? Well, do the best thing for it...sell it. I'm not saying that you should get girls into sex trafficking, no (that's pretty much the worst thing that you can do, other than breaking up with them saying that "they're not the one"), what I'm saying is that girls are fragile. God never meant for men to hook up with only one woman. Why'd you think He created Adam first? So that Adam can explore the things in the world...that is, before he met that bitch Eve (who if it wasn't for her, girls would be walking around ass-naked today, but that's just me). God meant life as an adventure, not an immediate commitment. Go ahead,do the next best thing, that's what God intended us to do. And those old girls? They're really better off without you, believe me. Let them find some guy who finally got himself tired of adventure, that's the only way they can be happy, and that happiness my friend, cannot be found in you unless you're over 30. Plus, here's another big part, because of you, they'll be more experienced in our gruesome world today, and thus, they'll be more prepared next time. You're doing them a big favor by not being with them or calling them, really. For all I know Lauren the hotdog girl could hook up with a dude named Brent, a guy who sells bread. Perfect ending,right? And in the meantime, I have to find myself a new girl to teach...if you get my drift.

I turned my head back, and left the park.



May 4, 2010
Liz:
It seems that I have not introduced myself earlier. Oh well, it's never too late, isn't it? Let me begin...

Hello, my name is Elizabeth Dawson. I just turned 14 years old last February, and life couldn't be better...this summer. I love reading Ann Radcliffe's novels (A Sicilian Romance is one of my most favorite novels of all time), though I do have a soft spot for William Shakespeare as well (To be or not to be, yeah?), I love pasta,most especially puttanesca (with its few ingredients, how could you NOT love it?), and I love being an active participant towards school activities, such as helping coordinate some school presentations like the high school musicals, the assemblies, the crowd control, etc. It dosen't stop there; I love joining school organizations as well. I'm a very very active participant in the Pebblecreek Debate Society, and I'm well proud of it. I find that why I'm such a fantastic debater is that unlike some of my fellow comrades, I read the news headlines the moment after I get out of bed, and log in to the internet. From global financial crisis to Iraqi terrorism, I glee over them all, anything to get me prepared, anything to show my fellow debaters that I'm not "just like them", that I'm somebody much more than that, somebody who can make such an impact to the world, somebody like ME. I mean, if I was never accepted on the team last year, that numbskull Joss Leverman would still be blubbering and stuttering over that one simple question in the contest (just because he's a Muslim dosen't mean he can't answer "How can Christians profess their loyalty to Christianity more in control?".I mean come on, a ten year old Buddhist illiterate boy from Taiwan could even answer that, for crying out loud), hence, our team would had never won the Provincial Debate Stand-off last March.

Once, someone almost asked me,"Liz, how did you become such a strong and determined young woman?" Well, the answer isn't just hours and hours of poring over books and food deprivation, but the most important factor on how to become somebody as successful as me is to have striving and clever parents, like I do. When you have parents who are smart enough to know that just because you wish for your kids to grow up well dosen't mean that they will just because you said it, this means you have good parents. Your parents have to really get you into studying, even if in the means of torture, if you want to go somewhere. My dad, fortunately enough, isn't afraid to do that. Speaking of which, has anybody of you know the name Mr. Richard Dawson? Well if you were schooling at Pebblecreek High, you would recognize that name perfectly well. Richard Dawson, or my dad, is an English teacher for high school juniors, and let's just say he has a certain reputation for the art. Few ever pass his class, which caused for the significant downward slope of high school graduates in Pebblecreek High since 2004. But hey, nobody (except for dimwits) can say that it's unfair, I mean they're put into school for a reason: to learn, to gain a more educated view towards life and acquire a good job thanks to what you've learned, not to meet people and do drugs with them. He's truly an educated fellow, my dad.

But of course, when you're an educated fellow, it is very inevitable to have educated friends as well, and most of the time, these educated friends of his have sons, which brings to my predicament today.

"Mmm, this is soo good", said Daly as he ate a piece of crab cake. I smiled at him kindly, and he smiled at me back. Daly is the son of Mr. Rogers, one of my dad's old college buddies. Mr. Rogers is the CEO of a logging company down in Morryland, which of course makes him a very wealthy man. Daly goes to Pebblecreek High with me as well. He's what other kids in the student bodies call, a preppy. He almost always wears a sweater with a polo tucked under it, and he always combs his brown hair every five minutes,emphasizing and making his elite status more visible for everyone to see.He's also in the Debate Society with me. This dosen't make Daly as successful as his father. Daly has a reputation to be, well...stupid. Not stupid as in Woody Harrelson stupid, no. He's just....trying to look smart, I mean in every debate session, he always picks up an issue like the recent stock market downfall, and he raves on about it, but the thing is that he never gets the full gist of what he's saying. Here's an example: one time in debate session, our topic was if Martial Law ever was ruled again in the country, and if we have the power overrule it, would we or would we not? And you know what he said? He was on the anti-Martial Law team, and all he said was that we shouldn't rule it again because it will make everybody miserable. When our club moderator (Ms. Wilkins, a friendly Literature teacher with the knack to ask questions a lot) asks him to elaborate, all he could for two whole minutes is (and I'm not joking about this): "Ummm...eerrr...because...umm...it really bad, since...uhhh...people didn't like it back then...and umm...people died...and...uhh..." and then picks his confidence back again, and repeats almost the same thing he said before, until the timer went right out, causing me (on the pro-Martial Law team) to start my speech giving out specific but well-thought out points on how the rates of peace and order skyrocketed when Martial Law was enstablished in the country, and also giving out the rebuttals on what makes Martial Law bad. Even though our side won, he was still proud on how "clever" he was to reach a loophole and got back up. What loophole!? When was there ever a loophole?! It's all talk with him but he has no idea what he's saying.At.All. But dad has specifically told me that it's best to keep quiet about Daly Rogers'...disadvantage. "We don't want to get Mr. Rogers upset with you, do we?", he once said to me.

So how did I end up in Merope's Restaurant, eating crabcakes, salads, and oyster soup, which all in all, caused a fortune? Well, it's not much a story, really, it's quite simple: I was at the library, keeping record of the returned and borrowed books, and contacted people over the phone to pay their overdues. Thirty minutes before my shift was over, Daly came by, carrying two books (The Importance of Being Earnest and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix). Daly was surprised to see me working on the librarian's desk, and started a small talk with me, ending with an invitation to dinner. How can I not refuse? This will certainly benefit my father's reputation with Mr. Rogers, even if it means eating dinner with a simpleton like Daly. He helped me carry my bag, and here we are, at Merope's Restaurant down at Greenweed Corner, one of the most fanciest places here in Desposition City.

I sipped the remains of the oyster soup, still smiling at Daly. Keep smiling, and your life's gonna be a darling. Daly wiped his mouth with a napkin, and continued eating the crabcake, with a little more control this time, since he's aware that I was watching him. "So-(he coughed lightly)- how was your summer, Liz?", he asked me. I placed my hands down my lap before answering."It's very endearing. I just love working at the library, I get to meet such interesting people (if you think people having intercourse behind bookcases are interesting), and the staff is really helpful too (Brundle?Helpful? Please.), plus I can read all the books I want, which makes me more prepared for the next school year." Daly chuckled. "Still reaching for the top again, I assume, Liz?" I faked a laugh. Reaching for your goals is no laughing matter. It's the only reason why we're still on this planet. "Of course, I can't just abandon my goals, Dale. Dad would be so much unpleased if I did so". "But still, it wouldn't hurt to loosen up a bit, right?" He winked at me. I was in limbo for a while. I don't exactly know how to handle this, since I haven't examined a situation like this that much. So my eyes focused on the empty bowl, laughed a bit, and muttered,"Yeah". Daly seemed to have accepted this response, because he laughed a bit as well, and tightened the two hands he's been holding together a bit. Better take the next topic, Liz, I thought. I cleared my throat."So Dale, how'd you spend your summer?" Daly's eyes lit up a notch, his smile went up more widely, and he leaned a bit more forward. Typical reaction to people like Daly. If you're asking a question about themselves, expect them to be totally enthused by it.
"Well", he started joyfully."I spent the summer at my family ranch down in Heatport. Dad got five more horses and four cattles before I got there.Amazing, Liz. Just amazing. I spent almost the entire summer riding each of those new horses. Of course, my ass hurt like crazy, but it was worth it. Mr. O'Malley, the guy who watches over our ranch while we're gone, he said I'm probably one of the best horseback riders he's met in over ten years. Amazing, right?!"
He was smiling so widely now, that I could swear I could count all those shiny white teeth of his. "Oh yeah", I replied. "Very amazing, yeah". "And that's not all I did", he smirked, adding a little boast to that deep tone of his. And here's the part where I'm supposed to look intrigued on what this simpleton has to say, and gasp like a dim-witted girl to whatever he'll say. And that's what I exactly did. "Oh, what?" He cleared his throat (typical) before he spoke, and he even added a little pause to it for dramatic effect."I met a girl down there". Time to gasp like a hilbilly, Liz. I gasped. "No way!" He laughed, nodded his head, and said,"Yeah, I did. Surprised?" "Yes, very", I said, emphasizing my hilbilly tone more. "Want me to tell the story?", he asked me, still grinning. Does he really need an answer from me? "Please, I'm dying to know, Dale". He started his story:

One hot summer afternoon, while he was riding Geezer, the brown-spotted horse, he noticed that a girl was sitting on the wooden fence, looking at him. He rode on closer, and introduced himself to her. The girl giggled and introduced herself as well. Her name was Darlene, and according to Daly, she was drop-dead gorgeous. Her breasts were a grown woman's, and she was only fifteen. She had long black hair, she was wearing an old-fashioned dress, and there was some speckles of dirt on her face. But Daly didn't care. She was just drop-dead gorgeous. They got to talking, and they repeated this same time, same place, over the next few days. She opened up to him. She was a local girl from Heatport, but she had no idea how to butcher a cow. She was too scared to do it. So, like any other woman in Heatport, she was a milkgirl in her family's farm. She also had a horse, a white female horse named Strawberry ("Though Strawberry was no match for Geezer", added Daly.) Darlene took him to a beautiful waterfall near Kinley, where they had their first kiss. A few days later, Daly sneaked in Darlene's bedroom, and they made love for the first time. All was well, though there was a catch: Darlene already had a suitor. His name was Enis ("An ugly bloke, mind you", grimaced Daly.), and he just absolutely lost it when he saw Daly and Darlene together at the local country fair. Enis and Daly eventually got into a fistfight, which was halted by the local police who were patrolling nearby. Daly's parents went overboard with him when they heard, but it didn't matter to him. He hadn't heard from Darlene for a week now. One dark night, Daly just couldn't take it anymore, and he threw a pebble on Darlene's window. He thought he heard something near him outside that dark spooky farm of Darlene's, but he didn't. He just wanted to see her. Darlene eventually woke up, and opened the window, allowing Daly to come through. Daly was very surprised to see Darlene tear-stricken. Darlene told him that they couldn't see each other anymore. She couldn't take the guilt for being the cause of Daly and Enis' fight, and she didn't want to see the two of them get hurt. Darlene kissed Daly passionately, one last time, and told him to get out. Daly respected her decision, and went about his own business for the next couple of days, riding horses again. The time that the Rogers' got in their fancy Volkswagen and left the ranch, Daly peered back, and saw Darlene looking at him at a distance, sitting on the Rogers' fence like no day passed since the first day they met each other. She waved lightly at him, and he looked away, savouring the moment but yet felt sad about it as well. But Daly knew, that someday, when he'll go back to that ranch of his, Darlene will be waiting for him, and with no Enis around, they can finally be together.


Daly finished the story with a pause. He sighed sadly, and looked at his half-eaten crabcake. He looked absolutely heart-broken. I tried not to snort out with laughter. Honestly, is this the best he can do?! Make up some crockpot story about a guy named ENIS? Excuse me, but as a matter a fact, I definitely know where he's getting at. That Darlene character he kept mentioning? Might as well be some dumb country girl who he's been screwing around for weeks now. Honestly, even a monkey can make up a better love story than THAT. But, I musn't let my guard down. I have to look sorry and I have to look heartbroken for silly Daly. I made a face, and croaked,"Oh my God, Daly, I'm so sorry". Daly cleared his throat (nice intro there, if I may add), and said in a mournful tone,"Yeah, really don't worry about it. But you know what? This just gave me a whole new perspective in life". Perspective to treat people as if they're five year olds?, I thought to myself. "Perspective? On what, Dale?" Daly widened his eyes slightly, showing off a puppy eyes look, and I have to say he does a really nice job of pulling off that look, even if he's one of the guys who probably whipped other guys' buttocks with a towel in the gym shower. He makes a little movement with his left cheek, a dramatic pause, and says quietly,"To appreciate life more". "Huh", I muttered. Why am I beginning to think more and more of the possibility that Daly might be high off marijuana right now? "To appreciate the beauty of what brings me", he continued."To appreciate the beauty of the sun rising up in early morning, on how leaves fall during autumn, to appreciate that every morning when I wake up, I can still walk, I can still talk, I can still feel, you know?" "Yeah", I said, slipping a little confusion out of my voice. Darn it, Liz! How dare you show weakness! Daly seemed to have noticed this little yet unforgivable slip, because he added,"And you know what's the most important thing I've noticed now, Liz?" "No...what?" Another dramatic pause (stop that now, it's getting tiring), and, "The beauty of the people itself. The beauty of everytime they look at me, they smile at me, it just...makes me feel thankful to be human. And I've got you to thank for that, Liz Dawson". Okay, he's definitely high off drugs. "And...why do you say that, Dale?", I asked him, refusing for any slip outs to come through. And the next thing he says...well, let's say that the conversation Dale Simpleton and I were having was getting out of hand. "Because, Liz-", he looked at me fully with those puppy dog eyes of his,"-everytime I look at your magnificent green eyes, you make me feel like every bad thing that I've ever experienced...dosen't matter. As long as I see you and your green eyes, I feel...safe and I feel for the first time in a very long time....comfortable". The ball dropped. I tried not to let my jaw drop open. What am I supposed to say next?! Cheesy and pathetic romantic sayings aren't listed in my strategy! There's no choice. Situations like these need to go for drastic measures. "Um, may I go to the bathroom?", I asked him. His half-grin drooped to an all-time low. "Oh", he said with a mixture of surprise and disappointment."Yeah, sure." "Be right back". He nodded vaguely, and drooped his head down. I got up from the chair and went to the ladies' room.

 Like any other fancy restaurants, the restroom in Merope's Restaurant is well-designed. A big seashell is used for the sink, the toilets looks shiny and gray, and there's always the calm music playing through the speakers on the wall. I gripped the sink, and looked at myself in the mirror. My long brown hair was neatly placed with only a few split ends found, my yellow sweater looked tidy with no food stains on them (Thank heavens for that), and eyes barely carry any eyebags. I looked prepared, I looked ready, but inside, am I? I'm getting weighed down by a simpleton. Though to be fair, Daly seemed to really gain a few more tricks up his sleeve this summer, and they do work...if used on another girl who's especially not me. I don't consider Daly as a friend, an acquaintance of course, but never a friend. So why in the world would he think that I would fall over his charms? Does he think I'm stupid? Of course you're not. Then tell me, Liz, why am I here in the restroom, panicking over my strategy? I keep telling myself not to show weakness, so I should stop showing it and start acting like the strong woman that I am. "So keep a calm head Liz", I said. I took a deep breath and exhaled. "Now, start going over some ideas", I said. "You can do this, Liz". Indeed I can. I started going over my choices. Giving him the ugly truth, perhaps? I imagined myself talking straight to a crying Daly. No, I'm going to tarnish dad's reputation if I did that. Maybe say that I acquired a sexually transmitted disease? No, that might cause some rumors at school next school year. So what can I do? I thought over and over again, and let me tell you this: if you keep thinking about a certain scenario over and over again for how many minutes straight, you are bound to get out of that world and hop on to Willy Wonka land. I hate it when that happens. My mind drifted away from the possibility of just running out of the restaurant and never looking back to the restaurant itself. Wow, did they serve good oyster soup. And the crabcakes, my God, they were delicious. I could still imagine chewing that delicious chewy piece, tasting scrambled egg, a few vegetables, and that strong taste of fresh crabs. I wondered what the other customers were having. I mean, Merope's half full now, and I got a glimpse of their orders when I walked down here. I saw a five-man group gorging over a huge plate of turkey, but no crab cake. I saw a man alone drinking ice tea, certainly no crabcake. Wait, of course, a couple sitting behind that man! I definitely saw them eating a crabcake! At least they know the way to eat...but wait. A couple eating a crabcake....me and Daly eating a crabcake....my God, do people think we're a couple!? I hope not. Daly is I guess...bearable, but I certainly can't imagine myself being with him night and day. In fact, I can't imagine anyone with me night and day. Probably my dad, only because he works at the school and we always eat dinner at home after school, but that's of course very different. I guess I'm just the kind of person who's best to operate alone. I mean, the most succesful inventors were most often single. Nobody to distract them with their most important work. Nobody to ask them for money or for curfew. Yes, I guess I'm right.

Wait....couple.Couple.COUPLE! Of course! Why didn't I think of that!? It's so simple, yet I totally forgot about it! Liz, seriously...tsk,tsk,tsk. I really could have slapped myself there, but I can't; my image must be kept presentable and charming. I smiled at myself. Good, good, Liz is back. I took out my cellphone, and walked out of the door.

Daly jerked his head at my direction, and once again, his puppy dog eyes returned. Good, good, two can play at this game, Rogers. I pretended to look distracted, and sat down. "You took a while", Daly said. I touched the keypads on my cellphone and pretended to be busy texting. "Yeah, I'm sorry", I apologized to him. "Andrew's been calling me like crazy that I just can't ignore it". For the first time, Daly looked like he was a bit caught off-guard. Yes! "Wait...Andrew?", he said. "Who's Andrew?" I had the story ready even before I thought about it. "Andrew...well, it's hard to describe Andrew", I said a little shyly, but very convincing. "We met when he visited the city a week back, and I dunno...we just keep on texting. He's so charming". I looked at the space above us, looking like I was remembering some fond memories. Daly didn't look happy. "So this Andrew character", he said a bit gruntled. "He's not from town?" "Oh yeah, he's from Charters", I replied. "He was here a week back because he was helping out his uncle with business". "And....you guys are...?", he asked. "I told you, Dale, it's hard to describe", I giggled. "But...that day at the library...when he asked me where the law books where, and the moment I looked at his eyes....like you said, he makes me feel... safe." "Hmm", Daly said quietly. He started playing with the fork, apparently nothing to say. Success.

Ten minutes later, Daly drove me home with his black BMW. Unlike the ride to Merope's Restaurant, the ride to my house was really a quiet one, with the two of us nothing to say to each other. Daly didn't seem to take the fact that me and my imaginary boyfriend loved each other very well. But, in my opinion, Daly will have minimal difficulty with getting a girl next school year, especially with that "story" of his. Any girl who's obsessed about love would disrobe herself in front of him before you can say "coffee". He'll be all right. But this serves as a lesson,not just to Daly Rogers, but to all...nobody outhands Elizabeth Dawson. Nobody.


May 15, 2010
Jimmy:

I clicked and dragged the mouse, and scrolled down to the comments section. Normally when I visit websites, I usually check the comments section first. Most often, the comments of other dipshits can actually be more interesting than the article they were talking about. Here's an example: two months ago, there was a relatively small article on The Desposition Block news website. A blue-collared guy came home from his plumbing job, lounged around on the living room couch, and asked his not-so-good-looking wife to cook him up some canned goods. The wife grudgingly went to the kitchen to do so. When she came back, holding a plate of unhealthy food, the husband was gone, as well as almost all of the objects in the house. Yes, yes, it's your basic good-for-nothing-trailer-trash-dude-stealing-from-his-family type of story, big deal, which was why of course it only earned itself a small piece on the website. But weird people just drove that shit up crazy, and started making conspiracy theories, like the husband is a UFO and took all of the objects for further research about the lame stuff we produce here on earth. Another guy (whose username was "ITnkMFmlyisBgFt") claimed that the husband was part of some big armaggedon-offing cult who lived in the mountains, and the objects that he stole was necessities after the apocalypse hits. It's stupid, yeah, but it's definitely entertaining stuff, much better than the SNL shit you see every Saturday night. Plus, I wouldn't mind checking that cult out for a look. Maybe I could play pingpong (that was apparently stolen as well) with a couple of kids who didn't go to my school. Sure would beat hanging around in your bedroom all summer like moi.


"Morris 2 days ago
Geez, what a loser.

Jenny 1 day ago
I wonder why there are still SOME people in this world that still dosen't know how to get a life.


Miranda 23 hours ago
O.o

David 5 hours ago
LOL. Funny shit, man. Funny shit. “

I have quite a small addition to what I've said earlier. Comments are entertaining, but it gets past the border of entertainment if you directly insult the author, wishing him all the bad luck in the world. That's just passing the border of well, being an asshole. Look, I understand the meaning of free speech, I know, I know. But whoever said that free speech ought not to be prohibited meant that it ought to be applied if there's some shitty corruption going on in the world. Not gang up on somebody like a pack of high-off stoned wolf pack.

But still, could I blame them? How could anybody this retarded write this piece of shit? Seriously? Did they even have a brain while writing this? Somebody who could write as bad as a piece of shit like this ought to stick twigs up their big asses. I will stick to my own principle, which meant no comments written by me, but my comment is light as day in my brain: You are one stupid, dumb, idiotic, worthless piece of shit. No one likes you and no one ever would.
I exited the internet browser, facing my desktop (with Muse as my desktop wallpaper). I could literally feel a ticking clock behind me. Each ticking noise bothering me all the way throughout, like a Korean pop song playing loudly on Wendy’s computer all day long. What to, what to, what to, do do, do do, do do??????? Fuck, I hate that. The cuckoo clock makes a point, Jimbo. What to do next? Six weeks down, two to go, right? Oh would you please shut up!?
I lifted myself up from the chair, and dove straight to my bed. I felt the soft comfort that my squashy pillows could only provide, the clean sweet-smelling bedsheets newly washed by Dionisia, our laundry woman, and the soft breeze of the air ,coming from the semi-open window, freezing the left side of my pale face. Sounds a good way to relax? Try doing that for six weeks straight. Nothing intriguing to do, nothing at all to do, just lying on my comfortable. Oh, and add the fact that I have no friends for my own, and I’m a fucking winner. The John Wayne of relaxation.
I slowly closed my eyes. I mean, when nothing left to do, why not sleep, right? But the giant clock still loomed behind me, its ticky-tocky sounds keeping the hair on my arms straightened up. I recalled what I’ve done in the last six weeks. Each day I spent felt nearly uniformed. Eight: I get up, and join the family for breakfast before mom and dad leave for their respective jobs. Wendy raves about something bitchy, and I continue to be silent. Nine to eleven: I watch a movie in my living room, either from Fight Club to (500) Days of Summer. Twelve: I eat lunch. One to three: I go out of the house and go to public areas , from the library to the park. Four to six: I get home, watch another movie.Seven: Mom and Dad get home and we all eat dinner and talk about our day. Eight to nine: I surf the net, glimpsing occasionally on my endangered Facebook account if I feel like it. Ten: Go to bed, and grieving the fact that I seem to be the only fourteen year old who ever sleeps at ten o’ clock. What a wonderful summer.
Come on, Jimbo. There has to be something today that stood out from your sad and miserable life. Not really. I mean, I went to the park, gave some bread crumbs to the fishes in the pond, while being pretty much ignored at by everyone. After that, I went to the mall, bought a cappuccino-flavored ice cream from an ice cream stand near the grocery. Then I took a jeep, sat by between a speechless albino and a talkative black man. I got off, walked, and passed by the Austen household. Then I saw...Mrs. Austen trimming and pruning the petunias on her garden. Jackpot, Jimbo. Jackpot. She wore a purple tanktop, and cut-off jeans. Sweat was pouring all over her body, and I could actually see her nipples from her tanktop, clearly stating “Look at me! No bra can hold me now!”. She crouched down, exposing me to the tippy-toppy crack of her ass. Mrs. Austen took notice of me (most likely because of my hunchback posture and my feet dragging on the cemented pavement). She stood up, and smiled at me. She asked me how was my day, and I replied that it was no biggie. She laughed, and reminded me for the millionth time to stop by her house, so me and Mary the chess wizard could get aquaintanted with each other more. I laughed, and we both bid our brief farewells together, and I kept walking while she continued tending her beloved garden. And then i got home, and decided to break my ususal rules, and instead move my internet surfing from eight to four. And here we are.
My God, man, are you this much of a dumbass? Wait, nevermind, don’t ask. What is this so important memory that I forgot? Think, Jimbo, think! I couldn’t honestly say that I racked my brain over and over again about it, because the comfort of the bedroom was definitely weighing my concentration down, but I reflected about it a little briefly, then as my mind began to shut down, BAM! It hit me like a fucking cannonball. I opened my eyes. She asked me to come inside her home. She friggin’ asked me! Sure, I have to sacrifice a whole afternoon getting my logical ass whipped by Mary , but I will be at the same house at her, without my parents around. I have had a crush on Mrs. Austen ever since I was five and had my first pecker whipfast at the same time, and now I’m fourteen, and I finally have the chance to fulfill my childhood dream...to see Mrs. Austen in the nude and playing with her (and my) greatest admirer.And I friggin’ LAUGHED. LAUGHED. It’s like I just said,”Very funny, Mrs. Austen. By the way, your boobs are definitely fake, right?”Do something, Jimbo! Do fucking something next time! I will, I definitely will...tomorrow. Whatever plans I had for tomorrow’s operation seemed to have died down, since all I could think about at the moment was Mrs. Austen’s glorious body, sweat glistening down her face, while her exotic Latina eyes looked at mine. My hand slowly slid down from the pillow to my pants. I concentrated on her gigantuar bare breasts, rubbing against my cheeks.
She opened her mouth, and licked my right ear. She then whispered quietly to me with her sexy exotic voice,”Jimmy, I-“
“I WANT NOBODY NOBODY BUT YOU! I WANT NOBODY NOBODY BUT YOU!” A couple of girlish screams and laughter echoed off the walls from the Barbieland that is my sister’’s bedroom. My fantasy of Mrs. Austen vanished at once, and replaced almost immediately by that godawful Korean song. My left hand slipped back quietly on the pillow, while I groaned. A hard-on without a cause. Wonderful.



May 28, 2010
Wendy:
“Well, what do you think?”, Jean asked us. She came out of the dressing room, wearing a pink dress with patterns of flowers laced around it. She looked at herself on the mirror, smiling admiringly at herself. “Very very good!”, said Krishna enthusiastically. She sat on the couch with me, stuffing mounds and mounds of popcorn in her mouth. I looked at her. Yes, yes, she might look nice with the dress, but pink is just not her color. It makes her look like a human-sized pimple. Plus, despite what Jean had been constantly bragging about for the past four months, she is so not a size two. So not. However, Jean happened to be one of my BFF, so I had no choice but to say,”Oh my gosh, that is so so fabulous!” Jean grinned at us. “Thanks gals”, she said and went back to admiring herself on the mirror. I looked at her again. Yes, still makes her look like a tight pimple. I’m not lying at all, and I mean I’m serious in every way to say that the dress would look MUCH better if it was me wearing it. I mean, think about it: I have perfect skin, blonde hair (thanks to my mother’s American ancestry), and most important of all, hairless arms. I would look exactly like Aurora from Sleeping Beauty if I wore that.
Needless to say though, I left it alone, and Jean paid for the dress. We left the shop chattering and praising Jean’s fantastic fashion choice, and also carrying one or two bags each person. “So what do you want to do now, girls?”, I asked them. “I very very hungry, we eat, yeah?”, Kayko recommended. “The food court it is then”, I said. “But remember, girls, no carbs”, said Jean. “Yes mommy”, I teased. We giggled and walked. Thanks to an ongoing boxing match shown on live tv, the mall isn’t that crowded today. There’s still a lot of people, but not as jam-packed as always. I could still see ever-famous The Window-Shopper Queen still prowling around the second floor, looking for shoe stores. The Ice Cream Guy (a guy who has kept his job since like the prehistoric times, since I still remembered him giving me a chocolate ice cream when I was three years old) still roamed around the ground floor, asking people if they would like to try out some new unique ice cream flavors (and i mean REALLY unique... the guy was serving grass-flavored ice cream). The mall is like my home. It’s the one place I go to when things aren’t that great at home or if daddy and his secretary were pulling over business matters while mommy and her supervisor are writing last-minute contracts. I mean, who in the world can survive without spending a trip at the mall? Clothes are the most important thing in the world, much more than water. The thought of people who still keep wearing clothes they were since they were kids is just...eww.
We took the escalator down, and walked to the food court. Again, not that much people, but there were still some hanging around, or listening intently to the boxing game via the speakers scattered all over the food court. We found ourselves a seat, and placed our shopping bags down. “Need...sushi”, said Krishna, storming off at once. “I’ll get a tomato salad”, Jean told me and left as well. “Toodles”, I told her, and she winked at me before walking away. I walked over to the Tasties Shakies stand between Lumber Al’s Woodland Food and The Cannibal Holocaust Steakhouse. I dropped my jaw open. Standing inside the stand, cutting up fruits and stuffing them in mixers is one hot hot hot hot guy. He had curly black hair, tan skin, and a big sparkly smile. I felt myself giddying up. I joined the small line composed mainly of girls, and got more excited as the line reduced, and finally getting to the main core of excitement, when I finally held the wooden plank standing between me and Hottie Mchotness. Stupid plank. He finished giving an apple shake to some thirty-something lady, and faced me. “What’ll be havin’?”, he asked in a cool voice. I felt like I couldn’t speak. And when I can’t speak, I can’t help but do the worst thing that I unfortunately have a knack on doing....stutter. It’s like a sooo uncool family gene. Even my twin brother Jimmy has a knack on stuttering, though it’s not much of a surprising fact than mine.
“Wa-wa-wa”, I stuttered. The guy looked at me, confused.. “Wa?”, he repeated. “Wat...ermelon. Watermelon. Wa-one, please.”. “Oh...okay”, he said. “Awesome. Forty pesos, please.”. He turned back to work on my watermelon shake, while I pulled my wallet off my pink Gabana purse. I can’t believe I stuttered. I hate doing that. Wendy Wittington has a respectable reputation, and people with respectable and fabulous reputations are often known to not stutter. Like Kim Kardashian and Lindsay Lohan. I swear to my fabulous God, if I stutter, I will stuff fat-filled peanuts to my own mouth. And that just totally destroys my three-month span of living off eating only fat-free veggie food.
He turned his back to me, holding my watermelon shake, and so so unexpectedly, he smiled at me. Not in that usual i’m-the-server-you’re-the-customer type of smile. It was definitely a flirty smile. I was so stunned that I couldn’t speak or even smile back. I just took my shake, shoved the money to him, and left the line, giving way to the widely-smiling girl behind me.
I walked back to our table, where Jean was carefully nipping off tiny pieces of carrots, while Krishna stuffed down sushi down her throat. I sat down, and said without hesitation,”Oh my God.”. Krishna swallowed her sushi, turned her head to me, and asked,”What up, Wends?”. I looked at her straight in the eye and said,”That cute fruit shake guy just TOTALLY checked me out.”. Krishna and Jean dropped their utensils, and looked at the shake guy who was talking to the smiling girl behind me earlier. They turned back at me, their faces mixed with giddiness and shock. “No way...just...no way”, said Jean. “Very very cute, Wends”, Krishna said, still giggling madly. “So, he gave you your number?”, Jean asked me. Something inside me just dropped. “Err...no”, I replied. “But I know he’ll totally give me his when I go back there.”. “Oh totally”, Jean answered,still smiling. “Yes, TOTALLY”, added a still giggling Krishna. “Yeah”, I grinned. “Totally.”.


June 6, 2010
Jimmy:
“I used to rule the world,
Seize and rise when I gave the word
Down in the morning when I sleep alone,
sweep the streets that I used to roam”

Though I’m not really into the whole mainstream music stream (or in a much more simple term, songs that don’t want to make me squirt blood out of my ears), I’m really digging Coldplay. They make this....surreal music. I mean when I first heard Clocks seven years ago, playing in that Peter Pan trailer, my seven-year old self...thought it was pure crap. But remember, I used to like Simple Plan when I was that age. I got into Coldplay more over the years, as with the other things I got more into when I hit twelve, like Black Lips and wooly jackets. It’s amazing how much a person can change over the years, isn’t it? I find it...intriguing. One day, you’re an chubby innocent kid who watches Bananas in Pajamas every Saturday morning, five years later, you’re just a big bully who draws bananas on every male member of the glee club. It’s just strange on how much a person can change over the years, much more how the world changes as well. I’m still at a loss on how the innocent Gosh-darnit era of the fifties can transform into a I’m-jammin’-jammin’ era of the sixties. It’s amazing.
And here I am, talking to my inner self, alone in the park, while listening to Coldplay on my iPod. It was quite a moody Sunday afternoon, with the gray clouds gathering around, blocking the sun like a bunch of bullies throwing a kid on the dumpster. I was sitting on one of the wooden benches, holding The Catcher on the Rye on my lap. I’ve given up reading it. Holden Caulfield...he’s an asshole. A spoiled insane-in-the –membrane kind of asshole. He’s in this good school, but he pisses on it and runs away to the city, with a buttload of cash. What does he do next? Nothing. He hires a prostitute and treats a girl like shit. The thing about novels,see, is that good novels are supposed to have good protagonists. Not just good, but LIKABLE protagonists. Seriously, I almost died when I read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Edmund was being such a little bitch that I just wanted to slap that asshole.

I checked my watch. Three-thirty o’ clock. I inhaled the cold air, and made myself more comfortable with the green wool jacket I was wearing. Fucking boring. This is what I hate about summer. You know what I like about May? Nothing. It's the same as April. Summer. Nothing to do. NOTHING. I mean, what is it about summer, anyway? Why do kids really want summer to come by so much that they would even chop off their own dicks just to have that apocalyptic heat coming in for two whole months? Sure, you get to do some crazy shit, hang out with some friends (for me in this case, imaginary friends), get high on pot, and really? What next? What do you do when it's all over? Stay in your bedroom, waiting for the sun to set, waiting for the sun to rise, again and again, for two whole fucking MONTHS. It's insane. It's stupid. When the fun and the drugs are all wore out, kids will be begging for school to come so fast that they would chop off their own nuts off.

My heart gave a very very mild jump. I just realized. I was the only one that I could see sitting. Everybody else was standing and doing something. Joe and Jane Schmo over there are having their first kiss beside the pond. A bunch of guys were goofing around and playing Frisbee on my right. To my left side was a a big group of teenagers singing happy birthday to a sweet-looking sixteen year old girl who I recognized as one of the members in the student committee at school. They were walking around, balloons held tight on one hand, and looked like they were just having a good time. Everybody is having a good time. Everybody. Except me. Everybody keeps telling me the same shit over and over again: “Live life to the fullest.”. What if I tried then? What if I tried so hard to make my life even slightly noticeable but I failed? I’m fourteen, I’m halfway through my teenage years, and I’ve done shit. I’ve done nothing. While every kid I see, all the fun-lovers, all the cool kids, hell, even the fucking nerds are having the time of their lives. Except for me. Every fucking thing I see walking around me, they’re like a shade of color. Each unique, each so vibrant, and me? I’m color fucking gray. The color that’s never meant to mean anything in life but to bring misery to other people like the clouds above me. Why do I have to be so worthless?

I had to get up. I hated thinking things like these. They make me retreat more and more to my dark humble abode that is my bedroom. I walked past Joe and Jane Schmo (they are definitely going to get lucky tonight), and the Frisbee guys. Eight weeks down, one more to go. You know what? I retract what I said earlier. This summer was the most longest and the most tedious summer of my life. It will not even be remotely surprising if a few years later, I’ve become an axe-wielding murderer (though not a very good one at that) thanks to the overlong mindfuck that I’ve experienced this summer. It’s not like school tomorrow will be any different. It’s still a mindfuck. Everything’s a mindfuck for me.
I got out of the park, signalled down a jeep, and hopped in.

Goodbye, Summer 2010, and fuck you very much.


Mark:
“Thank you all very much for coming. As you can see, the new school year for Pebblecreek High School starts tomorrow, and what better way to prepare the outstanding staff and teachers of this accomplished school for what seems to be a promising new school year other than a fine dinner for all?”
Every last glass in the ballroom clinked in sheer approval. Suck-ups. Either way, the man with the orange coat speaking on the stage, Principal McAllister, seemed to be flattered, since his smile grew a mile bigger.
“Not only are we going to have a wonderful dinner, but we are also giving recognition to some of the top-notch staff that certainly led school year 2009-2010 to one of the most memorable and accomplished years of Pebblecreek High School history.”.
A round of polite applause exploded in the room. Gosh oh gosh, when will these jackasses stop? I sucked the remaining caviar off my spoon out of sheer boredom. Not to mention the munchies. I was still a bit high off the hash me, Ronald, and Pete had last afternoon. Oh shit, what happened again? All I could remember was getting some hash from my hidden stash (by hidden stash, I meant the white Adidas sock hidden in my sock drawer), had a basketball practice with the guys, then there we were, at Ronald’s living room, getting high off the shishka, laughing our fucking asses off. And what next? Fuck, I couldn’t remember. I laughed at myself.
“Ssh”, Mom snapped at me, and I stopped laughing. “Sit up straight, Marky’, she told me. “Dad’s gonna get mad if you don’t.”. I looked at my father. There he was beside me at my left, looking sharp, but joking around with Mr. Potsers, the Freshman shop teacher. He was snorting laughter from some joke Mr. Potsers told him something about two girls and a cactus. “Chillax, ma”, I told her. “Dad’s not gonna go apeshit on me.”. “Language, young man”, Mom warned me. “Sooorrryy”, I said holding my hands up like I was under arrest. Mom looked at me and broke out a smile, shook her head, and turned her attention back to Principal McAllister. I slumped back to my seat. No matter what I do, Mom always thinks of me as her Little Marky, which is disheartening at times. Guess it never occurred to her that Little Marky grew up to be a basketball-fucking,pot-smoking assman. Which is alright, since she never asks why I always beg her for four hundred pesos every week (she still thinks it’s for arcade money).

“So if we are all finished eating, then I guess it’s time to announce the Mentions of Honorable Staff in Pebblecreek High School. First, for his astounding work and outstanding communication skills, he was able to start the Little Pebbles of Creek Scholarship Fund, a scholarship organization dedicated to giving scholarships to young men and women gifted with intellect and looks. Because of this, Pebblecreek High School has received a considerable spike of awards involving academic quiz bowls and fashion shows. I now present this honourable mention to Mr. Daniel Check!
Mr. Check stood up from his seat, his big stomach bulge in plain view as he walked towards the stage. He received the tiny medal given by Principal McAllister, who made way so Mr. Check could move closer to the microphone.
“Oh gosh, I don’t know who to thank first for this award. The staff, the students, the gifted scholars, I just can’t find the proper way to show my appreciation and thanks towards them-“
I think the scholars have already shown their thanks to Mr. Check, mainly the female scholars. Mr. Check even recommended to me a female scholar of his six months ago at Dad’s birthday party. Addie was one of the best lays I’ve ever had. Not to mention she did my Math homework twice.
But shit, how many chicks have I’ve laid on with this summer? Hmm...there’s Misty, the goth girl I’ve laid in the sack with for the first two weeks of summer. I had to pierce my ear for a week until I could finally convince Misty for a drink at Cormac’s. I took off the ear ring as soon as I finished fucking her in the bathroom stall at the bar (Dad would’ve killed me if he saw me with it, and I got tired of keeping it hidden from plain sight). Oh wait, there’s Lauren the hot dog girl...man, oh man, does she know how to treat hot dogs right (I crack myself up). Charlotte dosen’t count; the bitch wouldn’t even let me reach to second base yet. There’s Melanie, a normal girl who was waaayyy to easy to get into the sack. And I mean WAY WAY WAY WAY easy. It was just like “Hey, I’m Mark”, then five minutes later, we had anal sex in her bedroom. Hmm, that’s it.
Three girls in two months...not bad...really, not bad...but if I didn’t have basketball practice (day and night) with dad for four days per week, I could have had nine girls in the sack...no lie.
“-so that’s it, and thank you very much people”, Mr. Check finished his speech. Big applause. I must have slipped into daydreaming, since I felt quite stoned. Mr. Check came down the stage with a big smile on his face, and sat back in his table, where he immediately chattered with his daughter...or what I assume to be his daughter. Principal McAllister returned to the microphone stand.
“The next honourable mention tonight is somebody who can be described in two words: SCHOOL SPIRIT. He has lead our varsity basketball team into championships for four straight years. Not only that, but his unique personality rubs off an excitable energy of school spirit towards not just to his students, but to the staff as well. Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to introduce Coach Philip Silverman!”
A loud cheers of applause exploded in the ballroom, moreso than the earlier speeches. I think our party drowned out the noise of the wedding reception next door. Dad just drew out a smirky grin as he rose up, patted me on the back, and made his way upstage.
It was predictable by a mile that dad would get this “honourable mention” shit. After all, he is the best teacher (or coach) in the entire school (except for Ms. Hoover, who’s got an INCREDIBLE rack). There’s many things to what makes dad an incredible teacher. Not only was he the coach of the winning varsity team, the Pebblecreek Crocs, but he’s got this amazing quality of his that lets him get anything he wants, a trait that I clearly acquired. According to him, this trait of his was a shitload of help for him back when he was the MVP of the Pebblecreek Crocs twenty years ago. Not only did they win all over national, but they kicked in international waters as well. Once, dad made a Japanese teenage boy cry, and twenty years later, this Japanese guy turned out to be one of the sales agents for Herbaco Inc. (a company that makes drills). Dad can smell fear and vulnerability, and he knows exactly how to manipulate it and get what he wants. It was a shame that he never got into military school though.
Dad went near the microphone stage and spoke:
“Thank you, thank you, I would like to thank the Academy for...oh wait, that was for the awards later.”
A lot of people laughed their asses off at this.Dad smirked at the crowd’s gullibility, and continued:
“I ain’t gonna make this into a long speech, so thanks to Principal McAllister, thanks to everybody, and thanks to my basketball team. Let’s make the school a better place, people. Croc pride!”
“Hear hear!”, majority of the people shouted joyfully. Dad smirked again, left the stage, and returned to his seat. “Awesome, dad”, I told him, giving him a knuckle five. “It’s all about crowd pleasin’, my man”, Dad grinned at me. “All about pleasing the crowd”.”And speaking of which”, he said nudging me on my shoulder. “Three o’ clock, Mark. Go get ‘em, tiger” I looked at my right, and on one of the many tables in the ball room, a pretty looking girl wearing a red gown winked at me. Me and dad chuckled. I stood up, and walked towards her table, while dad returned back to his conversation with Mr. Potsers. Principal McAllister announced the third honourable mention, but I barely listened to him. I thought more about my summer. Sex, pot, and basketball. I’ve got it all, man. Fuck, I’ve got it all. What a summer. What a summer.
I walked up to her, looked sharp, smiled, and said the first words in my mouth that’s bound to be a one-way ticket to Laidland:
“Hey, I’m Mark”.


Wendy:
Krishna’s host parents are Mr. & Mrs. Guttenthaimer, a four-year old married couple living in Southernland Street. Mr. Guttenthaimer is one of the top heads in the Tourist Office in the city, which meant the Guttenthaimers had a certain...unique reputation. Mommy and Daddy had dinner with them many many times now, in fab places like Garden of Eden and Merope’s Restaurant. Since Mr. Guttenthaimer was in the Tourist Office, he really liked cultural stuff, like voodoo dolls from India, or the fat Buddha statues you see in Japan. Being a cultural guy for Mr. Guttenthaimer meant to experiment with lots and lots of foreign food and like plants you see in some rainforests and stuff. Oh, I can’t recall how many times Mr. Guttenthaimer got caughtie, but he got off thanks to his, like I said, unique reputation. Explaining the background of the weird Guttenthaimers’ gets me round to explaining my current situation. Me, Jean, and Krishna just finished our final shoppings for the summer, and now Mrs. Guttenthaimer’s giving us a ride back to our homes. And between you and me, I wish she didn’t have.
The smell in Krishna’s car made my head feel a bit woozy. It smelled like a mixture of burning leaves and an assortment of various exotic herbs. And the weird chant music playing in their radio definitely did not help dose down the environment. Mrs. Guttenthaimer,wearing quite a vibrant yet unusual Jamaican dress hummed along with the song. Krishna, on the passenger’s seat, nodded her head back and forth, moving with the chant’s beat. Jean, on the back seat, shifted towards the many shopping bags that she brought to look for the purse she just bought at the mall. I , sitting next to her, held my pink cellphone, busy texting.
“OMG, I am sooooo tired today. Just finished shopping with Jeannie and Krishie and I just can’t WAIT to get home and lay down in my cuddly wuddly bed. Good eve, fwendiepoos! 
.pop.princess.gm.”
I made sure to list down some of the A-kids including Ronald Krazinsky, Mark Silverman, Charlotte Piggins, and Darwaina Lopez, then I pressed send, and put my cellphone back in my jeans pocket, and slumped back to my seat, with my legs crossed elegantly. I looked at the window on my right. Night slowly fell in Desposition, covering some of the suburban homes with a tint of orange. I saw three little girls with matching jumpers playing jump rope together in their front lawn. Oh wow, does that remind me of my own childhood. Hmm...those were the days where I got to eat candy, wear a Heidi-esque skirt, and skipping on the sidewalk while singing along to Uptown Girl, making sure that the beat matched my time of skipping.
“Awww”, I moaned as I watched the girls with their own business. “What?”, Jean asked still not stopping to finish her oh-so-forgotten conquest of finding the Holy Purse. Krishna heard earshot of what I said,peeked outside the window, and moaned as well. Jean made way for herself, almost squishing me to death while in the process, and looked outside the window. “Whateva, Wends”, she said, going back to her daily business. “It’s just girls. My god Wends, you pedophile”. “Ugh”, I laughed. “I am soo not a pediephile”. “So too”, Jean sneered at me.
“So not.”
“So yeah.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
“No you.”
“You-“
“Girls, girls”, Mrs. Guttenthaimer interrupted. “Please, please, respect the sanctuary that Rumm-rah has provided us. “ That put a stop to our brief teasing battle, and put us back to our seats, silent. Mrs. Guttenthaimer went on about with her chanting, with Krishna following suit. I still had the ghost of a grin on my pretty face, but Jean seemed to get all serious, and played around with her cellphone again. This is the the thing about Jean: it’s easy for her to forget all about it. She has no care, and that is just so cool of her. No wonder Steve McKing asked her to be his partner for his Social Studies project last year.
I looked out in the window again. The green sign two meters before me read “Evergreen Valley”. Two more blocks until my street, Falls Corner. I turned my head to see the countless shopping bags we bought today. Gucci, Donatella, Havaiianas, Ralph Lauren; wow, we certainly made a killing out of this summer. We made a deal to start the shopping-at-the-end-of-the-summer a tradition. We feel that in order to ensure a successful school year, we ought to buy new trends for everyone in school to notice the next day. This year, we definitely pulled out to all stops. Take my word for it.
The car stopped in front of my house. “This means your stop, m’dearest Wendy”, Mrs. Guttenthaimer smiled at me. Krishna reached out to hug me, and I happily obliged. “Love you, Wends”, she said on my ear. “Loves you too a lotsie lots, Krishie”, I replied. I withdrew from our hug and hugged a slightly reluctant Jean as well. “See you tomorrow, Jeans”, I said. “Yeah, you too, Wends”, she replied with a happy yet unusual tone. “Come on now, one two three”, Jean, Krishna, and my hands touched together, and went up as we said “FABULOUS!”
I took my shopping bags, got out of the car, and waved at it as the car sped away to the leaf-infested road. I walked up the steps to my house, and opened the door. “I’m home”, I shouted. “Couldn’t care less”, said a voice in the living room. I scoffed. It was my stupid twin brother, Jimmy. And from the sounds of the noise in the living room, he was clearly watching TV again. That’s all the moron does. Go up to his room or watch TV. Talk about having no life, like right?
“Look who’s home”, said a voice behind me, and then without warning, a pair of big arms grasped my neck, hugging me tightly. I felt the hard cloth of an apron rubbing off my yellow Gabana shirt. “Hi mommy!”, I laughed. Mom’s arms released me after a while, grapsed my shoulders, and turned them to her direction. For someone who’s in her early 50’s, mom looks graceful and fabby as ever. The long American blonde hair (a gene of hers that I have fortunately acquired...and so did Jimmy) looked straightened without effort, her pale white skin bounced any reflection off her complexion, and her face only had wrinkles to a very low minimum. Gorgeous as ever, mommykins. Gorgeous as ever.
“Hi too, sweetiepie”, Mom replied. Her wide smile slightly faded as she saw the many bags lying on the floor. “How much did this all cost?” Her voice shifted from a playful warm tone to a tone that someone whose eyeliner just landed on a freeway. “It’s the end-of-the-summer-shopping-spree, mommy”, I told her. “Of course it’s gonna be a tad bit pricey. I mean what are the chances that there will be to have a pair of ORIGINAL Coco Chanel shoes in some Chinatown?”
“Well, can’t you just buy some affordable yet good-looking clothes like I’m wearing, sweetheart?”, Mom posed to show off blue cut-off shirt that clearly reveals her stretch marks (eww) and her blue shorts, exposing her skinny yet pale white legs, matched with a pair of red slippers.
“No offense mom, but I don’t want to look like a Mexican in my first day of school”, I giggled, laughing at her poor choice of clothing.
“Some Mexican!?”, she said as she tickled my ribs. I couldn’t stop laughing. Ribs were my absolute total weakness. “
“Mom!”, I squealed, laughter still ensued. Mom stopped, and grinned at me. “Are you sure you used dad’s credit card? Or did you get mine in accident?” “Of course,dad’s”, I replied, still laughing a bit. “I memorized his credit card number since I was ten, mommy”. “Good, good”, she said. She looked back in the kitchen door, and turned to me. “I’m cooking up some ham. You want some?” “No”, I replied.”We ate at the mall.”
“Well, all that Gucci stuff you bought better be worth your father’s money, Wendy”.
“Of course, mommykins. You are gonna L.O.V.E. what I bought. Let me show you-“
“Marianne!”, a voice shouted from inside the kitchen.”I brought champagne!”. I looked at the tiny crack at the door, and saw a silhouette of a man. I turned to mom. “Who’s that?” “Dad’s business partner”, she replied. “We’re...discussing some foregrounds of the Abraxtation deal for tomorrow”. “Woah, mommy,” I said.”No need to get all technical with your business thingys.” I looked at the shopping bags beside me. They look like they were dying to get inside my wardrobe. “Well, I’ll head upstairs now”, I said.
“All right, I’ll just be in the kitchen...no wait, wait, don’t come to the kitchen,” Mom said somewhat hurriedly. “Me and dad’s business partner are gonna be real busy, and we don’t want any disturbances when we’re doing our ‘’thingies’, all right Wendy?” “Right, mommykins”, I replied. “Good night!” “Good night”. Mom went back inside the kitchen, while I grabbed my shopping bags, and headed upstairs. Jimmy’s stupid TV shows could still be heard from upstairs. “Could you try to keep it down, numbsquatch!?”, I shouted down the room. “Bite me!”, Jimmy’s voice answered. I scoffed. I hate having a boy as my sibling. I wish I had three sisters. That way,I could actually do dress-up and role play with them. I opened my bedroom door, turned on the lights, and dropped my bags to the mat-laden floor . I immediately scrounged through my shopping bags, until I found some of the accessories, and put them on. I looked at my self in the mirror, and I have to say: FABBY...what was that...LOUS. The pink cap totally matched my blonde hair, the yellow and white striped jacket and Capri jeans totally match up my looks, and the Prada tote and Gabana heels? OMG.
I sighed and smiled as I looked at myself in the mirror. I knew from that moment on that this year, I would be different. Things will change to the much fabby better for me. No more previous years (yuck), because this year would be something to live for.
“They’re gonna love me”, I smiled at my mirror-self.


Liz:
“For example, if the system includes two equations where the graph of one is a parabola and the graph of the other is a line, then there may be a zero, one, or two points of intersection.”

Finished. That takes The College Book of Algebra, Volume 1 down, which meant I just read 9 textbooks and 11 novels, which brings me to 20 books that I read the whole summer. Quite an achievement, at least. See the joys you could get for working in the library? It’s unfortunately, a privilege that few seems to care about (I’m specifically looking at you, Brundle).
I really do can’t believe that it’s been two months since I’ve started working at the library. It brings me to sadness that I just finished my last shift five hours ago, and waved goodbye to Ms. Danderburg and scoffed at lazy old Brundle. Five whole hours since I signed out “returned” to the last book I will ever sign out to this summer. Eight whole hours since I caught those two Sophomore college students having sex in the Law section (it wasn’t pretty; the guy had an EXTREMELY hairy back for an 18 year old, and the woman had rashes all over from her leg to her...I don’t need to explain this).

I put the textbook down the bedside table and looked at my alarm clock. 10:30pm.Creeps, I have to go to sleep. But I didn’t want to. God, I didn’t want to.

I sighed and looked at the ceiling above, where the ceiling fan welcomed me with open arms. This summer had been one of the best summers of my life, just behind two summers ago, where I won five awards...at the same time. Also, behind five summers ago, where 9 year old Liz rode her first pony at her Uncle Joe’s farm (the pony died two days later though...I hate rednecks, why do they never watch the road? Honestly, moronic creeps). But this summer...I got to work in a public LIBRARY. I learned a lot. Plus, it goes great with my resume. And tomorrow...it’s like all of what happened in the summer is gone. Every last bit of happiness and joy that I had vanished like some guy running out on a girl after their one night stand. It’s back to school. For ten whole months. Nothing but surrounded by a bunch of teenagers with a penchant for stupidty and idiocracy. Of course, I’ll probably excel better in school after reading nine textbooks (though I barely need help for that, thank you very much), win more scholastic achievements, and battle out more debate contests, but still...it dosen’t erase the fact that I still have to survive three more dreadful years of high school. Especially getting stuck in high school for three more years with...the unspeakable. God, what I would do for me to be transferred to college instead of “high school”.
I listened intently to my surroundings. I could hear faintly Mom’s knitting and opera music from downstairs. Dad was still at this dinner for the Pebblecreek High staff. I couldn’t come with him since the dinner started an hour before my shift ended.

It’s getting late, and I should really sleep. I shifted to my left, and closed my eyes, ready for the summer dreams to take me in one last time.

Good night, Desposition.