3: room for one more?

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It takes approximately three minutes before I remember why I actually hate school and don't want to be here

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It takes approximately three minutes before I remember why I actually hate school and don't want to be here. For some reason all summer I had this vision in mind of colour-coded binders and neat handwriting and highlighting my notes and doing all my homework on time, but now that I'm here, it all seems like... a lot.

Because it's our first day of senior year, every single teacher starts the class with a lecture about how important this year is for our future, and why we must study harder than we've ever studied before, make the scores we need, and get into the top schools, so we can get good jobs and work forever and then die. Well, they don't say the last part.

But suddenly my big First Day of School Strategy seems like the stupidest thing I've ever thought up, because how am I possibly going to have time to find a best friend this year, when I'm so busy studying?

But I force myself to sit next to Hannah P. in math class, because this is part of my strategy.

Hannah P. and I have never really been friends, but I know her well enough to sit and talk to her, especially after we bumped into each other this morning before school. She's nice, and I've noticed that she floats between groups a bit, just like me. She doesn't have one single best friend, which means she's perfect best friend material.

"So Liam Somner is back!" she says to me, literally as soon as I sit down. For once she puts her phone away and actually looks at me.

"Uh, yeah," I say, shifting uneasily in my seat. This is not exactly how I wanted the conversation to start. See, I even brought talking points.

First, I know that Hannah P. is obsessed with astrology, because she posts her daily horoscope on her Instagram Story every morning, like clockwork. I know she's a Taurus, because of this. I don't believe in star signs, but somehow I know every single thing about Tauruses now because of her Instagram. Apparently Tauruses are petty and can't stand to lose fights, and they're obsessed with food and sleep.

Second, I know Hannah P. is really good at math, which is a bonus, because I'm in her math class.

Third, I know Hannah P. is diabetic. Actually, the whole school knows because of a dramatic fainting incident in eighth grade, which made everyone look at Hannah P. with a mix of awe and intrigue and fear, because she has to give herself shots.

That last one is kind of irrelevant to the best friend thing, but I kept it on my list as a reminder that everyone has their own unique issues in life, and when I become best friends with someone, I'm determined to accept all of them - the good things, and the bad.

"So why is he back?" Hannah P. asks, leaning over towards me conspiratorially. "Everyone said he got expelled."

I bite my tongue. I don't want this conversation to turn into Liam Speculation 101. Instead, I give a noncommittal shrug, and pull out my phone under my desk, so that the teacher can't see it, but Hannah P. has full view.

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