•͟U͟N͟D͟E͟R͟S͟T͟A͟N͟D͟ ͟c͟a͟r͟t͟i͟u͟z͟i͟•͟

II

"Shit, no need to go all out on me and shit," Sheyaa stammered as he backed off, "all I want is some hoes"

"Damn, Sheyaa. All you ever want is hoes and crack, I swear." I replied.

Sheyaa gave me a pissed off look, "Those smart classes are destroying yo short ass," Sheyaa ranted, once again, "you can't think for yo self no more."

"Don't go out blaming me for that shit," I retorted, "it ain't my fault the school thinks I'm smart and shit."

"Ah yes, it ain't you; it yo damn test scores that were created by yo ass." Sheyaa remarked.

"Man, fuck you." I said as I walked off.

I walked towards the side doors of the school, that opened close to my homeroom, leaving both Sheyaa and Miles in the courtyard.

"Not even a goodbye, Sy?" Miles shouted at me as I walked off. I lifted my right hand in the air and waved goodbye, still walking away.

Fuck school.

The shittiest part about being smart even though you wish to be at average or even remedial levels of academia is that you don't ever have any classes with your friends. This was the case for homeroom, a class where I sat on my phone for the short amount of time I was allowed in it.

I put my AirPods in, listening to Ski Mask The Slump God, by far the best rapper within the game, and sitting down at my desk, already getting prepared to leave for Chemistry in the next 10 minutes. I observed as many people came and went through homeroom. Nobody I was relatively close with was in any of my classes.

Hell, there were only two people I knew in homeroom. The first person was my ex, Robin, who I broke up with due to the self-realization that I wasn't attracted to her. We hadn't been on the greatest terms since our breakup just over a year prior. The other person was this kid named Caleb Toliver, who I had spoken little to. He had an amazing build, similar hair to my own, and amazing smarts, but was near-impossible to get to talk. Everyone always claimed he would be the first black school shooter, due to his quiet nature, which I viewed as a fucked up statement, but whatever, it's a public high school that if originated in.

After the brief period of waiting through homeroom, I trudged my unmotivated ass to Chemistry, where we were to be assigned lab partners for the rest of the semester. I walked through the halls, once again, reflecting upon my actions a few nights prior. I needed something to take my mind off of depressing over my issues, so I decided to place solace in the idea that the bore of chemistry may replace the ever so present thoughts that gloomed my mind.

I arrived in Chemistry to be greeted with a mob of people surrounding a central paper. The paper, of course, was a seating chart. It was a challenge for a person of my stature to push my way to the front, but once I did, I began to scan the chart for my name. I landed on my name, which was grouped at the same table as Jonathan Kirk. I began to feel a pit within my stomach.

Jonathan Kirk was the epitome of the wrong person in the wrong place. Jonathan, while living in a setting of relatively depressed economic and financial states, managed to have extreme amounts of money; at least, more than anyone I knew. He was always wearing some sort of new, sparkly chain or necklace, probably made of some rare, foreign mineral. That, in addition to the designer-name clothes he frequently wore, and his brand-new Toyota Supra that he drove to school, made him an idol within a high school that praises the joys of goods and consumerism.