****************** A/N this is dedicated to racing heart , because i've read billion dollar girl, like, a billion times :P
UPDATE- 25/03/2011- what's hot #981!
UPDATE- 26/03/2011- what's hot #444!
UPDATE- 27/03/2011- It's not what's hot anymore, ah well...
UPDATE- 2/04/2011- what's hot #559, yay! thanks to everyone who has voted!
UPDATE- 2/04/2011- what's hot #494,
UPDATE-03/04/2011- what's hot #484
UPDATE-05/04/2011- what's hot #658
Phew! I hope to actually finish this story this time, I have a problem of not finishing stories because I get a good idea, and then i dwindle off a bit or just want to get straight to the good bit! I'm so tempted just to skip to the main story in this book/story already! I could not be a proffesional writer...***************************
I hated Art. Everything had to be so creative and new. No, I prefered everything to be in its place, only right or wrong, yes or no. This rule applied to dating as well. If I kinda liked a boy then I immediatley knew that it was not going to work out, just like I 'knew it wasn't going to work out with Summer Richards. That was why, for the third time in as many weeks, I was telling him no.
"Oh, come on, please?" He pleaded, his soft hazel eyes searching for something, anything, in my own.
"No." I swiftly replied.
"Do you ever say anything more than that?"
"Of course I do, that's what I'm doing right now, isn't it? I'm not iliterate." I turned to go, but my path was blocked by Summers scruffy form. "Move."
"No. That's not what I mean, though, about saying nothing more than no. I meant saying whatever pops into your head, not even thinking about what you're saying... just, letting it rip?"
I gave him a look and pushed past him, heading straight for English. Luckily he didn't seem to follow me, and I was thankful for that, because somewhere, deep down, I knew he was right. I couldn't even admit it to myself, let alone this arrogant prick who would never let me hear the end of it. An ignorant prick who also has never heard of a 'brush' or 'soap'. I sighed to myself and rounded the corner to reach B16, my English room.
The classroom was mostly empty, seeing that the bell for class had not yet rung. I always showed up early for class, even, dare I say it, for art. It was one of those rules that I always followed, just like the Yes, No rule, I was always early for everything, no if's, no, buts. I took my place in the second row, carefully placing my neat books into neat piles. At the beginning of the academic year I had chosen my seating in every class very carefully.
Of, course in Maths I was right at the front, where I was always first to be handed an assignment sheet, always first to find the answer. In Art it was a circle of chairs, which I detested because it never felt as if I was in a lesson at all. History and Geography were both with a curious teacher called Ms. Skelley, who had a tendency to spit quite far whilst talking, meaning that a seat further back was preferable.
R.S was an odd subject, as it was a mix between right and wrong answers, and complete dependency on your own opinion. This meant that R.S had no way of fitting into my rule book; it was neither a great lesson, nor a rubbish lesson. After thinking about this topic for a long time with myself, I finally conducted that R.S was an anomaly.
The bell finally called for lesson time, and I sat down on my chair, crossing my legs and once again straightening my things. My best friend of 4 years came and placed herself beside me, swiftly brushing down the table and chair with her sweet and delicate hand. Emma Katherine Leonards was a neat girl, with a sleek, mousey brown bob that reached just below her pixie-like ears. Her eyes were baby-blue, and her eyebrows neatly plucked, proportioned to her face exactly by the beauticians payed for by Emma's Botox loving mother.
YOU ARE READING
Yes. No.Teen Fiction
Rachel follows life by rules. The most important being the yes. no. rule. But when She and her brother are sent off to help at their Aunt's summer camp, Rachel learns that, sometimes, rules need to be broken.