I Hate You

Part 1

Ah, senior year.

The year of parties, of relaxation --- or worry to get all your credits in before graduation and having to stay another year in hell.

Unless they were like you, of course.

You who took AP classes, had extra credits built up, and had plans on literally goofing off your entire senior year to such a point it was criminal.

Which is why it was the third day of school and you were already in sweat pants with your hair twisted into a bun and a faded t shirt that had been washed so many times the logo on the front was barely discernible.

Also, it was your pajamas.

You woke up late.

You sigh as you tuck your hair behind your ear, tired and wanting nothing more then to take a nap beneath the table.

Which wasn't possible.

Not in Mrs. Burke's class.

She was a sweet lady, in her fifties and a little overweight --- it didn't help she taught a cooking class, which you had taken every year since you were a freshman.

It was an hour and a half long, and you had it at the end of every school day for the next whole semester, which you knew was going to be a breeze; it was extremely hard to fail her class.

Like, nigh impossible.

Which is why you like her so much.

Unfortunately, you don't like her seating arrangements.

Your class was loud, full of seniors, lots of slackers and jocks and preppies, all going for an easy grade to help their GPA.

And so, she had created a seating chart to deal with what she knew would be chaos otherwise.

A mother.

Fucking.

Seating chart.

You could scream.

She likes you, you know she does, and she knew you were a good student.

So you weren't sure why she was punishing you and putting you at the same table as them.

Them.

At least she'd been merciful and put your friend with you too.

You look across the table at Ashley, seeing she was gazing down at the book in front of her, reading up on the newest vampire series.

Your friend was a reader --- hell, the two of you have the work block together in the library every day during third period; you both had so many credits, there wasn't many options for you classwise now.

You could call yourself an overachiever, you were fine with that.

So you had to do something.

And Ashley, well, she loves to read; she would rather read then breathe, of that you were sure, so working in the library was heaven for her.

You like reading, but not as much as she does.

And how she's able to zone out the snickering of the three boys at the table you're not sure.

You just know you're going to smash your face into a wall at any moment if you had to listen to them chat about their stupid fucking band for another fifteen minutes.

You glance over in annoyance.

Chris, Ryan, and Josh, who everyone calls Balls for some reason, were the other part of your group.