Chapter 1 || This Ain’t Like Highschool Musical At All… (Edited)

Have you ever wondered around school thinking, “This is definitely not my day. Or year. Or life.”?  Well, that is how I feel every day of my life.

Sometimes I wander through the hallways, thinking about how long I have to endure the torture of what people call a mandatory “teenage experience”.

The American teenage movies only show you how your life could go if you’re the nerdy version of Selena Gomez, being blessed with good looks, an amazing personality and, not to forget, an outstanding brain activity that allows her to solve a complex equation in no time.

Of course, she is not aware of her stunning appearance and smartness which makes the whole story even more exciting.

Sadly, this only concerns not even ninety-nine percent of the female population, yet we’re alive and live our lives, maybe while overcoming obstacles like boys, insecurities and sometimes even ourselves, but we manage to ace our lives everyday a new.

Same thing applies for the boys. They’re expected to be the perfect bad boy while simultaneously having a heart of gold and an aggression problem which can only be handled by the beautiful protagonist.

That basically proves that those movies may be a nice illusion to enjoy, but nothing you should take seriously. Reading books and watching movies about it has its charms, yet we take it more to our hearts than we actually should.

You don’t have to like or trust someone because he is considered hot by society or base your worth off of what a person like that thinks of you, no matter what gender you have.

The story I’m about to present you will contain various of these charms, while showing you at the same time that the right amount of sass and sarcasm will get you through literally anything, that you will misjudge people, no matter how much you claim to know them and that sometimes it’s better that things didn’t turn out the way you wanted them to.

Our journey begins with what I thought to be a normal day at school.

The same annoying people, unspectacular classes and enormous urge to quit school and become a stripper, just a normal day in high school.

I was on my way to my math class which was the only thing that separated me from my long-desired lunch break. Sadly, my best friends Paula and Lizzie didn’t share this class with me which meant I had to face this hurdle on my own.

I have to admit that math is not one of my favorite things to do.

Actually, I suck at math and I have to work really hard for my B’s. I’ve always been more of a language person, anyway.

Ι sat down on my assigned seat at the very middle of the class which was my favorite place in class. It took a while for my math teacher to start the lesson, writing several exercises on the board which we had already started last lesson. Ms. Fisher is actually one of the best teachers in here; kind and sweet but if you piss here off, she won’t hesitate to personally kill you.

If it wasn’t for her, my grades would crash down to the earth core in no time, but fortunately the universe decided to go easy on me at least when it came to math.

My level of concentration was extraordinarily low today. However, I’d be lying if I said that this wasn’t the case at least a few times a week. It was barely possible for me to process any kid of information, because my brain was completely dazed by boredom.

The equations on the board merged to one big, white spot. I stared at my watch every five minutes, praying the lesson will be over soon.

The steady ticking noise of the clock, hanging above the board only intensified my urge to fall in a long and deep sleep. Luckily, the lesson went by faster than expected and before I could react to the ringing of the bell, half of my classmates had already stormed out of the door.

Sluggishly, I squeezed myself through the crowd while approaching the cafeteria. Admittedly, I had developed a weird love-hate relationship with that particular place. On one-hand, I loved food, I mean, who doesn’t?

Yet, on the other hand, the people were just plain annoying, well, at least most of them. The problem with my school was that we had that stupid cliché hierarchy like in those irritating high school movies.

Let me quickly introduce you to our seating arrangement here at Summerville High school in Southern California: to the right we have the geeks. People sitting on this table like spending their time with solving equations and occupying themselves with chemistry and physics.

Next to them we have the “The Artists”. It’s a group of people who are in to any type of creative stuff like music, art, writing etc. I actually did not invent the name, it’s how they call themselves. The majority of them are really nice people, some are a bit conceited since they claim to be the best of the best.

On the left-hand side, we have the rich chicks whose life consisted of manicuring their nails, wearing the latest fashion and going to the hairstylist twice a week. And God help them if they wanted a golden honey blond and they gave them a sunny chestnut blonde.

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