I'll Be Fine

Classwork, Drama, Sirens

After the whole incident with Gotham in my very own kitchen, a fact I'm still pissed off about by the way, I went to my room and ended the day by watching Netflix, listening to music, and I finished reading a few books on Wattpad. I mean, c'mon. They're free, and there are some really good writers on there.

The only complaint I have about Wattpad books is that I finish them too fast. 70 or 80 chapter books last me 3-4 days, max. Yeah, I know, it's sad that I have that much free time, but compared to who? My friends all left me years ago. Not that it matters. If you'd up and leave a person for no good reason after 3 years of friendship, I don't need you in my life anyway. And besides, I talk to most people like I spoke to Gotham yesterday. Add on a thick layer of sarcasm, more insults and the occasional pun and BAM. My entire vocabulary summed up.

At least you can't say I use bad grammar. In the yearbook last year, I was voted "Most likely to become a Grammar Nazi." What's worse? The caption read "Oops, too late..." It didn't help that I've never taken a good yearbook photo in my entire life. Except maybe once in the 2nd grade because my mom tamed the beast- AKA did my hair for me. Let's just say I don't remember much from that day, except that my dress was scratchy, my hair was brittle, and the strong smell of hairspray lingered around me. That was also the day we found out I'm allergic to TRESemme hairspray. Go figure.

I lean over and check the time on my phone. 7:02. Well, might as well get ready. Heaven knows I've got nothing better to do.

I drag my butt out of bed, yawning and stretching immediately. Once I finish, I slouch over to my closet. I decide on a plain black t-shirt and dark, ripped skinny jeans. I top it off with my Converse high tops and I straighten my shoulder-length brunette hair. It looks shiny and soft once I'm done, and I mentally pat myself on the back. Not that it's anything new. This is pretty much my everyday outfit, except of course I wash these and I have duplicates. What, did you think I wore the same thing everyday? Ew, no. ...Okay, maybe SOMETIMES on the weekends, but I still shower...

I slip my backpack straps onto my shoulders, except I'm not prepared for the weight of my bag and both the backpack and I tumble to the floor. What the hell did I put in this thing??? I open it up and it hits me: yesterday I took home my art project. It's a round container made of clay, meant for holding small trinkets. Okay, it's really just a lopsided, misshapen mound of clay with a hole in the middle, but I still got an A. Thank God Mrs. Byron grades based on participation or I'd have failed a class for the first time in my life! I take the clay project out, putting it on my bed. I'll deal with that later. I go to close my bag and see my schedule poking out. Oh yeah! Today's the start of the 2nd quarter. It's only mid-semester, but hey, I've already survived 1/4 of my Junior year! Boo ya!

I skim through the schedule and see that almost everything is the same. Advanced geometry first, English 3 second, etc. etc. The only thing that seems to have changed is that I have Intro To Business 7th hour instead of Women's Choir. Well, damn. I forgot about Intro to Business. Almost everybody got that course knocked out during Freshman year, but I'm horrible with statistics and finances so I pushed it off. Look what came back to bite me in the arse...

I mentally prep myself before shoving the paper back in my bag. I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

*****

I'm sitting in 3rd hour Social Studies. So far, the day has been uneventful and dull. The teacher is currently droning on about the aftermath of the American Civil War, which we should've learned in the 9th grade. Actually, I did learn most of this in 9th. Being a nerd has it's perks, like being able to read ahead of the class. Our 9th grade textbook covered this stuff, and I read that book cover to finish in the span of a year. I smile to myself. This is gonna be an easy year.

Unfortunately, the teacher doesn't miss my grin. "Excuse me, Miss Allen, is there anything you'd like to share?" he asks, humor lining his voice. I freeze as every head in the room turns to face me. I absolutely hate being in the spotlight... "Um, no...I was just thinking about how lucky we are as a country to have moved past war. It's horrible and pointless, and many lives were lost, but at least now we've discovered who we are as citizens of the United States..." I manage to respond. The teacher seems to be shocked for a few seconds before responding, "How right you are. Though the war was horrible, now we can move forward in this modern world." The teacher (Mr. Santos) beams at me.

5, 4, 3, 2, aaaaaaand....now. He goes back to droning on. Ugh. I already KNOW this crap. Most of us do! I get that school is important but we could be learning how culture affected meetings of peoples from different lands. We could be learning about Executive Order 9066 during WW2. But no, we have to learn about how our country was affected after a war against our own people. Newsflash: It wasn't pretty. I get that. But do we have to spend an entire quarter on it?

Once the class is halfway over Mr. Santos passes out worksheets for us to finish. Soon after, he's asked by another teacher to watch her class. I finish the one-sided assignment quickly with the help of a textbook and turn on my music, plugging in my headphones. I'm about to start jamming out when someone flicks the back of my head. Someone freaking FLICKED the back of my head!!!

I ignore it at first. I'm not gonna let some idiot get to me that easily. But then it happens again. And again. Finally, I turn around angrily, yanking out my headphones. I'm not that surprised to see Gotham Jones grinning back at me. "What do you want?" I hiss, not wanting to disturb anyone.

Gotham's grin widens. "Hey now, don't be so bitter!" he whispers back. "I was just wondering if you finished the worksheet yet."

I stare back in shock. He is not asking to cheat off me right now. My staring only makes his grin turn into a smirk. "Like what you see?" he whispers. I snort. "Ha, sure. Let's go with that. You go on thinking you're so amazing just because you have money and you're high up on the social hierarchy. Well guess what? You're just a spoiled kid that'll never have to work a day in his life and wastes time screwing girls one day and dumping them the next. You have girls all over you during lunch and lines of other girls wanting to be that girl. I'm never gonna be one of those girls. I kind of have this thing where I despise egotistical jerks. Sue me." I retort. "And you are not getting my answers. Go ask one of your sluts. Or maybe one of your fellow airheaded jocks. Because I could care less what kind of grade you get." I add, feeling enraged right now.

I don't have anything personal against Gotham. He's never done anything to me except...well, exist. But guys like him are the very reason our country is going down in flames. Teenagers are starting to act like adults younger and younger. Not to mention the air of entitlement that seems to follow my generation's youth wherever we go. And I'm sick of it. All of it.

It's not until I notice the class is dead silent and see all eyes on me that I realize I wasn't whispering when I told Gotham off. Oops...So much for staying out of the spotlight.

I look over and Gotham and he's red. Red as a tomato. He looks like a raging bull with veins popping out of his forehead. Kinda sexy though.

...Wait, WHAT? Ewwwww no. Never in a thousand years. Heck, never in a MILLION years.

I'm so much better than that egotistical jerk. Yeah, I know, I've already called him that.

Your opinions of him don't make him any less hot, but whatever...

I quickly bag up my stuff and walk out of the class, stopping by Mr. Santos to say that I'm having really bad period cramps. Total lie, but in my 16 years of existance, I've learned a few tricks. For example, a guy is NEVER going to question it when you say you're having period cramps. My trick works, and Mr. Santos awkwardly sends me to the nurse. I thank him and speed walk there.

Once I'm sitting in the nurse's office, I tell her my cramps are twice as bad as normal and make myself look sick. It works, and she tells me she's calling my parents. While I'm waiting, she asks me to sit in the room off her office, which is almost like a small waiting room. She ushers another student in while I go to that back room.

20 minutes later, she calls me back into her office. However, I expected to walk in to find my parents, NOT the police.

Oh Mason, what have you done this time?