#KYS

                The second bell rang, warning the students to rush into their designated classrooms. Having been deep into listening to horror stories on my phone, I jumped at the harsh blaring sound that was more like a siren than a bell.

As a few of my classmates got up to grab their textbooks off the shelf, I heard a familiar desk creak, indicating that Rache was turning around in her seat. A phone was shoved into my face. On the screen was a picture of one of her psycho killers she obsessed over, with his shirt off, reclining in a suggestive position on a couch.

"You have issues," I told her.

"I know!" she cocked her head in a mock-anime fashion. "Wacha listening to?" she yanked one of my earbuds out and put it to her ear.

"Haven't you heard this one?" I asked her.

"No, actually," she furrowed her brows. "Is it any good?"

"It's well written, it just relies too much on the shock factor of gore."

"Gore is still fun," she smiled, tilting her head down, as if trying to give herself a dark smirk.

We were suddenly separated by a kid—Matt, Michael, Mitch, I never learned his name—whose daily ritual was to give us hell. "Hey nerds, whacha looking at?"

Rache and I ignored him.

"I think I've heard of the author, though" she continued. "It's sad to see that he's running out of ideas."

"Who, Shakesphere?" the kid asked.

"I'm sure he's just in a slump," I told her, looking completely past him as if he were a ghost.

"Yo," Dylan's voice called from the back of the room. "Fuck off."

The kid immediately backed away, returning to his seat with his feet dragging the floor. It was good to have a senior brother who was universally respected.

The teacher entered the room. Rache sank back into her seat. Before class began, I shot a quick text to Dylan. "Thanks man."

He replied: "Next time I want to hear you say it."

The third bell rang, and the room silenced as the teacher began pulling up our activator on the screen. I finished my work early, as usual. I found myself blankly staring at the back of Rache's head. A big black bow was fixed into the side of her dyed red hair, matching the all-black theme of the rest of her outfit. She was a scene girl all the way. It was strange to think that she used to be my neighborhood friend, the little girl wearing dresses with long natural brown hair. Still, even though she had changed on the outside, I was thankful she didn't come and go like the rest of my friends. Even though we were technically good acquaintances, it was consistent. And it was nice to know I had someone to go to when I had a dumb question about homework or a rumor.

Unlike to her, I had pretty much remained the same. I had always been an outcast. I was in-between being in honors and CP classes, too smart for the dumb class and too dumb for the smart class. It was an awkward place to be, and it didn't land me many friends. To make the situation worse, I had no redeeming qualities. I wasn't athletic like my brother, or a band-kid like Rache, and I didn't know the ins and outs of comic book theories like a nerd. I suppose I did find someone in every class to hang out with, but no one to really get to know, and no group to really fit into.