I sat alone on a park bench, as usual. With my trusty pencil and notepad by my side, I studied the photographs a little more. Oh, how I wished to look like those tall, blonde girls that hung out in the bathrooms at school. They could pick their noses on camera, and still look beautiful enough to be put in a famous teen magazine. But, as I looked down at the pictures I had taken of myself, I dubbed them not worthy to be seen by anyone. They were absolutely hideous. Omigawd, they were. I mean, why can't I ever take a good pic? I mimiced all the poses the other girls did, yet I looked like a flipping dead fish in all my photos. Typical, freaking typical.

That's me, June Times. Nevermind the fact that my name sounds like the title of a newspaper. (What were my parents thinking?) I can see it now, 'Today in June Times, we have an abrupt newswave of retardedness!'. But whatever, 'cause I'm rambling. A little about me, I love to write, read, and act like a typical teenage girl. This includes the spouts of hyperness and stupidity. Oh wait, you wanted to know what I looked like? Well, imagine a nerdy kind of girl, with a pony-tail and a baggy black jacket sitting on a park bench. Now, subtract the glasses and add some acne and a pair of vibrant pink shoes, and you have me, June Times. The awesome newspaper. And that's all she wrote, folks.

So I'm looking at some pictures I took of myself, (You gotta have a great Myspace pic, you know. NOT!) and, you guessed it, whining about them. They truly suck. I cannot believe how stupid I look, much less...Whatever. I take out my notepad, flip through a few of the anime pictures I drew, and bite my lip in dismay. They're bad, though not as bad as my photos. Gah, I can't do anything right.

"Nothing about me is pretty." I say out loud suddenly. And it's strange, 'cause I don't expect someone to answer back, but someone does.

"Oh really?" a voice says, with a hint of mocked interest.

I look up to see the face of Ashen Thorn, a boy who definitely lived up to his namesake. He gave one the impression of being very sick, due to his unnaturally pallid skin tone. He also acted as if he were getting over a life-threatening disease, for he absolutely radiated bitterness. Prickly Pale was an appropriate nickname for him, but I was sure the first person to call him that would be force fed poison. I might be wrong though. But I wouldn't care to try his patience.

"What are you doing?" he asks, a slight jeer to his tone. He places his elbow on the curved back of the park bench, then puts his head in his hand, and stares at the pictures I'm holding. "You an artist?" There seems to be an accusing note to his voice, along with a hint of grim amusement. I make a clicking noise with my tongue, and reply, "What's it to you?" He stands up straight, and starts to stretch his arms. When he yawns, I get an unpleasant view of his off-color teeth, and they make me cringe. I mean, yuck. "Mmya," he murmurs, sounding content until I catch a glimpse of his foreboding smirk. To arvert whatever doom might be coming, I quickly point out, "Listen Ashen, don't you have some wall you need to vandalize?"

And now I've made him mad, 'cause his smirk suddenly changes to a scowl, and his grey eyes are instantly overtaken by his dark eyebrows. With a swift flick of his hand, he brushes some loose red hair out of his eyes, and glowers at me. "Zedyba's got a violin lesson, and Jack's practicing at the drama club." I can't resist rolling my eyes at what the other members of JAZ (Creative little punks, aren't they? Took 'em two hours to come up with this name.) were doing. Zedyba (Real name, Tara Geals.) was Miss Poser USA if there ever was one. Seriously, only an idiot would fall for those combat boots and that mini skirt. Unfortunately, Jack was an idiot. Jack White, choir boy when his parents were looking, the tenth muse when they weren't. Specializes in acting, drama and cough-wangst!-cough. And then there was Ashen. Where did he excalty fit into this triangle? Well, that was the magic of it. He didn't.

So, I'm sitting there on that park bench, waiting for him to do something. Suddenly, out of the blue, he says, "I'm hungry. Wanna go get a burger?" And I'm sitting there wanting to smack my head against the park bench's back, because Ashen Thorn just asked if I wanted to go get a burger with him. This must be a joke, or the door to the fast food joint must be rigged so frogs will be poured on me when I open the stupid thing or...

So my mouth's hanging open like a fish's, and I'm blubbering to find the right word. In the end, I can only say "...Sure." He smiles a wry smile, because he never can seem to manage a truly kind one, and gathers my few belongings, then plops them in my arms, albeit yoinking my notebook as it started to slip from my grasp. Flipping through some of the pages, he commented dryly, "Oh, I see. You're a writer, right?" He pauses to read an excerpt, and that wry smile pops up again. Only this time, it's little more kind. He closes the notebook, and I reach out to take it. But, instead of handing it over, he tucks it under his arm and says, "Are you ready or not?" I kinda really want my book back, but I let it go...for now.

And now the silence is absolutely killing me, but I don't know what to say, as I walk steadily behind him. I'm juggling my pencils, another notepad, and not to mention all those pictures. I'd ask for help, but I don't wanna have to face his signature 'Glare-O-Doom'. And now that I have time to think, why in the heck would Ashen Thorn, the Ashen Thorn, ask me to eat with him? It's not considered a date, is it? Haha, 'June Times and Ashen Thorn, number one couple at Hawk Hill High'. That idea is funneh. Truly laughable. Seriously, I'm mentally laughing my head off. NOT.

I bite my lip. Why did he ask me? Am I a ploy? Is he using me? I freeze suddenly, and Ashen raises an eyebrow at my stopping. What would people think if they saw me eating lunch with the guy?! I look at Ashen, and he frowning. "What's with you? Hurry up, I'm starving." I want to retort, to say "I would hurry if you helped me with this stuff!" but I keep quiet and continue following him.

When we arrive at the burger joint, he holds the door open for me, something I did not expect. Not in a million years. But he doesn't seem to notice that he did anything, and just walks up to the counter without looking back at me. What's with me? Well, what's with him? For a second, he seems like a gentleman. He pays for the food, and pulls out my seat with his foot. But, that nice junk quickly takes an abrupt turn. He sighs, and lifts his feet so that they sit on the table, obstructing our views of each other. I poke the sole of his show to see what he'd do, but he doesn't notice. Looking around his sneaker-clad feet, I see him picking at his teeth with a toothpick and mumbling to himself. He leans against the back of his chair, and sighs contently.

"You're done already?" I ask, surprised he could eat so fast. He opens one eye, and peers back at me. "Wuzah?" I push his feet off the table, much to his dismay. "Hey, whatz shour problem?" I put my head in my palm, and mumble a few swear words. Looking back up, I reply "You. Can I go now?"

"Nyah...what's stoppin' ya?" he smirks, and flicks a stray bang out of his eyes. I have to say, he's right. Nothing's stopping me, yet I just can't seem to make my feet move. "I want my notebook back." I say, a futile attempt to fill in the blank space between us. He grins as he holds it carelessly in one hand. "Oh, this? No, I think I'll keep this for a while." I manage a small growl, before seeing there was nothing I could do.

"This pipsqueak bothering you, Ashen?" a high pitched, annoying voice sounded from behind me. I turned around to look into the face of Zedyba, Miss 'I'm-So-GAWFIK' herself. Toting a violin case that rested on her shoulder, black-sludge covered lips puckered up as if she had eaten something rather sour. Jack, in all his bright-blonde-haired glory, appeared looking as if he were about to sing. I noticed, with pleasure, that his sweater vest looked rather nice. I fought back a laugh, for I knew, should it escape my lips, I'd be DEAD.

Seeing my predicament, Ashen wove his hand and said, "Nah. She followed me here like a lost puppy, and I bought her lunch. So what?" He hops up, and walks over to stand between the two. "Let's head out," he says, smirking at his 'friends'. He turns at the last moment to give me a sneer, before walking out.

I walk home soon after, but not before noticing that he had indeed taken my notebook with him.