Finley Thomas was starting a new school, and she was not happy about it. She insisted to her mother a number of times that moving to another town would ruin her entire life, and now she was going to prove it.

"But I can't move right now!" she'd argued heatedly, her usually pale, freckled face turning a light shade of pink. "I'm gonna be in the seventh grade! I've already found my position on the social ladder! I don't want to have to do it again! It's not fair."

"I know it's not, Fin, but that's life," her mother stated calmly, using her favorite excuse, "that's life." Fin hated that phrase. Life was too unjust.

That terrible phrase had thus ended the argument immediately, with Mrs. Thomas having the final word, as always. But Finley vowed to herself that she would convince her mom that her life was miserable there until she felt so guilty that she would pack up and move them back home.

But at the current moment, Finn had to just stand there, at the end of her driveway, and wait for her bus to arrive. She began chewing her lip impatiently, a habit she picked up when she was 9. She was 12 years old now, considering herself a truly mature adult who was too grown up to keep such childish habits, but she couldn't help herself. It had become an unconscious action, and she despised not being able to stop herself.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the horrid yellow vehicle stopped at her driveway. She bounded up the steps, taking a quick glance around the hideous brown interior. She grimaced slightly in disgust and took a seat near the front, across from a girl who looked about her age. A few minutes passed, and the girl across from her made eye contact and smiled.

"Are you new?" she asked, clearly looking for gossip. Finley simply nodded.

"What grade are you in?" the girl continued, a slight glimmer of hope and excitement in her eyes.

"Seventh," Finley answered after a moment's hesitation. The excitement in the other girl's eyes quickly vanished, and a bored look replaced it.

"Oh." She was clearly disappointed, so she turned away. Apparently since they weren't in the same grade, Finley was none of the girl's concern.

The bus ride was tedious. No one else seemed to even notice Finley's presence, much to her annoyance and slight offense.

They finally arrived at the school, with every seat at its maximum capacity of people except for Finley, who sat alone. She felt a bit alienated, but kept her chin held high, attempting to salvage some of her pride.

After getting her schedule and locker number from the office, Finley marched up the stairs to where she assumed her locker was. She eventually found it next to her homeroom, and started doing the combination.

She smacked the locker after quite a few times of being unsuccessful, a scowl appearing on her face.

"Need help?" a scratchy, clearly pre-teen voice asked. Without dropping her scowl, Finley turned to look at whoever spoke to her. A girl, using the term loosely, as Finley regarded her to be positively hideous, stood next to Finley's locker with a stupid grin on her face.

Gum was noisily being chewed in the girl's teeth, which were severely crooked and missing the braces they surely ought to have had on them and her greasy face was covered in acne. Her hair was frizzy and the color of a long-dead, fallen autumn leaf. Finley idly wondered that if she touched it that it would crumble like a dead leaf as well.

Finally deciding to answer her question, Finley pressed her lips together and nodded.

"What's your combination?" the girl asked her, abruptly stepping in front of Finley's locker to open it for her.

"Why should I tell you?" Finely asked, suddenly suspicious.

"So I can help ya!" she answered easily, apparently not noticing the venomous tone Finley held. Finley rolled her eyes at the obviously stupid girl, no longer considering her a possible threat/locker-breaker-and-enterer.

"28, 45, 3," she answered begrudgingly, watching the girl spin the little lock easily and lift the knob with little trouble at all.

"I think ya were turning it an extra time. I do it all the time," the girl prattled on uselessly as Finley shrugged her jacket off and hung it in her locker. "What's your name, anywho? I'm Sammy, Sammy Griffin."

"Finley," Fin answered curtly. She abruptly shut her locker and headed toward her homeroom door. "Thanks for the locker help, Sammy-Sammy-Griffin." Fin thought she might have heard a slight objection to being called Sammy-Sammy-Griffin, but ignored it and continued trying to ditch the talkative girl.

But Sammy-Sammy-Griffin, as she had officially been dubbed, followed Finley around throughout her first day. It turned out that they had basically every class together, except for band, in which Finley played percussion. She was grateful to get away from Sammy-Sammy-Griffin's constant chatter, but was extremely put off by the god-awful noise her band teacher called "music."

By the end of the day, Finley decided that Sammy-Sammy-Griffin was dumb as a brick because she apparently didn't know how to take a hint. She was about to tell her off, but Sammy-Sammy-Griffin had started up talking yet again.

"Hey, so, are we like, best friends now? I've never really had a best friend before, and I think you'd make a real good one, even though ya don't talk much. I think you're pretty great, y'know? And maybe if we become best friends you'll think I'm pretty great, too," Sammy-Sammy-Griffin babbled on. Finley frowned slightly, not extremely keen on becoming her best friend, but sighed reluctantly. It was either that or no friends at all. Plus, she felt a bit of pity start to bubble up in her chest.

"OK," Finley mumbled, looking at her shoes. "Yeah, sure, we can be best friends if you want." Sammy-Sammy-Griffin had this stupid grin on her face now, and Finley almost took her words back.

"Oh, thanks Finley! I'm so excited!" Sammy-Sammy-Griffin jumped up and down, much to Finley's annoyance.

Standing there, the pair of them looked rather bizarre. The short, angry-looking redhead staring at her shoes was a stark contrast to the tall, gangly brunette who could do nothing but smile at the other. After a minute or two, Finley got sick of Sammy-Sammy-Griffin's stupid cheerfulness.

"Bye." Finley stalked off towards her bus, climbing on before Sammy-Sammy-Griffin could get a word in.