Extended Summary: The dare was to convince everyone she's fallen into depression and has become suicidal. Suddenly her enemy's twin brother starts to become concerned for her even thought it's all for the sake of a bet. Forget seduction. This is Truth or Dare on crack. Too bad, she can't tell it it's only a dare so he could shove his niceness up his butt either.

A/N: This story seems more mundane than all my others but I'm writing through Chicken's perspective with her personality, voice and thoughts flowing through. She's not the most dramatic, interesting or unique character but she's real and plays the part of a follower in her a group of friends. I know somewhere along the line I'll be snapped for being kinda stereotypical in this story but again I'm writing from Chicken's point of view and this is her narration coming through, not me. If that makes any sense at all...

Random Fact: My best friend Nicole from seventh grade was called Naked Chicken.

I love .Ouvrez.La.Porte. :: bex17 :: xxxNitz :: AlmostTragic :: Jayn :: storyteller451 :: kstar129 :: MesmericVision :: Nikita Johnson :: CaramelBoost :: Risa Shayde :: Black-Rose-Upon-Thorn for taking the time to review the previous chapter and also, thanks to Lyrical.Love & I'm An Addict For Dramatics for giving me the name of the song I have in my title for this story (All That I've Got by The Used).

I slinked into class (like a cat, trying not to be noticed even though it backfired) wearing a baggy My Chemical Romance t-shirt I got off a thrift store for $4, some Converse shoes that my aunt bought me last Christmas I never touched, plain ratty old jeans that I refuse to throw out and a wrist band with a punk symbol (well, according to Michelle it's a punk symbol, to me it looks like a weird human skull thing drawn retardedly).

Also, my hair has been cut and I'm convinced I look like a boy in one of those Asian boy bands, the ones with the shaggy long hair. Boo. And I got vivid green and blue streaks I'm dying to snip off.

Before I do an awkward heart-to-foot confession and relay the first series of reactions from my homeroom classmates, I have to get this off my chest.

I do not like 'emo' guys.

Their hair, their skinny jeans, their ability to put on eyeliner better than me (a girl!). Ugh.

I would like to be the feminine one in a relationship that you very much.

I would like to be entitled to bouts of PMS, psychobitch drama episodes and mood swings that make me seem like I'm on second grade cheap street crack.

The whole 'pretend to be depressed' thing is really an act I don't think I could pull off. I'm the girl who loves guys that cry only because I kick them. I'm not a 'bitch' or anything; I'm just… not so tolerant of feminine guys. Gays? Fine. Whatever floats their boat. Guys who think they're a girl? Stranger things have happened. Straight guys who wear skinny jeans? My limit has been breached.

Now that it's out in the open, you might understand my disgust better.

I walked into homeroom wondering who the hell My Chemical Romance are and why people think chemicals are romantic.

My normally chaotic homeroom was silent. All eyeballs gunned me down with a mixture of expressions I did not want to analyze.

I slid into my seat furiously cursing whoever invented Truth or Dare in my head.

A hand tapped my shoulder and I found myself looking straight into the bloodshot eyes of someone I could only class as 'emo'. Open-minded I am not, sue me.

"Babe!" This guy with bloodshot eyes rimmed in charcoal screeched at my poor ears. I didn't know this guy. I swear, four years with the same folks in high school and I still don't know half their names.

"Oink," I grunted back, bored.

For once I'm looking forward to going to first period, yes, class.

So far, about twelve people have asked me," Did you get your hair cut?"

Why can't people just shut up and just be fucking smart for once.

"No, I woke up and it was like this", seem to have no effect on them.

Some people crave attention, good and bad. I'm indifferent. Except when the bad attention starts piling up. Then, even I get the hejebees.

My life honestly isn't that interesting. Sure I have quirks, I used to collect spoons and cry when it didn't rain when I wanted to but I grew out of those phases (thank God!) and I know everyone claims their life is boring (whine whine whine!) but I liked the way nothing overdramatic happened in my life so this dare was really starting to disrupt the way my world spinned.

I yawned and promptly, about nine girls bombarded me questions, mostly consisting of different versions of", Did you do this because of Gary?"

My ex-boyfriend. Yes, his name is Gary. Shut up. Not my fault he wasn't as ugly as his name suggested. Not my fault I'm a girl with hormones and a soft squishy centre inside.

"No," I droned, shaking my head, wondering how anyone could be stupid enough to think I'd change because of Gary, the guy who acted like a different person around… well, whatever present company happened to be really. We broke up because he was a fake but unfortunately, I was quite in love with said fake and he decided he liked his masks better than being real. Whatever. Life goes on before and after him.

"This is quite a… drastic change for you Miss. Dawson." My mouth dropped open.

Did the teacher just comment on my look? I'm screwed.

I was saved by my worst enemy and her twin, oh the irony, when they burst through the homeroom door puffing like fat hippos trying to summersault.

"Tardy again?" The teacher questioned. I used to think tardy meant retarded. To this very day I still smirk when I hear anyone use that word.

"Holy shit, who's the new kid?" Kyle Jenkins blurted while Olivia just stared at me.

Hello? Stupid much? If they're this bad at recognizing the bane of their existence, I should've donned a blonde wig and pranked them ages ago!

Then, my salvation arrived in the form of a petite little half Asian half black girl, waving a Spongebob For President school satchel and a bright orange umbrella.

"WHO MISSED ME?" Em burst through the door, grinning at me while holding up a blue post it note.

"WIFEY!" I bolted out of my seat, doing a customary pseudo lesbian grope with Em. Ever had friends you feel so comfortable around you actually (jokingly) flirt with them? No? Sucks to be you with no real friends.

"Is that who I think it is?" Olivia stared at me with this weird look on her face and the bell rang.

"WHOO, MAKE OUT SESSION IN ENGLISH!" Em cackled (she's a drama student, always exaggerating or putting on acts/voices). People were used to her spontaneous… behaviour by now so they just ignored her.

"Chicken, what happened to you wearing that hot leather skirt, fishnets and a corset?" Em began while I lunged for the door.

This was going to be a long day I could tell as Em began lecturing me about the dangers of becoming an 'emo' and a 'Emo' (what the fuck??).

I'll tell you the difference when I work out her babbling.

Disclaimer: I have nothing against 'emo' people, whatever the hell each of you individually classify as an 'emo' person anyway, or 'emo' guys in particular (except when they hit on me) so please don't skewer me with a metal rod.

Question: What's your personal opinions on what an 'emo' person is?