It's amazing how fast news travels in high school.

My first day in Bell High, from the second I walked through the massive doors and equally gargantuan metal detectors (welcoming, no?) I had a target on my back, the size of the state I had just moved from.

The small area of the freshman locker room was crowded with even smaller sub-divisions of students, all pointing and hissing about me as I drifted by them, searching for my locker. Honestly, I didn't expect any less, but I did expect to be in the school for at least 2 periods before being hit on.

"Hey, how you doin?" A boy with a do-rag asked, sliding up right next to my locker (after I had finally found it of course, number 1892, the one with the mystery goop smeared across it and the broken lock, typical) smiling to reveal a fake gold grill implanted on his teeth. You could tell the gold was fake, because of the allergic reaction his gums were having to it; they were turning a slimy green color, yuck.

"I'd be better if you go away," I replied sincerely, and started stockpiling text book after text book into my new locker. Apparently, the old user had decided to leave their old retainer inside, as a memento of their year as a freshman. I grimaced, and gingerly discarded of the used mouth ware.

"Don't think too much of it," A nasal-y, but definitely male voice said smoothly from somewhere in back of me. "The guys here will hit on anything that breathes, and has breasts."

"And you would know this why? Because you're one of them?" I snapped, slapping my Linkin Park poster onto my locker door with unnecessary force.

"No, because I teach them."

If there is a darker color than the deepest vermillion, than that's what color my faced glowed with. I spun around, and began spitting out apologies faster than a broken slot machine spits out credits (or the freshman guys spit out cheesy pick up lines to everything in a skirt) "I am so sorry, I didn't know, I'm new and I-"

"Are obviously tongue-tied and frightened." The man smirked, his mouth barely pulling up at the corners. His eyes were a deep, piercing bluish green color, and he had short, curly blonde hair. Yet, as much as I admired his physically appearance, it took everything I had not to smack that expression off his face.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hey, the kids here are pretty tough. I wouldn't be surprised if you don't last the day." The teacher continued, still grinning like an over-confident jackass, which he was obviously turning out to be (no matter how good looking he was).

"I consider myself pretty tough as well, so it shouldn't be a problem." I could feel my hands curling into fists on their own accord, and my teeth clenching. It was taking all of my self-restraint and common sense to remind myself why I should not beat the living snot out of this godly-looking asshole.

"Do you feel that way only because you paint your nails black and listen to Linkin Park?" He continued, his smirk growing into a full-grown smile. Surprising, I thought his angelic face would split in two if he actually smiled. "Trust me, I've seen enough of your type to know who's tough, and who just thinksthey're entitled to be."

I opened my mouth either in horror or to respond, but was cut off prematurely by the blaring ring of the first bell. Time for homeroom. "Excuse me but, are you good for anything other than tearing down a student's self-esteem on her first day, or can you actually help me find this...Mr. Hamby?"

The teacher's face split into an even bigger beam. "Of course I can."

"Great, where is he?" I grabbed my bag, and slung it over my shoulder. After a few seconds of standing expectantly in the same spot, staring at the same stupid grin, it dawned on me. "Oh gods no..."

"So, you're the newest addition to my homeroom?" Mr. Hamby asked, holding out a hand, the smile never leaving his face.