"Ouch." Really? Already? A flying textbook wakes me from my dream-like slumber.

"So-phi-a… Good morning my Sophia…" a voice rings in through my window. I choose to stay silent. "Soph! I have something to ask you that is very important. This question will change your life, I swear!" the voice continues.

"No, I will not let you copy my--"I say while glancing at the textbook to confirm what subject we were talking about "--Physics homework."

"Look, its not like I want to copy it, ok, it's just sometimes life makes you do things that at the time, may seem bananas, but in the end I think you'll find that really--"

I cut him off, "No."

"Please."

"No."

"I will cook you breakfast if you help me, your BFF. Just this once."

"Yes."

He must have taken that yes as a, "come right in, bud," because all of the sudden, this 200 pound boy climbs out of his window, and into my room.

This boy happens to be Bryan Perry, who yes, is my best friend. For the record, he does not have any magical super powers that enable him to jump from window to window on a whim. Our apartment buildings were just built ridiculously close together, ensuring absolutely no privacy for either of us. But at this point, I don't mind all that much.

"I want pancakes, chocolate chip pancakes. And if they are not hot and smiling at me once I get out of the shower, I swear, I will systematically convince the entire school that you, Bryan Perry, has crabs."

"Gotcha, chief."

My shower was uneventful, as one may assume. I step out and clear the fog off the mirror to unveil the masterpiece that is Sophia Laurence. When people see me they automatically notice my height. I am neither tall, nor average height. I am short, and I am not ashamed. But really, they should notice my eyes, because they're frikken ginourmous. If you were to compare me to a doll, its clear that I'd be a Bratz doll, considering my short stature, huge ass eyes, and my sassy nature.

Bryan stands by the kitchen table, arms folded, wearing the signature BP grimace. The same grimace that melts girls hearts and turns it into goo. I like to think that I am immune to the grimace, considering I was around during the star wars years.

"I like the face." I say, staring down at a pancake with two eyes, a huge smile, and… a nose ring? Made of chocolate chips. It causes me to smile.

"Well you like smiley face pancakes."

"This is true. But really? You never call the ladies back, you never do your own homework, but you'll wake up at 6:34 in the morning to make me a cheery breakfast. So I ask, who ARE you?"

"Why I am Bryan Perry, love." He sits down and furiously scribbles the answers from my worksheet onto his, word for word.

I roll my eyes. "Why don't you just quit school and become a professional chef. You could be the next Rachel Ray!"

"Well because, Soph, I have a thirst for knowledge." He exclaims in his usual sarcastic tone. "What does this say? Internet? They definitely didn't have that in Newton's time."

"Inertia, dumb ass."

"The mouth on you child," Bryan complains, grabbing my jaw, "You almost done, kid, because I have lots to learn."

"Got that right."

Our trek to the EL train is frigid and windy as the majority of them are. Luckily, we are North Face clad and whether the Chicago weather like pros. To keep our jaws from freezing shut, we exchange chit chat, from anything from the Blackhawks to girls to the proper way to wear Uggs. Today, it was girls.

"Would you ever go out with I homeless girl?" I ask.

"If she has a nice rack then yes, I believe I would reach out to the needy."

"You are awful. A complete pig. Why am I friends with you?"

"Stop being so dramatic. I think its worse that you would go out with a guy just for money."

"How would you even know that? You don't. And I definitely wouldn't."

"I know that because I know you, bud."

"Oh don't flatter yourself. What am I thinking right now?"

"You're thinking… 'If this train doesn't come soon, I'm going to push Bryan onto the tracks, because that would be fun for me.'"

"Shit. Your right."

At this point of my life, I should dread school, but quite honestly, I rather enjoy it. I enjoy almost all the people in it (excluding douche bags/sluts) and I enjoy talking to them. Most of all, I enjoy it when the giggle at my sarcastic, dry humor, because it's a real self-esteem booster.

The students at East Lincoln High are not rich, but then again most of us do enjoy Cheerios in the morning as opposed to Toasted Spooners. It's not the best place to spot a girl carrying the new Kate Spade, but the football team kicks ass, and the drama department puts on semi-decent plays from time to time, and in the end, isn't that all that matters? So I walk into ELHS with a smile on my face and fire lighting up my golden eyes. Bryan has detached from my side and is now accompanied by this dude pals. They are hitting each other with an unidentified Styrofoam object. Huh. Here's what sucks. Steven Clayton and his "bros" (remember the douche bags I mentioned earlier?) are huddle around poor Michael Hershington. Little Michael was born with unfortunately thick moustache hair, and a head three times bigger than his body. Naturally he is a target to get picked on.

"Move it Fag! Why are you always in my way? If you don't move now I swear I'll pound your big ass head in!" Douche #1 exclaims.

"Sorry, I was just getting—"Michael gets cut off by douche #2.

"Does it look like he gives a rats ass about what you're doing? Move! While your gone, buy a razo-" Now I cut him off.

"Excuse me, captain Tool and his posse of Little Sailor Bitches, but your bullying is getting rather tiresome, and honestly, it's a little cliché, so why don't you do yourself and everyone else a favor and run away like the little girls that you are before the whole school find out what you and your special friend Bobby Colton did at summer camp in 8th grade." They are speechless and frozen in their tracks. Sometimes, a good bitch-out is good for the soul.

"Thanks, Sophia." Michael says.

"Oh, Michael, it's what I do." I reply, and escort him to his next class.

The day passes without blemish. I sit with the same people at lunch that I have sat with since 7th grade. We argue over whose better, The Killers or The Bravery. Lillie, Reggie and I are all Killers fans through and through, while Bryan, James, and Katelin claim, "The Sun and the Moon", was an album crafted by angels. Of course Katelin will agree with anything that Bryan says (she is not immune to the grimace quite yet), and James will always agree with Katelin because he's been irrevocably in love with her since ever. So that whole side is kind of a package deal. Things almost got interesting during 7th hour, in physics.

"Mr. Perry, Ms. Laurence," Mr. Molestein (ironically, he has a mole the size of Wyoming on his upper lip. And he's fat.) calls us to his desk.

"Yes Mr. Molestein," I reply in a sugary sweet tone.

"I find it interesting that you and Mr. Perry's answers seem to be identical, yet again."

"Ditto," I retort.

"Sharing answers is an offense that can get you kicked out of this school and squash your chances at college. You sure you want to risk your future just to keep your significant other happy?"

"Well, Mr. Molestein, Mr. Perry and I are not significant or other, for that matter, but it's a common mistake, I forgive you. As for this whole answer ordeal, I am dumbfounded as to how this could've happened," I lie.

"Yes, we're both dumbfounded," Bryan mimics. After all the predicaments we've been in, he's learned to just agree with what ever lies I say to get out of it, simply because I'm much better at it than him.

"I'm not buying it. For now you'll get detention, but next time I will not be so easy."

I sigh. "I suppose it's what you have to do. It just stinks for those physically disabled inner city kids I was supposed to tutor this afternoon. I guess another day in the ghetto won't draw them any closer to the gang violence culture of Southern Chicago."

"Well… I suppose I can let you off this once, for the future of our city, but next time…"

"There won't be a next time. Thank you, Mr. Molestein, You have the kindest soul," I faux-gush.

"Yes, Mr. Molestein, thanks you so much." Bryan adds.

"Not you, Perry. We all know Sophia's the smart one and you're the culprit. I'll see you after school. Now both of you sit down."

I shoot Bryan a wink and sit down with the proudest smirk you've ever seen.

Once I'm home from tutoring physically disabled inner city kids (a.k.a going to the record store and purchasing "Grandpa Would" To finish off my Ben Lee collection) I enter my empty apartment. Bryan won't be home from detention for another hour, so I'm stuck eating cheese straight from the bag. My dad is either on a business trip or doing something yucky and deceitful that I'd rather not have the details of. My mother, well, I don't recall her. Although I'm fairly sure she's some type of prostitute, because that's the kind of girl my dad's into. So for now I go over to Bryan's room and play Guitar Hero, his birthday present I gave him last year specifically so I could sneak over and use it.

Over an hour later he enters his room unfazed that I am in it.

"I hate you," He claims.

"Why ever would you hate meee?" I play stupid.

"Because, Detention with the mole is like shaving your junk with a cheese grater."

"Lucky for me, I don't know how either of those things feel."

He grimaces. "I rented Dodgeball. And were watching it."

"Is that a threat?" I ask.

"Yes. Now make me some popcorn."

We watch. We laugh. We fight. We throw popcorn in the air and catch it with our mouths. We fall asleep on the couch. This is just fine with me, because as far as I'm concerned, it's the most comfortable place in the world.