!--DIV {margin:0px;}--

Alright this is my first story posted on here. I love love love to write so there will be more frequently! This is only a tiny portion of this story, so if I get some reviews I'll post the rest. :) Hope to hear from you!

-----

I slowly push my books into my locker. Math. Science. History. I grab my sketchpad and my adidas gym bag. Slinging my bag over my shoulder I grab an orange mechanical pencil from the top shelf. I turn quickly, pushing my glasses up on my nose, kicking my locker shut. I walk down the halls, which by now are swarming with people. Jocks. Nerds. Skanks. Outcasts. Easily dodging people, I sidestep so that I'm hugging the wall. Compared to my worn moss colored sweater, black skinnies, and white converse everyone else's Hollister, Aero, and Abercrombie jeans and T-shirts seemed so expensive. I head straight to the bathroom after rounding a corner. The old 70's yellow tile seemed to line every inch of the bathroom. Even the stall doors and walls were painted the ugly color. I look in the mirror farthest from the entrance. My auburn curls seemed wild, and my deep green eyes looked weary. A cautious smile was planted on my face as I tuck a single curl behind my ear. I take a deep breath then push my glasses up the slim bridge of my nose. Then I turn to walk out of the bathroom when a heavy girl runs in. Her hands cover her face and sniffles escape her mouth. She runs into the bathroom that had more graffiti on it than paint. She lets out small sobs as she slams the door and viciously locks it.

I bite my lip and figure that leaving this poor girl with no one to talk to would be a crime that I most likely wouldn't be forgiven for. I gently knock on the door, which ironically had 'Pansy' scrawled in cheap bic pen ink by the handle.

"What do you want? Go away!" She replies to the knock.

"Come on, I just want to know what happened. Are you okay?" I kind of whisper back. I honestly felt sorry for the girl. Most likely bullied for her weight and the way she dresses. I mean she ran into the bathroom wearing thick wool leggings, a jean mini skirt, bright neon layers of tank tops, and a scraggly scarf type thing along with muddy green combat boots. I had been made fun of for my way of dressing a while ago. I liked to wear sweaters, so?

"The usual. I'm fine" She quietly sniffled back to me. Her tone seemed exhausted like she couldn't take anymore of what the kids, or kid, had been doing to her. Like she didn't care anymore. Nobody deserves to feel like that, not even those who bullied. The reason they bully is most likely 'cause they were bullied too. An endless chain of stupidity if you ask me.

"I don't think your fine. Maybe you should tell me what's up. I'm open minded." I say, letting out a small breath, I sit down on the floor at the back of the room. I flip open my sketchpad and brush my pencil lightly across the paper. Making tiny lines that added to one word that popped into my head 'Late'. It won't be my first tardy but I wouldn't get in too much trouble.

"Have you ever felt like your life is just a game for others to play with?" She sighs.

"Honestly? No. But, that's me being blunt."

She ignores my comment and goes right on talking, which I like, because I love to listen.

"I hate all those stuck up snobs that think picking on me is a daily entertainment show." She says, her words filled with true anger and self-pity.

"Yeah, it's a shame that they can't grow up. They don't know it but mostly everyone else, besides their clique, hates them. So blinded by arrogance and ignorance. Sad really." I say, almost talking to myself.

I hear nothing else from the girl for a few moments. So, I complete my 'Late' picture and put my signature at the top left hand corner.

"Well, I'd better get to class." I state, and then stand up, brushing off the back of my pants and the back of my legs. I begin to walk out the door then a hushed voice says 'Thank you' so quietly I almost can't hear. The words made me smile from the heart, so I replied.

"No problem, take care of yourself."

In my art class, Mrs. Torkett excused me from being late only because I said my locker was jammed. I only came up with an excuse because she asked me why I was late, it actually came out on whim and I was surprised it was such a liable excuse. I take my seat next to Jeremy Turner. He's what you would call a Jock, but he's the main Jock's best friend. Making him not as bad as all the other Jocks. He was nice, I guess, but very hard to read.

"Where ya been, Clark?" He whispers to me as I sit down. He was doodling a picture of… something I couldn't quite recognize from this angle. Clark is not my name if you're wondering. It's Kelly. Jeremy has always called me by my last name, Clark, ever since I've known him.

"Nowhere." I explain in short. This time he slightly looked at me, glancing up from his doodle. His bright blue eyes stare at me for a moment. Then his gaze drops. His sleek black hair was sculpted into a modern asymmetrical ducks tail. His skin was a light bronze, which made his eyes seem even bluer when he looked at me.

"Okay, class, I want you all to stand up." Mrs. Torkett says loudly, followed by a few groans and sighs.

"Come on now, you're in eighth grade, not fifth grade." She states, clearly agitated by some of the class' behavior.

When we stand up I realize how much taller Jeremy is than me. He's almost a full head taller, actually. His broad shoulders are almost twice a big as mine too. Two years ago he'd been a lanky kid getting crushed in football. Now he seemed to be filling out.

"Now, pick a partner, we're going to be doing a big project. It's a tribute to Van Gogh. Impressionism. Bright, unnatural colors, right class? We've learned this." She
says, glaring over our heads. She, I swear, almost cleared seven feet tall. She was a thin woman, almost as thin as paper. Her boring blonde bob with bangs didn't help her look either; neither did the fact that she wore three-inch heels everyday.

I looked over at Caleb, he winked at me, a small grin crept up on his face. Caleb has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. He's also been gay for as long as I can remember. He grew up as the only boy in the third grade that wore scarves and girly glasses. I loved him 'cause he stood out. He was different and so was I. His personality fit mine perfectly. He was energetic and demanding, I was laid back and agreeable. He was short, for a boy, my height. He had wide shoulders and little legs, short spiky caramel hair and perfectly tiny aligned teeth. Also light gray eyes that, I believe, could see into your soul.

"Requirements are on the board. This project is due in two weeks people, hop to it!" She exclaimed as she plopped down into her poofy tan desk chair.

I walk up to the board slowly, letting the people that just had to get there first… get there first. Caleb walked up behind me, I could hear him sigh while some people stood in his way and he waited for them to move.

"Kelly, I was thinking about tomorrow, do you have anything planned?" He said, his voice sounded like a normal guy's. Not high pitched and not like his nose was plugged up.

"Uhh… maybe some stuff. Why?" I said, making sure he heard the emphasis on the 'stuff'. Caleb knew my incredibly secret secret that I have never told anyone else but him. I was born with the ability to turn my arms -which I found out were a proto-type gene switch experiment my parents had agreed to because they were both science professors and really into the whole half human half machine thing- into any science fiction looking weapon, or house hold item I wanted. I wasn't upset at my parents for agreeing to the experiment, no way. I was actually kind of happy because they gave me a gift that made me different. Although, I wasn't all that different physically. I appear normal, sure, but I sure the hell wasn't.