Chapter 1 - A Very Good Place to Start
As a high school senior, freshly 18 as of 2 months and 3 days ago too, I'm supposed to be the top of the food chain. A god in the high school realm, treated with the utmost respect, like in the movies.
That doesn't really happen. Sure, we don't get 'picked on', because there's no one higher than us, and we do get senior priorities, I suppose, like the senior bathroom, usually the first to come, or first to be let out, for activities, but really, at least for me, I'm just another student.
I know every junior, sophomore, and freshman'll tell you different, but then again, I don't really make a spectacle of myself. Therefore, I'm pretty much 'off the map' in that instance, like my best friend, and equally as 'off the map', Jessie says.
Let me tell you a thing about Jessie. We are like total opposites. She's all about keeping up with fashion and styles. I care nothing about such things. She's not stuck up and all, she's just the type of girl who reads fashion magazines, watches celebrities for their clothes, and buys new clothes constantly. But she always donates her 'old clothes' to charity, and she's got her own job to pay for it all. She rarely relies on her parents for money. Yea, okay, perhaps her family is... well endowed, but like I said, she doesn't like asking for their money, she wants to earn it. One of the reasons I accepted her as a best friend. I hate stuck up people.
I, on the other hand, keep to my comfy, fun attire of band t-shirts, jeans, and beat up converse. I get new clothes when mine get too small for me, and I never stop and think 'is this in style?' while I shop. I'm more of the laid back, 'go with the flow' friend in this friendship. Jessie is the 'always on a mission', 'gotta keep things planned out' type. And she always does her raven black, to-the-shoulders, hair. One day she curls it, the next it's straight as a board. Again, compared to me, who always let's my wavy, auburn-brown, past-the-shoulders locks hand free. Every day. Without fail. I hate my hair up, it bothers me too much. But, it could also be because I'm constantly running my fingers through my hair...
"Now, who can tell me why our main character doesn't just ask for help on our journey? Amber."
"Because he's too stupid to ask?"
I sigh in my head, while my teacher sighs aloud. Amber might be a more accurate description of my opposite. Beach blonde, blue eyed, gotta-be-plastic boobs, slutty as possible, and as dumb as possible. How she made it through to a senior, I don't know.
"No, Amber, he wasn't stupid... It was- Do you know Avery?"
I indeedly do, hence why I raised my hand.
"It was because he was too proud of himself, he had a big ego, that he didn't want to confess he was in need of help."
With a smile and a single clap, he nods. "Yes, that is why he didn't ask for help. Thank you, Avery."
That's Mr. Marx, my 5th period English teacher, hence the book and the main character. He's not married, 24 years old, and, according to the girls like Amber, the source of all this... knowledge, on him... 'hot'. Um, no. Well, he's attractive, certainly, with the kind of bark brown hair every girl wants to run their fingers through, matching 'melt your soul' choclate eyes, and obvious muscles under the button up shirts he wears every day. But, I don't know, to call a teacher 'hot' just seems... awkward. And to add to that awkwardness, Amber, our class slut, lest we forget, has no issue with excessively raising her hand for his attention, just so she can flirt with him. Like he's really going to go for that. Honey, please, save yourself the trouble. A guy like him is not going to be going to the senior class slut. Besides, aren't there rules about that?
Anyways, I like English. Books, reading, adventures. And Mr. Marx is funny, and he gives much better assignments, no more 5 page essays for me! It seems like he enjoys having me a student too, as I'm really the only one who a) cares about the material, and b) knows the answers to the questions he asks. This was one of many times that I've corrected Amber in class. Least to say, she doesn't like it.
She huffs and adjusts her already-sinking tank top, shooting me a glare before turning back to him. We had picked our seats this term. She sits front and center by his desk. I sit in the left by the windows. Can you smell the desperation yet? Yes, yes you can.
The bell rings and everyone starts rising. "Alright class, next 2 chapters for homework, okay?" he tells us as we straggle out.
Scribbling it down on my hand, I stand to leave, then sit back down to tie my shoe. I've tripped before, it wasn't pretty, and it won't happen again.
"Mr. Marx, I don't get it."
"Get what, Amber?"
"The book. I mean, I read it, but I don't understand any of it. I think I might need a tutor."
Oh please. She bats her eyelashes again, or juts her lip out anymore, they'll fall of... Cue the eye roll and head shake.
I hear Mr. Marx lean back in his chair, the squeaking echoing through the now almost empty room as I stand to leave. :A tutor? I'm sure Avery would be happy to help."
My head snaps towards them. Excuse me? Did I just get volunteered, by who I thought was my favorite teacher and it was a mutual liking, to try and tame the devil? Thanks, thanks a lot. No, no no no no no.
Amber and I both start talking at once after a moment of silence."
"...always busy with school and family..."
"...do understand it after all, I don't need her to tutor me..."
He raised his hand and we both fell silent, stopping our babbling, and I could see the outline of a smirk on his face. It was clear he knew something like this would happen when he volunteered me. "Now girls... Amber, if you really don't need help, then why did you ask for it?" he questioned, though I'm sure he knew why she'd asked. He wasn't that thick...
Amber tossed her hair over her shoulder and cursed her arms, leaning forward slightly. Despite who might be looking, I heavily roll my eyes and sigh at her. "Because, my grade in this class is really low, and I'd really do anything to get it up."
Okay, that's plenty of... that. Time to go. I heave my bag on to my shoulder and quickly leave the room before she gets too 'into it'. Not that I thought my teacher would stoop that low, but the only time I'd heard those particular lines passing from student to teacher, at least as it was being recalled in the halls, was from those idiotic, perverted guys as they talked about how much porn they watched. Even thinking about it makes my skin crawl. I'll pass, thanks.
"Avery Huston, where have you been? And what are you wearing?" Jessie shrieks as I open my locker, right next to hers. Huston and Hurley. That's how we met, but locker assignments.
"I was coming from English, and you ask this question every day. "I say, ignoring the fact that I didn't really answer her question. One, she can see what I'm wearing. Two, if I told her 'an old pair of jeans, my old converse, and a tour t-shirt from We The Kings', she wouldn't be too happy.
She huffs and leans against the adjacent lockers. "Well, it never takes you that long... I know, I'm hoping one day you'll say 'I don't know. Please help me get a new, fashionable wardrobe.' "
I scoff. "Yea, because you know that's something I'd subject myself to."
She pouts. "But it's your Senior year! Don't you want to look totally hot for your last year?" she asks, and I sigh. "Please, please so shopping with me tomorrow. It's Friday. We'll go to the mall after school and spend the day."
She's all but begging me as I study her warily. She gives me her best puppy dog look, and I cave. "I hate to agree on whatever clothes you pick out, and I have input in it, and... and we shop together. You can't just pick out all my things." I say, but she's too busy beaming and hugging me.
"Yay! Oh, I'm going to plan it all out, and bring extra money, and we're going to have so much fun! Thank you Aves!" she squeals, squeezing me.
"Yea, okay, choking, not breathing." I gasp and she releases me, the 5 minutes bell ringing for our next class, our last class.
"Get a ride tomorrow, so you don't have to deal with your car, since we'll take mine, kay?" she adds, shooting me another bright smile before she leaves for her class.
Sigh. Looks like I've out grown my clothes, then...- A/N: ...So what do you think? It probably seems like nothing, but just give it a few chapters, at least until the 3rd one, please? Review if you want (I'd love you forever!) But don't if you don't. :)