A/N: Sort of like my school, only a lot more fun. I don't own anyone, well, I do, just not in the slavery sense. The nicknames and stuff will be explained later on (ask about any that confuse you in your review, please.) If people actually like this, I'll actually update it. (A first for me.)

Turning the corner Brenna "Rasta" Thomas stared at the now familiar spectacle in front of her. The entire student body circled two boys, chanting encouragements. No, this was not a fist fight, which would've been a relief. But no. It was a paper football tourney. Once again, Ralph was winning. Rasta narrowed her eyes and pushed the Frosh (freshman) who still found the entire ordeal amusing, out of her way. "Why am I surrounded by dipshits?" she wondered aloud, slamming the door open to reveal stickers that read things such as "Popularity is a Social Disease" and "Good Charlotte." A s'more (sophomore, like herself) that Rasta had no inclination to get to know better, flipped her head around to stare wide_eyed at her, offended. Rolling her eyes, Rasta sneered.

"Yes, you!" Retrieving the needed books, Rasta slammed her locker and walked away. Hearing the screams of the afore mentioned S'more trying to remove her hair from the door, Rasta grinned.

Another day had begun.

Rasta may seem mean and cruel at this point. And, to make a long story short, she is. But that's alright because she's comfortable with her personality, and she knows that the friends she does have are true friends. So, as anti_social and unfriendly as Rasta is, she is happy. However, we must continue with this tale, so, shall we? 

Rasta plopped into her seat next to the group of teenagers who presently resided in home room number 112. This wasn't Rasta's home room, but these were her people, her "posse", her friends. And that's all that matters. Noice, formerly known as Henebath Doone (hence the change, eh?), smacked Gigi Donner (they sat next to each other, as this was their actual home room) before turning to Rasta.

"Hey! How are ye this fine morning?"

"Ah, tam well, I tis!"

"Indeed." Gigi replied, before returning the slap.

Svena, another of the group rolled her eyes at Noice and Gigi before continuing with the home work due that day in Latin. Svena's real name wasn't Svena, but no one remembered what her actual name was, not even Svena herself. As she had an idiosyncrasy dealing with a need to be a Swedish Astronaut, Svena worked well.

"How far in that are you?" Rasta asked innocently, peering down at the list of verbs waiting to be declined.

"How should I know? I'm just using Jade's." Svena answered airily, transferring the nominative case of yet another word no one knew.

"Ah, well, I'm gonna need that then. I spent last night on that killer math, interspersed with Latin vocab for that quiz today."

"You actually studied for that? Wow."

"Yeah, sky's falling."

"Ouch, damn it!" Noice cried poking Gigi in the foot.

"What the hell is going on with you two?"

"Oh, nothing." They said at the same time, grinning.

"Well," Gigi began at Rasta's questioning look, "I said that a slap hurts more than a smack, but Noice says it's the same thing."

"Ah!" Rasta nodded, comprehending. "Can I help?"

"Well, we need a second opinion, but you don't feel pain, devil child."

"Ah, but I know someone who does!" Rasta jabbed her head at Svena.

Graz jumped as he entered the room at the loud scream that comes from being smacked and slapped at the same time.

"Which one hurt more?" A ridiculously cheery voice asked.

"When I regain feeling in my arm, I'll tell you!" The a voice with a fake Swedish accent replied.

"What did I miss?" He asked cautiously, wondering if he really wanted to know.

"Ah...experiment. YOUR TURN!!!!" Gigi replied as she leaped forward to attack him.

Rasta sighed happily as her Pre-calc book went sailing through the air, and joined the fray. 

At 8:40, Rasta stood and brushed off her clothes. "Gotta blaze! Evil British woman gets pissy on Wednesdays!" With that, she grabbed her book bag and rushed out the door, knocking over a few preps in the process.

She tossed a glance over her shoulder to shout "Watch out! Coming through!" before grinning in a cruel way and heading up the hall way affectionately nicknamed"Sardine Lane" due to the routine traffic jams.

"30 seconds till the bell rings!" This was a regular warning from the one teacher in the school that understands that there are no clocks in the hall and that not all students have watches.

Rasta took off in a sprint, then hopped down on her knees to slide right up to the door. She stood and leapt inside, and was brushing off her knees when the bell rang.

"Lovely morning, this!" She called to her teacher cheekily as she flopped into her seat.

Her cousin turned in her seat. Casey Thomas was Rasta's father's brother's daughter, and the two looked nothing alike, save the eyebrows that were raised in amusement on Casey's face.

"You do the English?"

"I ALWAYS do the english!" Rasta exclaimed dramatically, earning a roll of the eyes from the teacher. "Yeah, why?" Rasta asked as she dug through her bag, grabbing the worksheet.

"I didn't. I did do the science, though."

"So did I. Hey, what about that extra credit for health?"

"Yeah. I'm failing that class."

"So am I. I mean, I already learned this shit, I'm not going through bumbling gym teachers cause the state figures I don't learn enough in bio."

"Hear Hear!" added Joe, the drug addict two seats down, before falling asleep again.

"Anyway, can I see it? Trade."

"Works here."

The girls switched their papers, making sure to vary answers.

This was happening all over the building. Not that no one did their homework. It was more that it was tradition. And in small Germanic communities like their own, you do no mess with tradition. Legend has it that in the days of 1964, the first year that the school was open, a group of seniors boycotted homework, claiming that it was a violation of their rights (it was felt universally by all over age 25 that the students felt it was cutting into their pot_smoking time.) To this day, the smoking bathroom gives off the scent of students standing up for their rights (everything seems a bit more cheerful after using that bathroom) and so, to honor these brave revolutionaries, the students band together and avoid doing homework (the fact that it eases their workload is hardly considered...most of the time.)

On the other side of the building (well, sort of) a group of students, decked in pink graffiti shirts or ghetto "dawg" clothing stood in a circle around their leader.

"The freaks of the school have gone too far this time. They have defiled the school mascot!" With an air of injured pride, the girl, with crinkly blonde hair and blue eyes, sparkling like Claire's spontaneously decombusted, pulled the Aeropostale bed sheet off of the familiar lump, unveiling a giant hawk, usually blue (hence the name Big Blue), in technicolor dye job of black and red.

"The punk colors!"

"How could they?"

"Leek! Omagawd!"

"Damn, yo! What the shit?"

The leader, known to many as Megan, but all as Biotch, signaled for silence. "We must retaliate. WE SHALL NOT, LIKE, BE UN-REALLY COOL-ED!"   

Ok, tell me what you think.

~soror c.