I woke up to the burble of the radio and something sharp poking into my side. I realized that in the flailing in my sleep, I had rolled over on top of my toy penguin. The beak was now imbedded into my ribs, and I had flattened the penguin. I managed to pull him back into shape as I stumbled out of bed.

"News for today," The voice of the overly cheesy radio announcer said, "A four car pile up killed two on Macleod Trail, and a mother of three was stabbed to death in her north west apartment…" I slammed a hand on the button.

Yes, what a way to start the morning.

I got ready for school in fifteen minutes. The shower took five minutes, personal hygiene necessities took another eight and three minutes for dressing. I decided on a black shirt with a denim jacket, along with a leather skirt (not a mini). Grabbed a bagel on the counter, shoved my feet and half my legs into the so called 'hooker boots', shrugged on my trusty backpack and I was off.

I pulled out a notebook from my backpack that was balanced precariously on my knee as I walked. Bleary eyed, I managed to scribble down a few lines that I remembered from last night as I crossed the street, narrowly missing being hit by a car.

GIRL HAILED AS MARTYR WHEN GOVERNMENT SHORTENS SCHOOL DAY AFTER SLEEP DEPRIVED TEENAGER HIT BY BUS ON 12TH AVE

I scribbled that down in my notebook. The first headline of the day was put into place. It was a hobby, collecting headlines. I'd like to think of myself as a writer, or even better a journalist. It's one of those 'goals in life' that teenagers are encouraged to have.

I arrived at the bus stop unscathed and the bus ride to the school was uneventful. As I entered the building, I was immediately trapped in the crowd. My mother used to talk about how lucky I was, not having to worry about going to work and being stuck in rush hour traffic. She hasn't seen the hallways at congestion time in the high school. It was an event each morning not to be missed.

GIRL WANDERS INTO THOMSON HIGH SCHOOL HALLWAY AND WAS NEVER SEEN AGAIN

I got to the locker without any serious damage and thought I escaped. Wrong. Yellow and blue clothing were at the edge of my vision. The cheerleaders made their way down the hallway in a long sweeping line.

GIRL GETS TRAPPED IN HUMAN RIP TIDE! TRAMPLED TO DEATH IN FRONT OF HER SCHOOLMATES EYES!

The crowd moved to make room for them, and I was shoved into my locker, those little air vents cutting in my face.

GIRL DISFIGURED BY LOCKER VENTS. SUES SCHOOL FOR 1 BILLION.

The crowd thinned as the cheerleaders went off and I opened my locker. The mirror showed red marks, but thankfully, they were fading.

Rush hour in high school. Loud shouts, smells of too much perfume or not enough, my face shoved into some guy's backpack which smelled like rotten eggs – yeah, fun times. My mother also tells me I'm too sarcastic, she just doesn't understand that it's a weapon to be wielded in high school, or you'll never get out alive.

Example one:

"Got into a fight with a waffle iron?" Someone said beside me. There was Jerkus Maximus, a.k.a Max Howard, a.k.a Mr.-I-Think-I'm-God's-Gift-To-Women.

I debated whether to retort with a witty comeback or to not pay attention to him. I gave him a dispassionate look, yes, I'm suave, I'm hip, I am unruffled. Now leave me alone. Maybe if I ignore him he'll go away, dissipate into thin air. I prayed that this was one of the good days. It wasn't. While he prattled on, I got my stuff out of the locker.

When I finally couldn't stand it any longer, the locker was slammed. He stepped back to avoid his nose being cut off.

"You know," I said to him, "Sometimes, courtesy is the best way to get a date."

"I don't have a problem with dating, I'm not the one called the ice queen." He retorted.

"You were the one who gave me that when I wouldn't date you. Sorry, I won't be one of your conquests, I actually have respect for myself, unlike…" I looked behind him. Shelly Gordon was smiling her best, bright, light bulb smile. Max turned. He was distracted for a moment…I fled. Cowardly, yes, but sometimes the best plan.

The first class, early in the morning, was with Mr. Rodriguez. Nice guy, scruffy hair, not bad taste in clothes and one of the bearable teachers. He taught math. After dodging questions about angles and cosines and the such, I contemplated my schedule. Ooo...so much potential for a good day.

I love Thursdays. Reason: no social, no Max sitting at my table. Assigned seating and all. I had to stop myself from attempting to murder Ms. Weaver with what was at hand on the moment, a metal chair when the seating plans were announced, but a glare was directed at Maximus, Gladiator of Poor Defenseless Females and their Hearts. Currently devoting attention to a young girl who was eating it up. Put on the ice queen persona. I'm good.