Remember me

☼ I. ☼

☆Joke of the chapter☆ 

 What is Iggy azalea's favorite fruit?

A figgy.

Um, hi. I don't really know how these type of things really "officially" start, but this is my first story and I wish the best of luck for you because reading my chicken scratch that I call "writing" may be a struggle, but I know you may or may not over come it's high depts. Well, that made sense. Bye. 

*Cue Blue jeans // Lana del rey*

❃

Mr. Guilly is doing it again, trailing off the subject from World War II to his great grandfather.

 He's always getting off topic, but no one seems to notice, they're all too busy snap-chatting or fixing their drugstore-brought “make up.”

 This class is always the worst, no doubt about it. 

 The metal door lurches open with Mrs. Carpentar, our prude school principal and some guy our age looking in desperate need to get away from her.

 She clicked her classy-styled k-mart heels (she ain’t fooling anyone) toward Mr. Guilly and got uncomfortably close to him.

 Well, to my guesses someone’s having a secret affair. 

 "Mr. Guilly, may I speak to you?" she tries to whisper unnoticeably, but fails.

 Everyone turns their heads, wide-eyed hiding their phones and shoving their gum under their tongues.

 She says something into his ear, hands him some papers and then leaves, leaving the random guy behind.

 "Ok everyone, this is Kyle and he just started at this school here, he might need some help around here, getting the hang of it. Does anyone want to volunteer to escort him around?" He asks with his eyes searching.

 No one had their hands up, they didn't notice.

 They were already captivated within their phones.

 This generation, I swear.

 Ok then...How about..." He puts his finger up, moving it around.

 Ellie." I look up from doodling on my notebook.

 Huh?" I say, as if I didn't listen to his whole speech.

I gotta keep a good rep around here.

"You are going to help him around. Ok?" He points at me paired with a "you-can-do-it" smile.

“Sure?"

 I heard a chair getting pushed back with a squeak, “Actually, I volunteer.”

 I didn’t even have to turn to recognize that thirsty, high-pitched voice.

 It was Chloe Adams, the school’s grade A beef and let me tell you, “grade A” isn’t a compliment because grade A beef is used the most often.

 I turned and involuntarily scoffed.

 I mean-look at her, she was one of those bleach-blond girls who blew her daddy’s credit card on juicy couture and sparkly lipgloss.

 That girl needed some serious help. 

 "Very well then, Kyle meet with her after class." He shrugs and shows Kyle to his seat which happened to be right behind me, causing a glare from Chloe.

 I flip her off her to shut her face up and she looked away with wide, cockroach-looking eyes.

 In result, I hear a steady chuckle from Kyle.