Humor Me

Chapter 1

Tap, tap, tap went my pen as it stabbed into the wood. Around my table, I felt like I was suffocating under the crowding wannabes. Their squeaky, desperate voices were eating up my patience and I was ready to explode.

"Oh my god, Jupiter! We loved your science fair project last month and we were wondering, can you teach us how—"

White anger ripped through me like a tornado. I fired a glare, shooting the freshmen a few steps back and snarled, "Beat it, ese!" They yelped, some falling on their butts in surprise at my outburst. I didn't know why using Spanish seemed natural, but their intimidated reactions gave off a pleasant gangster vibe.

Threatening with a little body jerk, they knocked into one of the bookshelves, quickly scampering off.

I finally breathed in the elbowroom and fixed my plaid blazer until suddenly, I leaped up in alarm. A high pitch cry of an upset teenage girl echoed from two tables down.

"Not again," I groaned, wanting to smash my head against the biology textbook.

One problem after another.

Burying myself back into the lesson, the agonized female struck another cry and students ran past me.

Hot irritation rushed up my neck and I slammed the textbook shut. "This is preposterous! A recommended studying environment, my arse!"

Done with this wretched classmate who didn't comprehend the meaning of silent libraries, I stormed towards her. I tapped the blonde mop of hair spilled over piles of magazines.

"Uh, hello. I suggest you stop crying. It's disrupting my studying time—"

"Number three! It says a number three!"

"Miss, this is a rare occasion I ever acknowledge people like you. So could you so kindly—"

"A three!?" She lifted her mascara-smudged face, hair flipping back to reveal her perky red nose that throbbed like a stubbed toe. Despite the fact that her clothes were two times smaller than they should be, she seemed to be a senior too.

The girl unleashed a heartbreaking sob and the sound of slamming textbooks and closing binders filled the library. Half the students were already escaping.

I fisted my hands and brought them down on the desk. Her mouth shut instantly and I pointed an accusing finger. "Let's cut to the chase. Girls like you only cry about two things: Either you just realized your wardrobe is trash or your boyfriend gave you herpes."

That somehow triggered her bottom lip to quiver and she burst into a fountain of tears. "My boyfriend!" she bawled and blew into her sparkly sleeve.

"I knew it was herpes," I sighed. Giving a short pat on her head, I cooed, "Everything will be okay. Yes, herpes isn't fun and yes, your wardrobe is an abomination to humanity, but we all go through tough times—"

She clutched my hand and yanked me down to her face. "My boyfriend!? Ex-boyfriend now! I don't even know why we broke up! And this"—she frantically shook the magazine she was blowing in—"says based off of my quiz results, we'll never, ever get back together!" She shrivelled into this wet mess again, weeping uncontrollably into her hands.

I quickly yanked away and blinked back, stunned. "Good heavens. You're receiving advice from a magazine!?" I snatched the papers, rolled it into a cone and slapped her with it. "What are you—ten?!"

The girl squeaked and made a pathetic shield with her arms. Infuriated, I screamed, "You're even more hopeless if you keep listening to this crap!" I whacked her in the head. "Grow up!"