So, what happens next? (The breakfast club)

My guide to a living hell

Do I look good?"
Joann, like always, was totally bugging, fretting over my camera, barely keeping from blurring the photo.
In a huff, I yank it away and groan. If I didn't get this shoot done by the end of the week, I'd be toast. And I really didn't want to be. "Jo, if you don't let me do this my way, I'll get Fred to replace you, seriously."

"Frederica Martin, at your service," the brunette humoured, making the blonde scowl.

"No, Fred! I've only stuck with photography to be in the pictures!"

Joann Martin, the photography departments link to the preps. If it weren't enough that she was stunning – – long, blonde, highlighted hair, honey brown eyes and a fashion sense to die for – – she was also extremely popular. It's not that she was really well-liked, everyone could see, but she was completely blind to it.
I couldn't even say why it is that I put up with her so often. Maybe it was because, in spite of treating Fred, (a fearless warrior in the face of mortality), like the absolute underdog she could be -not by any fault of her own - she listened to me when I needed her to.

Fred turns away with an amused grin, leaning against the brick wall again. She was always the funniest in our little crew. Quick to befriend everyone in the photography department, bagging us the experience of not being total losers, all through her exuberant, laid-back personality. It was a misconception no one could really see. She wasn't up with the trends, though she did have her own open, over-sized shirt and baggy jeans, skater look going on, she didn't run with the crowds, but could she make friends? Like the click of your fingers!

I always envied her. I, on the other hand, spend most of my time finding ways to do nothing. It sounds funny but God, it could really be an issue. You'd think I have no aspirations, but that's not true at all. Sometimes, teenagers lay on the couch, watch reruns of their favourite show as they snack while getting moaned and groaned at by their overbearing mothers wearing spandex in the living room. It's that I keep on doing it out of spite.
Still, of course I had dreams. Maybe I just didn't like to be hopeful about them.

"Tell me, Jeanie, do you have any final thoughts?"

English was the final class of the day, and I really planned to just relax, listen to the readings and wait it out. But for some reason, the clock seemed to be clicking slower.
I assumed it was because of Bender, throwing balled up paper at everyone as soon as Ms. Chase turned her back.
What an exhausting scoundrel, he is. He never really belonged anywhere, though that's never stopped anyone from using his name in the hallways. I don't think I'd ever given him the time of day, and I didn't plan to any time soon either.

"I don't think the relationship between the two men in this story was romantic. An understandable assumption, especially with the kiss, but I feel that it was an oath more than anything. There's plenty of evidence that could support the theory that Damian isn't actually real at all, just a subconscious state of Sinclaires mind to help him through the identity issues he's facing."

God, do I remember my crush on Jeanie Bueller. Never dared tell her considering our friendship was simply a mutual one, through her friendship with girls like Ashlee, Shanna, Claire and Dana.
These girls, I could paint their banners for homecoming, take their yearbook photos, and decorate the auditorium for their committees, buts that's really all.
Not really anything to complain about, but it's pretty obvious why I had to force myself to get over it.

Sometimes I wondered if life beyond high school would be any different. What if I would always be the middle man? It was a daunting thought, one that occurred in my busy mind all to often for my taste.
For example, my mother degrading me for my life choices and scolding me for not using my spare time to tone my legs excluded, maybe my life won't change as a grown up. I'll always be the same. At least until I break into my career in medicine.