High School Sucks

                                                                       High School Sucks

By Carson Main

The Artwood Chronicle

"And you thought your high school experience was a drag."

-Brandon Paine

"The ones who are weird, different, crazy, strange, alone, rebellious, creative never sacrifice yourself to people who are self-restricted to being normal."

-Steven Martin Martinez

My senior year at North High in Artwood (Home of the Pandora Corporation, ) is winding down. Soon, I will be graduating; I just need to make it through the quintessential rituals of prom, grad night, and graduation. These experiences only the popular kids appreciate. It is the middle of March; St. Patrick's Day is tomorrow. The holiday where adults have an excuse for getting drunk, thank you, Saint Patrick. Since I have no life, I have Valedictorian on lock, which means I am a loser. At least college will be better, right? I do have my annoying friends on this cliché ride.

There's Donna with her cynical quips; she often teases me when I do something stupid (which is most of the time). We met in junior high when she became my next-door neighbor. Then there's Doug and Marvin; we have been friends since elementary school. We congregated in the library because we didn't click with the other socially inclined children. Matt Lawson, we met in eighth grade on a class field trip; he used to be part of our group until the accident and his girlfriend's suicide. Just an FYI, putting up suicide posters in the school hallways does not stop kids from trying to do it; it romanticizes the idea. We hung out a little once Matt got out of the hospital. But he became reclusive, and his family moved to south Artwood. He needed time to heal. I would have been the same if my girlfriend had killed herself, but I would need one first. For some strange reason, girls are not attracted to me.

My pathetic love life aside, our school nurse was unexpectedly murdered a week ago. It was plastered all over the news and left our community distraught. She was a cordial lady; I could not think of anyone who would have had a reason to hurt her. Unfortunately, the police never found a culprit. Still, they suspected the cause of her death resulted from being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Her replacement starts today; we expect an ancient pale lady to creep through the front hall. Instead, a young, lightly tan lady strides through the double red doors, all eyes on her slim frame and long chestnut hair swaying through the air. Her bright blue eyes scan, her red lips perfectly etched in a smile as she enjoys the looks of the testosterone-filled guys and estrogen-flowing girls. The cheerleaders flaunt faces of jealousy. The nurse shrugs it off in her short-sleeved blouse, black skirt, medium heels, and a beige coat with a decorative belt. Even though she looks like a supermodel, she gives off an amiable vibe. I hope I do not sound like a pervert to anyone following along; I respect women. As she glides, everything goes into slow motion, and I step face-first into an open locker. Surprisingly, this is not the first time it has happened; the football team made it into a campus sport. I cup the sore cheek of my face as time goes back to its standard rhythm.

"Are you ok?" The nurse rushes over and checks my face. Let's hear it for making first impressions. "There are other ways to get my attention."

"Yea-----Yea---," I stammer, I am such a dweeb. "I'm fine."

"Don't feel bad; I am clumsy too," she gestures. My face is slightly bruised, "I think you will be fine. I am Elizabeth Combs."

"Thanks," I smile, "I'm Brandon Paine."

"Ironic," she chuckles; ok, that was smooth; I'm coming back. "Do you happen to know where the main office is?"