Repaint My World

>••<

Everyone said high school would be torture. They were right, but I didnʻt come to this conclusion for such a simple reason like "thereʻs too much homework."

No, my reasons go far beyond that. School is just another routine now. A blank piece of dry bread. An exact copy-paste of the day before, and even the one before that. Despite how people interpret me and my tendency to be VERY coordinated and run all the possibilities, I love to have fun. I worry about fun. I do crazy things to get a rush, just for fun.

I live for the hype. I live for the fall, the hill, the speed wobble, the skate. I live for the danger. Sure, the aftermath isnʻt all that fun, but I always think far enough ahead to expect it anyway.

High school doesnʻt give me that. Instead, I get bland food, boring teachers, and no activities whatsoever that provide even the tiniest rush. Itʻs horrible. And with my intelligence and superior personality, nobody manages to be fun enough for me.

Well, almost nobody.

He ISNʻT fun, though. Just an annoying blockhead who manages to laugh at my rude remarks and humor who just so happens to be good at skating (not as good as me, though). An idiot who is inferior to me. A clown, to put it simply.

Yet, heʻs the one person who makes me really wonder if IʻM the idiot. After all, I AM the one who bothers to keep him around. Am I the inferior one for not getting rid of him? Am I the clown for thinking that weʻll ever have a chance to be more than just two idiots with nothing better to do?

Probably. But will I ever admit it? PFF! No.

I could never imagine it.

But then thereʻs that longing. That nagging feeling that Iʻm missing out on the fun. The feeling that if I donʻt jump at the chance, itʻll pass me by as fast as it had come.

And my heart pounds. No, it aches. My stomach twists and knots and starts to feel light. My cheeks flush red and my mind goes blank. My body pulsates with fear, and the courage to ever do something slips from my hands like a cool nightʻs breeze.

I look at the green-haired boy who sits next to me at the back of the class. Heʻs dozing off again.

His normally smiling face was relaxed and soft, and his eyelashes lay gently on his defined cheekbones. Oh, the joy he is when his mouth isnʻt running. As I chase away the smile that dares creep across my lips, I stretch my leg out to kick him awake.

Heʻs startled by the aggressive attack on his calve, and I look away out the window before we can make eye contact. I see him look around and straighten his back in the reflection of the window.

"You punk!" He loudly whispers, making the girl seated in front of us flinch a bit. "Was that you?"

I twist my body in my chair to face him, playing with a strand of my pink hair a bit. "Was what me?"

We both smile at each other for a moment, the curiosity in his eyes was alluring. Swinging my gaze back to the front of the class to hide my face, I watch him in the corner of my eye. Slowly, slowly, he stretches and places his chin atop his desk.

ʻI wonder what goes on in that small mind of his. Probably anything and everything that isnʻt what the teacher is saying.ʻ  A sweet taste lingers on my tongue.

Itʻs so beautiful and blue outside. I should let the thought of such a nice day fill my head, instead of the thought of him.