Royal Pain

Chapter 1: Status Quo

I sighed as I gazed out the classroom window. Mrs. Homer's homeroom was the first period of my daily prison. The wanna be's hung around by the door before class started. They were like the wardens, making us peasants' lives a living hell. Who are the peasants, exactly? The goths, emos, computer nerds, band geeks, chemistry club, artists, outcasts, and so on. The list goes on forever.

The prison guards and defenders are basically the athletes, like the soccer or basketball team, for example. The rich preppies were popular for their wealth, and were pretty much the nobles of the student body. The student body, these days, is just a modern phrase for the feudal pyramid.

Then are the kings and queens. Princes and princesses. They are the rulers of us. There's really nothing special about them. Only the fact that they were basically born into royalty. The princesses partially consisted of the cheerleaders, who cheered on their knights in their shining armor on the battlefield, aka, football field. Not to mention the volleyball players—rivaling the cheerleaders for pretty faces, and highest budgeting in girls sports.

Welcome to the social food chain, where you either kill yourself or get killed.

And let me clarify something else:

Am I an outcast? Yes.
Do I hang out with the outcasts? No.
To make it as less confusing as possible, let's just say I'm such an outcast that I've been outcasted by the outcasts themselves.

I sighed as I parted a strand of brown hair from my face. I folded my arms on my desk, then buried my face in my warm, fuzzy, sweater sleeves. Soon, my eyes grew heavy, then I slipped away from the obnoxious homeroom.

I knew I could sleep today in first period, and not miss out, because we were reviewing for the test tomorrow. Key info: I already know my stuff for that stupid AP English test tomorrow. I pretend not to care about anything, but the thing is, I really do. I care about almost everything that goes on. I'm just not like most people, who stress out about stuff, and make a big deal about it.

The good thing about Mrs. Homer, is that if you sleep in her class, she doesn't care. 'If we miss out, its our own fault,' she always says. Another thing I like about homeroom, is that my desk is in the very back, and I'm in the right corner next to the window. The plus bonus is that I have a plug right next to my desk that's only in my reach.

First period was amazing.

....................

I walked in the hallway with my head hanging low, making sure to avoid eye contact with the empty gazes of the aimless zombies that passed right through me. I approached Mr. Marshall's room, then grinned to myself. I peered in from the doorway, spotting a substitute teacher at his desk.

The students were gonna be wild today as they took advantage of the sub. I already felt sorry for the replacement as I slipped into the room. The best thing about a sub is that they don't give you notes or really care. They just give you the stupid work, only to collect it at the end of the day. Since they're not allowed to teach, they're pretty much there just to babysit you—which they always suck at.

I signed myself in on the attendance sheet, wrote the date and time, collected the worksheet, then left before the bell rang to signal the beginning of second period.

In Marshall's Economics class, we didn't do your traditional attendance where the teacher calls your name. We signed a sheet. In other words, if we had a sub, I could skip all I want and no one would notice, mostly because they wouldn't care enough.

I quickly made my way down the hallway, then came to a door. I made sure I was in the not-so-secret blind spot from the cameras. I retrieved a rusty key from my pocket, stealthily unlocked the door before sneaking inside. The old janitors closet was abandoned, and they added a new one in the addition on the other side of the school. So, this one was mine now, and no one else remembered it.