What if Dean and Amy had met in high school, rather than on a hunt?
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[Amy's POV]
School. Ew.
I stepped out of my black Honda car, and huffed at the rundown, boxy building sitting in front of me. The title of the school was faded on the stone monument sitting beside the entrance, spelling out "Dulvard High" in ugly black letters, same as it always was.
"Home of the Falcons. What a load of shit," I muttered angrily, kicking a stone forward in frustration.
Don't stress; you won't be here long anyway.
All I knew is that there was something weird going on in the school - more specifically, the music room - and I intended to find out what. But the people...
The people were hard to endure.
Ironically enough, the fact that I wasn't going to last long here was my motivation to ignore the real monsters that were teenagers, including myself. I was a monster too, just not in the ways they were.
I pulled out my map of the school, hesitantly stared up at the pale-gray stone building, and walked through the glass double doors into Hell. Unfortunately, to get inside the school, you had to walk through the office, which meant-
"Miss Kingsly!" An irritatingly chirpy voice called from behind me. I turned around and faked a large smile at the middle-aged woman with red cat-eye sunglasses and an ugly pale pink cardigan sitting at the front desk.
"Hello, Ms. Bluefarm," I internally rolled my eyes at how convincingly kind I sounded.
"How are you this morning?" She raised an eyebrow that adults do when they're trying to say I-know-you're-not-okay.
"Fine," I shook my head. "Um, could I have my schedule, now that I have choral class instead of digital concepts?"
Ms. Bluefarm stood up quickly, my stomach fluttering from the shock of her abrupt motion. In other words, triggering my anxiety. "Of course! It's in the back somewhere; I'll go look for it."
And with that, she walked out.
"You're so full of shit, you know," a velvety voice chuckled from behind. I turned my head slightly, noticing a teenage boy with apple-green eyes and an oversized leather jacket slumped in a chair by the principal's office. He rolled his eyes and tapped his foot once. "Your smile is so friggin' fake, babe."
"Don't call me that," I sneered at him. He just laughed again. "I'm serious; leave me alone."
"Ah, sweetheart, don't be like that," he put his hands up in mock surrender. "I was just saying that you shouldn't fake smiles all the time."
I turned my body all the way around to face this unbelievably pretentious asshat. "And why not, Mr. Know-It-All?"
His face softened slightly. "You seriously don't know?"
I raised an eyebrow at him. I was really good at that; raising my right eyebrow at people so the conversation would change from me or something personal to my ability to raise my eyebrow like that.
Except he didn't ask about my eyebrow. He just grunted and muttered "Don't be like most girls."
"Excuse me?" I was starting to get pissed off.
He narrowed his eyes. "You're too pretty to fake a shitty smile like that."
"Maybe that's just how I smile."
