I'm Bad. You're Worse.

One: Punctuality

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It's the first day of my Senior year at Rushmore High.

I suppose most people would revel in the fact that they get to yell at one another and messily spread their fake spray tans all over each others' bodies.

Call me a pessimist, but I for one, am not so delighted.

There will be girls squealing noisily and passing notes all day long. And there will be boys, flirting around and asking for numbers all day long as well.

Participating, however, isn't exactly my thing. Which is why I am currently seated at the back of my God-awful, thousand year old classroom with my iPod playing Pierce the Veil on full volume.

Abusing my ears has become a bit of a habit over the summer.

I pay absolutely no mind to the constant chatter around me, though, and receive several dirty looks for this.

I honestly don't care.

The room fills up quickly enough, and sooner than we all expect, our First Period teacher comes swaggering in, no doubt unaware that everyone is still on their respective summer hangovers.

No one has the consideration to actually listen at this point. No one cares to acknowledge the teacher's name or his presence. This is how it works around here.

Whether you're a third grader or a Senior, it's all the same. Once the school-year begins, you can't just immediately snap awake.

There's that getting up and brushing your teeth period. We're humans, not cartoon characters.

I'm beginning to fall into that state when the teacher's words are slowly fading away, replaced by drowsiness and then sleep, when the door slams open loudly, banging against the wall.

In walks one of the most gorgeous boys I've ever seen. And believe me, I've seen plenty.

He has bright, scorching green eyes and a cute, freckled nose. His lips are perfectly shaped, naturally curved upwards in a mischievous looking smile.

He has perfectly messed light brown hair that falls around his face in a beautiful, defined sort of way.

And even though he is only wearing a plain black shirt and denim jeans with sneakers, he looks and walks better than any male model I've ever seen.

"You're late, Mister Holter." The boy's head snaps up and he glares at the teacher.

Mister Critz or something. "No shit." He retorts carelessly, heading straight for the empty seat next to mine.

I continue to stare at him, dumbfounded.

Aside from me, this boy seems to be the only one in the whole class rude enough to swear at a teacher.

I like him already.

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So... A quick note before the next chapter. =))) This is actually my first time publishing something I've written and I'm really nervous. I hope you guys like it, and if you do, tell people! HAHA. I'm also really excited for this book and hope that it's a success.

Thanks, guys! ;)

-Sof