It All Started When...

   It all started when he fell out of the sky.

    That jerk.

   I mean, I was having a perfectly normal day up until that point! Boring math tutors and sleepy science teachers. Questionable cafeteria food and gossiping girls, seemingly more vulture than human. The only thing plaguing me was the aftersmell of gym-socks.

   Let me explain...

   During 5th period, the aforementioned vulture-girls thought it would be funny to dump a load of dirty gym-laundry off the bleachers. Our school, Westwood High, has the availability of a washer and dryer for student use. (Don't ask me who thought that was a good idea.) However, mostly kids just leave their sweaty gym socks and undergarments in the machines. Like, they don't ever actually wash them. So, they just pile up throughout the day, and let me tell you, it does not smell good. Students tend to skirt around the gym's corridor just to avoid the stench.

   But anyways, these moronic girls thought they would solve the problem by just dumping the load down the back of the bleachers. The bleachers are about 3 feet off the wall, suspended by metal supports, an awful spot to pack a bunch of nasty socks. However, they'd probably convinced themselves the repercussions of their valorent act would be handled by the poor janitor.

   Unfortunately for me, they didn't look before dumping. I was tucked back in my niche, reading a good book by the light of my phone. The back of the bleachers is the only quiet place in the massive gymnasium. A respite from prying eyes and judging looks. So, naturally, I had claimed it as my safe haven on day one. The only warning I got was a high pitched giggle. Then, the next thing I know, I'm buried and about to suffocate from the smell. After I got over my shock, I scrambled out of the pile as fast as I could, slipping on rouge underwear. I almost vomited, which would have been the cherry on the cake, but I managed to shove it back down.

   I could hear the girls laughing above me, "Sorry Irene!"

   "It's ok!" I called back, even though it wasn't. It most definitely and certainly wasn't.

   I pushed out of the space and headed toward the court. The pounding of basketballs rattled the floor. The athletic guys were shooting hoops, sinking 3-pointers flawlessly. They kept hiking up the sleeves of their shirts to show off their muscular arms. Everyonce in a while, I would catch one glancing up towards the girls, trying to see if they were watching.

   'It's hopeless!' I wanted to yell, 'they'll never even look at you! I've been their classmate for over five years, and they still don't know my name!'

   But, of course, I didn't. That would've been absurd. I may have been their classmate for over five years, but that doesn't mean I've actually talked to them.

   I'm just Irene. (Actually, it's Iris, but that little bit of info never sticks.) The quiet, dark-haired girl who never has anything interesting to say. The girl who is as significant as a piece of lint.

The freak.

   That's me.

   I plopped down onto the bottom-most bench of the bleachers and resumed my book. It was really interesting, and within moments the world drowned out around me.

   Laya leapt over the stone, careening toward her fallen bow. The monstrous dog bounded after her, saliva dripping from its maw. Her bleeding hands scrabbled for her the bow and quiver. She would be eaten in seconds.
   Luckily, Laya was trained to be fast. She flung herself aside just as the hound's teeth snapped shut. She let her arrow fly and it landed with a satisfying thunk as it embedded itself into the monster's skull.
   "Score." she said, retrieving her arrow. "Your pelt will hang on my wall for years to come, beast."
   Suddenly, Laya heard a rustling from the bushes. She turned and saw a massive-