The Secret Life of Damon (On Hold)

Chapter 1

         

         

Sitting in class, tapping my pencil against my desk is the most exciting thing a person can do. Not. I swear, I'm not even listening to the teacher. She's babbling on about algebra or something. It's not like I don't care about my education, but I don't care about my education. I should. But I don't. I mean, what's the point of algebra, anyways? I don't think I'll be guessing numbers anytime in the future. Or multiplying to find numbers. Maybe everyone else tries, but I don't. I'm not scared of getting in trouble with the teachers, or the principal or whatever. If I get in trouble it'll be over in a second anyways, right? Right. It's not like the principal, or anyone, will pester me about it for my whole life.

I think we students should get paid to go to school. No, not paid in learning new things. Paid in actual, real money. It's like a fricking job.

Thank God it's the last period, though. I just want to go home and sleep, then eat and repeat.

The only highlight of this school is Hallie. She's so cute with her big nerdy glasses and those worn out converse sneakers she wears every day. I barely knew she existed till she was assigned a locker next to mine. Even then, I didn't notice her for a month or two. And best of all, she doesn't care what she looks like. All the other girls in this school are just so tacky, with their blush and obnoxious eyeshadow, plus the fake eyelashes. They look like they live in a circus. But Hallie just looks like she wears a bit of mascara and some black eyeliner. She's so shy, too. She catches me staring at her during class sometimes and when I see her in the hallways. She just hides her face and pretends like it never happened. Hallie kind of reminds me of a puppy, except without the curious part. Hallie kind of stays out of trouble. I think she's one of those people who are scared of the kinds of trouble they could get into, so they stay away from trouble, hidden in the corner for the rest of their lives.

She is the definition of perfect

I begin to stare at her, admiring her. I rest my chin on my hand and my elbow on the desk. The girl next to her, probably one of her friends, sees me looking at her, and she nudges Hallie, nodding towards me. Hallie takes a quick glance, before instantly turning her face back to the teacher, hiding her face with her hair. I chuckle softly, and I see that her friend is still watching me, out of the corner of her eye. I stick my tongue out at her and she puts a disgusted look on her face. My job is done. I look down at my desk, tracing the scratches and small carvings with my pencil.

Almost all the tiny scratches in the desk are darker now. The bell rings, interrupting my work of "art" so I stand up, pick up my bag and
stride out of the classroom. As I walk over to my locker, I feel a light tap on my shoulder, making me jump slightly. I turn around and see Nate. He's jumping up and down, excitedly and has a childish grin on his face.

"Damon, Damon, Damon, Damon, Damon," Nate says, as I turn around and keep walking.

"What?" I say in an irritated voice.

"I bought a book" he shrieks.

"Okay, first of all, calm yourself. Second of all, good job?" I respond in a slightly confused voice.

"Nononooo. See, this book is a special book" he whispers, as if he wants no one else to hear what he is saying, except for me and himself.

"Special?" I ask sarcastically.

"Yeesss. I've been saving my money up for this. It costed me $210." he says.

"Why, exactly, did you buy a book when you don't even read?" I inquire.

"The book is made out of gold. Like entirely made out of real gold" he explains.

"The pages?" I ask.

"Well, the pages are paper but it has gold melted onto it. and the cover and back are both made out of gold." he answers

"Aaah, and where did you find this golden book of yours?" I inquire.

"At "Buck's" he says.

"Dude," I say, snorting, "I think you got scammed."

"W-what? No I didn't, dude, that was $210." he stutters

"It probably would have been worth a lot more if it was real gold, like around 400 or 500." I say.

"Well, what do I do now?" he asks, discouraged.

"No clue. Not my problem."

"C'mon you're my best friend, man." he moans.

"I am not your best friend. I am not even your friend. You're just that one guy who hangs around me all the time. I only talk to you because you hang around me all the time. I don't even know your last name." I tell him.

"It's Smith" he says, still discouraged.

"Pssh, I could've guessed that" I scoff.

"'Kay, I'll just leave now" he says, shuffling away.

I continue to walk to my locker, taking glances at people standing in the hall, talking to the people across from each other. I reach my locker, after swerving through the crowds of people walking in the opposite direction from me, which is, by the way, absolute hell. I put in the combination for my lock, thinking it in my head. 7 right, 23 right, 12 left. It pops open and I lean down to pick up a few binders on the bottom of my locker, and reach up for my jacket. I close the locker door, locking the lock on the locker. (That's a lot of locks) I pick up my bag and pull it over my shoulders, heading towards the exit. I shove open one of the double doors and see dad's car parked on the road.

Oh joy.