In Every Picture. (5SOS fanfic)

003 - restart

The past few days consisted of Michael smiling and waving at me in the hallways. Being the clueless person that I am, I would always leave Michael hanging or slowly reply within 30 seconds. At lunch, he would bluff about his wondrous adventures when he was a child, exchanging lame puns, pick-up lines, and dirty jokes in the process. Needless to say, hanging out with Michael was fun. But we don't always see each other after class since he also hangs out with Ashton, Calum, and Luke to do whatever the hell they want or in short-- cause trouble. The boys occasionally glare at me which I would reply with a sickeningly sweet smile.

Jerks.

It was 12 o'clock already and I was ready to gobble down an entire horse on one go. I weaved through the ocean of bodies as I went in the school cafeteria. I sat down on my usual table and started eating my sandwich, my eyes roaming the room for Michael.

And there he was, his devilish eyes glistening and a smirk etched on his face like he knew all of your deepest, darkest secrets. He dyed his hair a purplish lavender that resembled the color of bruises.

Michael intimidated the people around him, but not me. Not even the slighest.

He plopped down on his seat and like a diva, "You've already eaten without me? How could you? I thought we had something special!"

"I was starving and no, we don't have anything special," I said flatly, causing Michael to pout like a baby.

I laughed maniacally and mimicked his pout.

"Hey, Gwyn. Are the boys still mad at you?" Michael took a bite of his apple, his green eyes softening on me.

"Mad at what?"

"You know, our unbreakable and eternal friendship," he wiggled his eyebrows which earned him a punch on the shoulder.

"Ow!"

"To answer your question, I don't care if they hate me. I do what I want."

"Aww, you treasure our friendship that badly to the point where you will fight to the death for me," he puffed out dreamily which earned him another punch on the shoulder.

"Ow! You gotta stop doing that," he clutched on his shoulder, rubbing it firmly.

I stuck out my tongue, chuckling, and gazed down my notebook. My class schedule to be exact.

Wait...

"Holy crap, I have a conference to attend to!" I blurted out feverishly.

"Wha--"

"Catch you later, Michael!"

I grabbed ahold of my things and darted out of the cafeteria, bumping into a lot of people on the way.

"Sorry! Excuse me! Sorry!"

And at that precise moment, the school bus' incessant honking lured many Seniors out and started filling up the yellow vehicle.

While still out of breath, I managed to get in and take a seat. The whole bus ride was stuffy and it felt like being thrown around in a bag of sweat, angst, and the mere idealism of highschool itself.

The conference hall stood in front of us in grey and white. Multiple glaring posters and banners littered the place. To every Senior, these granite walls and marble floors held the key to their future-- as what the teachers imply.

Our Lit teacher, Mr. Grant, gathered every student in clusters by the lobby. He called out everyone by their surname, his bushy eyebrows creasing everytime a student wasn't there.

"Hemmings," he announced.

"Here," a gruff voice answered, making me still.

Hesitatingly, my eyes averted to the direction of his voice and took just a teeny weeny little glance.