Overtime (DISCONTINUED)

Chapter 2

My room is big enough for the both of us. So won't you come around, help me fill it up?

Let's just go ahead and say I hate school.

Okay, to be fair, who does?

I mean, you have to listen, pay attention, and it forces you to actually think about something for once. I live my life spontaneously. Why do people really assume I want to spend seven hours of my day learning about shit I could honestly care less about? During the school day, there are several questions I ask myself.

One, who the fuck decided it would be a good idea to put the alphabet in math? I've always been an average math student, but ever since algebra came in, math has completely ruined my GPA.

Two, what exactly is the point of the periodic table? I don't even know how this thing came to be. Did someone really just decide they wanted to figure out what every substance was made of? Loser.

Three, why am I here? I think this one's pretty self explanatory.

Four, school lunches suck. I can barely even stand to look at whatever's on everybody's plates. Been bringing sack lunch ever since sixth grade, not going to stop now.

And five, why do I tolerate these people? I seriously hate about 85% of the human beings here. That's including teachers as well as students.

Woodrow Wilson High School is the typical high school stereotype. You've got your school sluts, who are only popular for the sole reason of leaving guys with less clothing to work with once things get heated. The jocks, who are basically disinterested if you can't play a sport well or show them a good time. There's the nerds, who probably make more in a week than I do in a month. Those jocks need someone to do their homework. Can't forget the hopeless romantics, also referred to as attention whores or thirsty bitches. It's a small clique full of girls who are desperate to be in a relationship and usually aren't single for more than a week or two. The only difference between them and the sluts is that they're more reserved with what they show and a lot more clingy once they get their hands on someone. There's the group of wannabes, whose only dream is to someday become popular. They're all a bunch of obsessive fan girls, gushing over the latest Justin Bieber single and how hot Harry Styles is. Drama club freaks, over-exaggerating everything since the beginning of time. Art club members, self proclaimed "free spirits" who most likely smoke pot under the bleachers during free period. There's also the Preps as everyone knows them. A bunch of preppy boys and girls who, in all honesty, wouldn't be that bad if not for the fact that a majority of them think they're better than everybody. Lastly, there are the rebels, who couldn't give a fuck about anything or anybody. After all the graffiti that's found on school property around football season, you'd think that the school officials might try to prevent these kids from coming, but all they do is give the student body a stern message from the dean about how this is "our school, that should be treated with respect."

Yeah, no.

The only people at this school I can find in my heart to care about are my two best friends. My saving grace from shooting everybody in the building.

On Monday, I'm pulling a usual "Brinley" as my friends like to call it. Basically, I just wear a hoodie with the hood up and thread my earbuds under it which are plugged up to my iPhone (my music source). I know I'm not the only one who does it, but I do it so often my friends have named it after me.

I'm not wearing a hoodie, but instead a mint green jacket with a light blue Aeropostale written across it in fancy script. Still just as effective.

It's another rainy Oregon day, although not nearly as bad as our normal showers. In fact, for mid March, I'd consider this day dry.

Once I'm inside, I wipe my shoes off at the worn carpet by the door. My jacket and jeans are both splattered with little rain drops that will probably dry shortly. I make my way to my lockers, completely oblivious to anyone else. I'm in my own world, with only Lana Del Rey's low, melancholy voice to give me company. I keep my head down as I walk through the halls, avoiding any contact with people I really don't want to talk to.