Drowning//Percy Jackson (On hold)

.3.VICKY

Highschool.

AKA torture.

It was my final year and I was hating it. I only ever enjoyed math, and that was simply because my brain quickly calculates everything in life, so a few numbers couldn't possibly hurt me.

I mean, I'm pretty good at other subjects, like science, history, literature, etc., but math always remained a personal favorite. I always considered the mathematical problems as challenges that I have to take, because I, Vicky DiLaures never back down from a challenge. It's either I win, or lose but learn from my mistakes. Taking risks had always sorta been my thing.

Today was supposed to be the last day at that wretched hellhole, and I was beyond exhilarated.

Freedom.

That was what I was going to experience after a couple of years of hell. Sure, graduating gave me some bittersweet memories to think about, but still, I was super excited to venture to the great world out there.

It's a bit obvious that I'm ADHD, right? Only slightly, I guess.

The end of highschool is the beginning of life. I was 18 now, a fully fledged adult in our wonderful society, acing all her tests in a rich-kids-only highschool in Orlando, where the sun never seems to rest.

Today, being May 26th, I was dressed in a simple bright red t-shirt from American Eagle, high waisted beige chinos, and white stiletto heels. My beige and white backpack was slung over my shoulder as I walked through the gates of hell, passed through numerous blue and green tiled hallways, and made it to my blue locker, 251.

After unlocking it, I looked through my locker for my Science portoflio, which Mrs.Saunders had demanded us to show her today, so that she could grade our paper work.

Fine by me. But before I could head to class, I had to inspect myself in the mirror. See, I have a tendancy to forget to brush my hair, or apply lip gloss, simple basics that can assure you that I am definitely not an early riser.

I guess I looked okay. My waist-length coal black hair was pinned down in a fishtail braid, the shimmering pink lipgloss made my small lips brighten up, and the thick black winged eyeliner made the hazel flecks in my almost-black eyes pop.

I gotta say, now that I thought it through: I look fine.

I quickly followed the hoard of students piling into Mrs.Saunders' class, but somehow, I ended up being last to enter.

I looked around the chitter-chattering students, but Mrs.Saunders was nowhere to be found.

I let out a sigh of relief, before directing myself to the last desk in the middle row.

Halfway there, a voice interrupted me.

"You're late, Ms.DiLaures."

Her cold voice gave me the chilly willies, and I jumped forty feet in the air, causing a bunch of Barbie dolls to snicker at me. Wait, they weren't Barbie dolls, they were Nancy Peterson and her crew of wanna-be sluts.

Oh well, easy mistake to make.

I sent them a glare that could've rivalled with my mom when looking at my boyfriends, and that shut them up well, but they still had smug smirks on their faces that I wanted to wipe off with a hammer.

Or a mallet.

I'm not too picky.

"Ms.DiLaures?" the voice returned again.

I confidently turned to face her sweet loving face.

AKA I whipped around, almost tripped over a fellow classmate that I think was called Grover Underwood or something, and flusteredly faced Mrs.Saunders' harsh, ancient, steely face.

Of course, I brushed it all off.

Perks of being a klutz.

"I'm sorry, Mrs.Saunders, but really, we all arrive at the same time, you see-"

"Save what could've been a likely story, take a seat. You're lucky this is the last day," and so she sneered at me a bone-chilling sneer.

"Yes, Mrs.Saunders," I replied cooly, my head still up high.

You see, I don't get embarrassed very easily. And I usually don't like to pick up fights with teachers, especially ones that have a knack for keeping me in the beloved gloomy, black and grey, God-forsaken detention room.

Lovely.

Plopping my bag on my seat, I opened up my portfolio and extracted a book from my backpack called 'All The Light We Cannot See'. I really wanted to read it, as its summary had left me intrigued to expand my library, and Mrs.Saunders still hadn't reached me yet. I was proud to say that I was a geek, but I was on friendly terms with everyone except Nancy's clique.

My best friends, Amanda Lawrence and Jenna Skywalker, were part of our 6 member group of friends, and popularity was something we hadn't begged for, but rather, we earned it. Straigh A+s year round, no absences, 3 fine looking girls, and 3 hot guys. We were the 'prefects'.

I was the only girl at school that didn't hide mobiles inside of books and pretended to read, I was up to date on social media sites daily, but not obssessively so as to miss class, risk suspension, and check my phone every 20 seconds.

"Ms.DiLaures, will you please close the book and answer my question which will be your passing 5 grades?"

My head snapped up. I could've sworn that she hadn't opened her mouth before, so could someone please help me out and tell me what the hell had that old grey hag asked?

I gave a frantic look for aid, but I was clearly abandoned by luck, seeing as Amanda was fast asleep on her portfolio which was dangling off the side of her desk, and Jenna was too damn preoccupied with flirting with a blond jock she had taken a fancy of at the beginning of the school year.

Grover trudged over, with some difficulty due to some muscle disease in his legs, and picked up a black pen that I had never seen before.

"She asked what was the most likely reason that Abraham Lincoln would've died had he not been assassinated," he whispered at the speed of light, my delicate elf-like ears picking up the sound barely as he bent over to pick up the fallen pen, and returned to his seat.

Classic trick.

Simple, but effective.

I smirked at Mrs.Saunders, shooting back a confident "Marfin's Syndrome," wiping the smirk off her own face, and earning a growl instead, making her look more like the devil she is on the inside.

I looked back at Grover, and smiled at the handsome chestnut-haired face that may have been slightly dotted with pimples and a goatee, the face of a faithful but undeniably hot friend.

"Ms.DiLaures, I would like to have a chat with you and Mr.Underwood after class," she snapped, before droning on and on about our practical test grades.

Fine by me, grey lady, if that's how you want to play it.

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A/N

I'm practically a ghost. Sorry guys.

Vote, comment, share, and stay tuned for more!

Love, peace, and unicorns.

Mrs.Valdez ;)
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