The Blood-Bound Bond

Chapter One: Inner Thoughts.

   High schools are portrayed in many different ways. In Mean Girls, it's portrayed as a world in which the new girl from a foreign continent with foreign customs can move to an American school and instantly not only become popular, but become the school's it girl. In High School Musical, it's viewed as a place where the only thing people care about is the school musical, where the mean girl can instantly change her ways because of a happy group song in the gymnasium. In American Pie, it's viewed as a utopia for sexual intercourse, in The Breakfast Club, it's viewed as a group therapy session, and in Heathers? Well, we won't go into Heathers. Point is, these are all great films and they might have been realistic at the time, but as of now, they're just not accurate.

   High school is a lot sneakier than what it's made out to be. We're smarter now than we were before, or at least smarter now than we were viewed as by our elders before. No "it girl" is going to come at you, calling you a bitch for no reason and demanding you give her your lunch money. She has her own low-carb, low-fat meal in her separate Prada bag. She only beats on you when it's convenient, when you get into her way. For example, I once bumped into our school's own self-declared queen, and she didn't blow her top. Granted, she now knows me as "Twiggy" and forces my group of friends and I to sit under a tree before and after school and also at lunch, but it's still not as bad as some films make girls like her out to be.

   Even so, her name is Alexis Bradley, and she's her own special form of she-demon. I knew a girl of the same name back in my old school, but she was much less of a Carrie, pig blood and all, and more of a kind spirit. Alexis Bradley of this school is not kind. In fact, I'm pretty sure she wouldn't be able to define the word if she was graded on it. She does have the whole pretty thing working for her, though. With her even-toned skin, artificially-curled blonde hair, aqua blue eyes sometimes covered by her long, curled lashes, and a Colgate smile underneath lips coated in pink lipstick, you'd be lying if you said that she wasn't. I try to stay out of her way for the most part for my own safety, but sometimes it's pretty much borderline impossible.

   She's got this boy by her side 24/7. They're always rumored to be together, which she attempts to confirm, even though he always denies it. His name is Matthew Song, but most people only know him as "Muscles", because that's all Alexis ever calls him. She has nicknames for pretty much everyone at this school. Muscles is the most popular, well-liked boy in this school, and he's been around since Kindergarten, apparently. However, there's an ongoing rumor that he doesn't speak English. I suspect that the rumor is mainly because of his ethnicity, but anything is possible.

   Alexis also has our town's resident drug dealer on speed dial, but then again, so does everyone. Her name is Yasmin Najjar. Everyone calls her "Dopey" though, because once again, Alexis does. Dopey once convinced the principal that the reason she had so many leaves bagged up in her locker was because it was her effort to save the environment. Yeah, Dopey here is not exactly on her road to the Ivy League, but as sad as it sounds, no one was really expecting her to be in the first place.

   Nobody really knows anything about the rest of the kids here, including me. Barely anyone knows my name, besides the group of friends I hang out with. I guess that's kind of the goal of the people that are socially high up, making people not know who you are. It makes you seem as less of a threat, I guess. I'm not a philosopher though, and I'm not even in the top ten of my class, academically. Therefore, I guess my opinions aren't exactly the most accurate. However, I don't mind that at all, really. I have my own set of benefits, which include flashing my tits to rock stars that I follow around on tour during the summer and crying over said rock stars when the summer's over.

   My group of friends and I are known as the "emo group" to our surroundings here at school. Emo, as in emotional, but also as in the group of people who listen to blood-curdling screams and feel as if we can relate, which is also the same group of people who mainly thrived on MySpace. You all know the prototype. Pale skin, raccoon eyes, straight hair with a set of bangs swept to the side and teased hair for a poof higher than Snooki circa 2010, black clothing, over-accessorized in every aspect of the word. If you add greasy, black hair to the list, that's basically me, Zoe Winston. People consider me some sort of leader for my group of friends because I tend to accidentally get in everyone's way more than the others do, but I'd like to think that we're all equal. Due to my low social status, I regularly act like a sponge in that kind of setting, absorbing everyone's interactions, both good and bad. I don't know what sort of purpose that serves, but I'm bound to find that out sooner or later. As I said earlier, I get in people's way a lot. None of that is intentional. I'm just essentially clueless when it comes to the "what to dos" and "what not to dos" of social interaction. I often sink both physically and emotionally when called out, which you'd think I would have gotten used to by now, but I haven't. I don't really like retaliation. This one therapist I had a long time ago for about two weeks thinks that it's because I have a warped sense of my inner self and that I'm not very self-confident. I just think it's because I'm a pussy.

   Unfortunately, I'm going into my junior year of high school. I say unfortunately because I haven't gotten the hell out of there yet. It's still on my bucket list, though. I've been told that junior year is the most important year of high school, because of the SATs and prom and stuff. My way of thinking is that the most important year is the year I finally get out, mostly because then we have little to no excuses on being a piece of shit. Quick, somebody deliver the message to Alexis Bradley! You can no longer be a bitch after high school! In fact, being a spiteful, rotten bitch will get you fired! My dreams for this year include getting a semi-decent SAT score, just enough to get me into a semi-decent university in about two years, finally finding a date to a school date, and for the popular kids not to have a problem with me. However, I doubt the latter two will ever become a thing, so I'm content with whatever I get.

   My first day of junior year is tomorrow, but it feels like just yesterday we were freshmen. I mean, if this year's sophomores looked like midgets in our eyes, imagine how the incoming freshmen are going to look. That's just an observation, though. I'm not one of those people who think the upperclassmen are somehow way more superior than the lowerclassmen. We might have more experience inside the school, sure, but it all depends on emotional maturity, in my opinion. Some are more mature than others. For example, I firmly believe that I'm more mature than Alexis Bradley and her little group of followers. Once again, just an observation. One of the worst parts of going into a new grade is having to do it with the school's it girl and her little posse (besides Dopey, she's a senior). They've been in the same grade as me since I moved to this school in the ninth grade. They've been on my last nerve ever since. I pray that one day they decide that high school isn't for them and drop out, but people like them don't drop out. They get sports scholarships and continue on in community colleges, before settling down into some mediocre job, so they can maintain a net worth high enough to create and support their own offspring and pass down the demon gene along the way. 

   Meanwhile, people like me either drop out or become insanely successful, there is no inbetween. Those who drop out will end up working in either retail, restaurants, convenience stores, or fast food all their life and they'll hate every second of it. They'll watch as those who pick on them become insanely successful, remember the promise they were made that the popular kids would end up washing cars, and wonder what went so wrong that it's essentially the reverse scenario. Meanwhile, the successful won't have time for anyone, which will be absolutely phenomenal. I mean, imagine the comebacks. "Hello, I'm sorry I didn't return your call! Unfortunately, I don't have time for fake nice, juvenile chit-chat as of now, but please feel free to not call back! Thank you, bye!" God, wouldn't that be amazing? You'd be like the next Paul McCartney.

   Until any of that stuff happens to me, though, I guess I'm stuck in the body of a low-rent, gender-swapped Kurt Cobain, pre-suicide/murder/whatever actually happened that the public is still dwelling on after twenty-two years though, of course. Unhappy, cynical, and not fond of the mainstream are traits that me and buddy Kurt here have in common, and that's all too present when put into a place in common society, whether that's an interview in a room that smells like peppermint and baby wipes or a class in a school that smells like new pencils and rat feces. Sometimes I wonder what he would do under all this pressure, before I remember his crippling addiction to illegal substances, due to the amount of pressure he underwent on a daily basis, and I decide that it's best not to think about what he, of all people, would do in that kind of situation. Yeah, I really need new role models in my life. All I know is that I need one before tomorrow, otherwise I'm fucked. I mean, how does one survive the common setting of high school?