Averagely Falling

Chapter 1- Dragged By The Douchebag

        I never expected to be here, in a dimly lit room handcuffed just like five others. I’m not supposed to be here, I’m the one that’s supposed to blend in or fade with the rest of the crowd.  I shake my head as I look down the row of seats to my left, if I could move my hand I’d probably face-palming myself right now. Cliques, we hate them, we love them but they’re always around no matter how many times we try to deny it.  You have the bad boys, the nerds, cheerleaders, the jocks, gossip queens, and then there’s me. The needle in the haystack, I’m the average and yeah, in itself it could be a clique with the rest of the ‘normal’ people, it’s not.  So, why am I here surrounded by your typical stereotypes?

      I’m so average that as if the universe perceived my blanditude it had it implied to my sense of identity, that’s right, my name. Cause really, what’s a person without their name? Avery Thaller, ignore my last name and look at my first name, A-ve-ry it sounds a lot like a-ve-rage. I’m that girl in the movies, you know the one that’s part of the ‘extra’ crew, yet even the camera seems to ignore. I’m the girl that hangs around her locker and people don’t even glance at when they walk by. Even my teacher yesterday asked if I was a new student, I’ve been living in this crappy ass town since the day I was born, that’s how uninteresting I am.

     Back to the problem, you know my current scenario, why am I in an interrogation room with the ‘known’? The ‘known’ are the kids in school you do know because of their cliques or their rep, the ones you may not know but you definitely know or heard of, well that’s what I call them. So yeah, why are we all sitting in the same interrogation room, handcuffed to each other no less? A floral scent drifts into my nostrils and I try to turn my head to get some air, this bitch’s perfume will definitely choke the hell out of me. Sitting next to me is Kennedy ‘Ken’ Rowe, her blonde hair falls over her face as she stares down carelessly at her nails. The school’s head cheerleader sure seems to have no pep at getting arrested, if I knew any better I’d say she’s been here before.

    Next to Miss Pep Squad sits the school’s reining bitch, Demi Faith, and I’m serious, she’s a bitch. She’s the schools gossip queen, her hazel eyes can make a cop squirm under her gaze much like she’s doing right now.  Another reason to hate the girl, she’s one of those; you know the one’s whose hair is always perfectly styled no matter what. They rock it and they know it, if only my hair could be as compliant.  She also seems to have no problem with our current dilemma, am I the only one who wants to live life without a record.

  Next to the ice queen, Nathan Peitz slumps down in his chair, his hazel eyes dart around nervously through the room. Finally, someone with a bit of common sense but I think that would be expected from the school’s nerd, yep the nerd. He’s said to be one of the smartest kids in school and ruthless, I’ve heard he’s made people cry with his heavy use of sarcasm. I know how weird is it to have a nerd with a backbone? You’d expect him to be shoved in his locker relentlessly, right? He’s not even that weak because under his clothes you can definitely see a bit of underlining muscle, he’s actually pretty cute with the most adorable dimples.

    Sitting next to the nerd is the school’s jock, Tristan Wiltz. Yeah, he has the looks, the arrogance, and the typical player attitude. He’s smirking at the cops in front of us, tight lipped. No one has really said a word including me. Well that’s basically because I don’t know why I’m here. His legs stretch out in front of him due to his tall and muscular build. Typical quarterback, it’s like they’re all blessed with beautiful muscles. He continues to wink flirtatiously at the young assistant that walks in occasionally with coffee or files in her hands. Like I said, ruthless player.

    Last but not least, well actually him I’ve heard a lot of stories about. It’s like not one day of school can go by without having a rumor revolving around Jericho Santana, the school’s notorious bad boy. He’s currently lighting a cigarette with his free hand, it’s because of this careless douche bag that I’m involved in whatever this is. Does he care about the predicament in which he placed me in? No, of course not, the only thing this asshole cares about is booze, girls and cigarettes. As you can tell, I don’t really like him. We’re not on the best terms.