Minority of the Cast

Chapter Two: Ain't No Goin' Back

Chapter Two: Ain't No Goin' Back

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*One week later*

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"SOMETIMES I WALK A LITTLE FASTER IN THE SCHOOL HALLWAY JUST TO GET NEXT TO YOU! SOME DAYS I SPEND A LITTLE EXTRA TIME IN THE MORNING JUST TO IMPRESS Y-"

I heave a sigh and slam my fist over my alarm clock. Who doesn't wake up to Hannah Montana?

With my eyelids still shadowing my eyes from the dim light peeking through the curtain, my still-tired brain starts ringing a dull bell at me, as if I have nearly forgotten something important.

Deciding that if it was important enough then I would have remembered it, I turn back over in my warm sheets and begin to doze off again, with my eyes remaining shut. 

I listen to the clock in the third-floor living room tick, unable to fully fall asleep, when my eyes suddenly fly open. 

Someone kill me.

It's Intro Day.

At that moment my mood was sunk and it did not even matter that I had woken up to one of my favorite songs of all time, even if I had no way to relate to it (Seeing where I do not and most likely never will get one of those fucking boyfriends that females tend to talk about.... Non-stop.)

With a grunt, I grab a fist full of my sheets and yank them off of me. I refused to get up, though, because my body was not physically ready to get up at six o'clock in the morning yet. 

Stretching my limbs and just sort of laying down, resting, I decide to get up after five or ten minutes. 

I make sure to sit up slowly to carefully avoid a head rush, and pad my way over to my bathroom. 

Looking at the haystack on top of my head that one would usually call hair, I take out a comb and get to work.

Ten minutes, two combs, and one hair straightener later, my hair was ready for the critical public eye. I tossed it around a bit, then put in some hairspray to make sure it stayed just the way it was. Not the sticky kind, but the kind that kept your hair put and made it stay soft and silky smooth.

I refuse to wear a ton of make-up, just because it reminds me of the whores at my old schools that I have gone to that feel it necessary to pile on as much make-up as Kim Kardashian has shoes. 

Only feeling like putting it on to not look like a homeless person on my first day at my new school, I apply some shit over my tiny yet negatively promising patch of acne on my forehead. The Regional seemed a littel intimidating, to be quite honest. 

Oh well. At least I had my bodyguard-weirdo-protector boy. A bubbly of excitement occured suddenly within me and I all of a sudden wasn't completely dreading what the day had to offer. 

I would get to see the one friend-ish person that I had met, and I wouldn't be completely alone. For once...

Humming to a random song, I make the decision to also add on some mascara to my lashes. Not that fake-bitch stuff, but some of the black-brown-colored stuff that doesn't make much of a difference, yet I feel a little prettier with it on. 

Finishing that up, I stride over to my depressing closet. It probably contained an entirety of ten to eleven full outfits. That fit me, anyways. 

Unlike most girls my age, shopping for clothes wasn't something I found very thrilling, so it hadn't occurred in my head to question my mother if the option of buying new clothes for school would be appropriate. I suppose I should have asked her when we went shopping for supplies, but it fails to come up as high on the importance list for me at the moment.