bad expectations | jfg

01

A/N
warning: i very, very, very much dislike this story. i wrote it when i was an incoming freshmen who liked magcon. (sigh). . . this story really does not justify me and the way i put my thoughts into words. my other books do/will. so maybe, look at those?

i won't delete this, though. there are lots of people who geniunely like this story and it makes them happy so i will keep it up. thank you.

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I sit here in my desk, shoulders slumped. Looking down at my shaky hands, knowing if I look up, my eyes will connect with the wrong crowd.

My mother rarely takes me to school, I usually have to get a ride with a friend or even take a bus, I try my hardest to be on time, but it doesn't always work out, obviously.

I do in fact have my own car, but something about the way my parents minds work diverge from that idea. They think that when you wake you're not fully conscious and aware, they think I could get into a car accident or something, they're moderately ludicrous.

My teachers give me lots of breaks considering my grades and because I have a positive relationship with all of them, but rules are rules I suppose. And now, here I sit, in my first detention in the middle of boys and girls that I only see in the corners of the halls.

I attempt to kill irrelevant time by drawing little scribbles along my notebook, trying to take my attention off my surroundings. I barely have even looked up, I don't even know who anyone around me looks like, and I don't want to. It's just, things like this always have made me nervous, I had walked in with every delinquent eye staring into mine, I hate being associated with these type of people.

I'm well aware I sound stuck up but it's true. These are the types of people who come in after school every single day because of conseculatively doing rebellious things; talking back, book-checking, writing on walls. I think wearing something out of uniform is the most popular one to get caught for.

"Late. Of course." I hear our teacher say. My eyes travel to him, and then the doorway.

A tall boy walks into the room, wearing a lose grey sweatshirt, out of uniform. What a correlation. I watch him as my pen continuously traces the already inked paper, "I forgot detention was today," The boy says in a low, monotone voice.

Our observers eyes roll back onto wear his pencil has been writing for the past hour, flicking his wrist at the boy, shooing him off.

My eyes slowly gaze at him as he walks write in front of me, not bothering or noticing my watch on him, what a eerie looking guy, he looks much older than a Junior. Is he a Senior? Before he sits down, he high fives a lanky boy in a hat.

"What's good Gilinsky?" The boy asks him.

I take my eyes off the two of them, I feel like I've heard his name before, but I don't have a single trace on where. The sight of him makes me aggetated, he looks scary. Alarming even. Why are his clothes so big?

"What are you doing?" The slighty high pitched voice makes me look up slowly to see the boy that greeted "Gilinsky," talking to me.

"Nothing." I drag slowly, trying to act like they don't intimidate me. I'm not sure if that's the right word for how I feel about them, I don't know them, but it's definitely along those thin lines.

They look at each other. The one that's actually talking to me tries to fight his obviously amused smile, seeming to... mock me? The tanner one just stays neutral, like he couldn't care less.

"This is Jack." He gestures, he seems to be making fun of me. "I'm Sam, or Sammy." He reaches his hand out for me to shake it, I look at his hand, back up at him, and turn back to my book.