Tiffany Blews-Fall Out Boy
Taylor's Point Of View
"Will you shut up for two seconds?!" I exclaimed to the girls behind me. This work was important, it was something I wanted-no needed- to get done. Their persistent talk of boys and ridiculous matters is truly the most frustrating thing ever. "I'm trying to do my English work!"
"Awh book nerd." One of the said sarcastically, leaning back in her chair and laughing with her friend.
Barely holding myself together, I turned around with a sickening growl. "Listen here I'll kick your ass easy right here right now."
"Geez we'll leave." She rolled her eyes and both grabbed their things.
"You Better." I scowled as they walked out of the room, forcing a lie to the teacher that there was an issue.
Hey, I'm Taylor Parker. But my friends call me 'Tay' or 'Ty'. Even the occasional 'Parks'. Of course sometimes it's a little bit annoying to be called a chorus of different names by different people, but it isn't something I can truly complain about. My friends can call me what they like, they are reliable and are my friends. They mean the world to me.
I'm 15-apparently have the worst attitude in the world. Well that is according to my head teacher and all the other teachers. Despite having very good grades, I'm not exactly the favourite here. My face doesn't conform to their pathetic standards of how one should look, act, feel and represent the school. I'm a kid who has no adult who cares about them-not even those who are supposed to act like they do. You can't expect me to want to fit in when nobody's jigsaw piece edges allow me to link with them.
Basically schools bullshit, people are bullshit, and life's bullshit.
And apparently 15 year olds aren't allowed to drink once a month? Yeah bullshit. In an orphanage nobody gives a damn so it's all good. I barely drink, I know people who drink excessively and that's something I don't want to be apart of. However ridiculous it is watching people fall into lampposts and put traffic cones on their head when intoxicated, I'd rather that not be me. In the place I live, they don't care what I do. Nobody does. Nobody cares unless you can do make up or you open your legs. It's like a brothel.
I have one friend, Bronte. She's great. We've been friends for as long as I can remember truly. We grew up together, our parents did. And our parents died together. Well her father died with my parents and her mother-well that's a totally different story. We went into care together however we live in separate houses. If we lived in the same one it'd be much easier. Her hair is a claret red shade on one side of her parting and a pastel blue on the other. She had a nose pierced but it is only a stud, she was frightened that the ring made her nose 'look too big'. Despite her ear stretchers being two centimetres. Like I said, she's great.
I have piercings too. We're pretty similar, the two of us. I have a bar going from my cartilage straight to the inside of my earlobe. Then due to my slight fear of needles I only have six millimetre black ringed ear stretchers due to that phobia. It still hurt when we went to get them done together, but hers were much more painful.
Do I have tattoos? Hell yeah! I've got the danger days spider on my inner right forearm. That way nobody can see it unless I tense my arm and lift it up, practically flexing my nonexistent muscles. Of course only my friends know about that, mainly because they did it. Tyler-one of my friends-is an amazing artist. He can draw anything you ask him to even how you vision it in your head, it comes out looking exactly the same. He knew what spider I was talking about when I asked for it and he nodded, happily readying the tattoo machine for when it was time.
