Rejects | | a.u

. 01

CHAPTER ONE

    The hallways of Madison Creek High School have always reeked of cigarette smoke. Every junior roaming the hallways had the breath of a thirty-year-old alcoholic. Freshman students are depressed, seniors are suicidal and sophomores? Sex addicts. Lives around the hallways were tough for everyone.  No one had this picture perfect life you'd see on TV as much as they faked it on social media.

  Everyone at Madison Creek High School had a story of some sort. Whether they were an addict, a family member died, or it was a mental issue of some sort, it was always something. We were a school of rejects. Kids who had no career path in front of them, drop outs, and many, many prostitutes had been enrolled here. We all have problems.

  Everybody acted the complete opposite of who they really were. No one was actually really them and it scared me. My best friend Asami for instance – she acts like some tough grunge girl when really she's the nerdiest little Asian best friend I have ever had. No one knows she likes happy go-lucky pop music, they see her as some Nirvana, death metal obsessed girl with one too many facial piercings. She was depressed and pop music makes her happy, too bad no one will ever know.

  I on the other hand, I don't open up to people easily. It's never been a talent I've been lucky enough to have.  I'm a messed up, top honours English student, fuck-up extraordinaire. I mean, I take pride in my stupidity when it comes to math but then I remember my mother and everything just goes downhill.  It feels as if I spend my life trying to make my parents proud. Sometimes it feels like I'm letting them down.

  Walking into room 1809 I run into a tall blond boy with a leather jacket on. He twirls the ring in his lip and smirks. I roll my eyes and push past him. I take a seat three rows of desks from the front. Thankfully, no ones sitting beside me yet. I set my old beat up book bag on the chair beside me and dig in it to find my history text book and binder. 

  History has to be one of my favourite subjects. Janet always jokes that I'm going to be some super famous well known historian when I graduate. I mean, I'd love to keep records but I have a shitty memory when it comes to that kind of stuff, plus I am extremely unorganised. Teaching sounds like something I'd be more into. Ever since I was little I would always teach people whatever was on my mind. Whether it by me teaching my older brother, Josh how to braid one of my Barbie dolls hair or teaching my mom a stupid poem I made up. 

  My mom was an English teacher and my father taught science. They've inspired me to teach in their honour. My brother on the other hand, was a drop out. Before my parents died they started to plan out my life, even thought I was only eight-years-old. They have had almost something like 9 thousand dollars or something saved up in their "Bethan Fund" or whatever they used to call it. 

  I hear somebody cough quite loudly, it sounded more forced than natural. I look up and see that dumb blond kid towering over me. He moves my book bag on to my lap and sits in the chair next to me. I have never seen him in my second period history class the whole semester. 

  "Can I help you?" I ask. It probably came out ruder than I expected because he almost looked shocked.

  "Wait, you talk?" I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. 

  "Can I help you?" I ask again. 

  "Yes, actually you can." He smirks once again, running his hand through his hair.
  "With what?" 

  "Your name." He pauses for a moment. "And your notes because I've missed the first three months of this class." 

  "Why have you missed the first three months?" He props his head up on his elbows, staring at me.