Brandon. Yes, THAT Brandon.

You What?

If I keep having breakdowns, I might have to see Christina's mom. She's a psychiatrist.

I never got to checking my phone last night, so I wake up to two text messages. I hate Thursdays.

Chris: Can we please go to lunch today and talk?

I flop back down on my bed. Maybe I'll be sick today... Who knows where the rumor about Ashley and me has soared to. Last I heard, she was trying to have my baby.

7:21. I'm still in bed. I finally haul myself to the shower, turning the hot water on high, then practically kill myself trying to escape the scalding stream. There's something I'm never doing again. When the water is at a slightly less skin grafting tepmerature, I stand under it, attempting to forget the time. Today, I feel completely fine, as if I didn't just spew my subconcious memories in one sitting less than twenty-four hours ago. Funny how the brain does that, huh?

"Brandon! It's 7:45! You're going to be late!" Mom bangs on the shower door. My fingers feel like prunes now, along with my toes. I head to my room to dry off and throw on the khakis and bro tank for the fourth time this week. My senior year, we'll wear flannel everyday for play--- oh, wait. I'm not playing next year. Silly me. I run downstairs to kiss my mom on the cheek before dashing out to my dingy truck. It's not even a color anymore.

As soon as I step foot into Ms. Ayler's first hour, I sense something awry. I take my seat quietly and pull out my supplies. Making myself as discreet as possible, I turn to ask Matt for a pencil.

"Why are you late?" a female voice asks softly before my lips even form correctly to ask the first word. I turn around to come face-to-face with a big pair of brown eyes. I'm speechless. Who in the world is this goddess and why have I never seen anyone who looks like her?

"I... holy moly," I breathe. She's practically Beyonce with dark, curly hair. I need to get out more, or see more black people. I'm staring. I don't care. "Hello?" My entire class erupts with laughter.

"According to the seating chart," she clicks. "you're... Brandon Owens?" Did she just say something? I dunno but legs.

"Wait, you're subbing?" I ask aloud. "Holy crap." The class laughs yet again.

"Says here you don't speak much, Brandon," the lady nods. "I can see that is not exactly so. My initial question: why are you late?" Granted, we have beautiful girls in our school. But if I had Miss Substitute in my class? Woah, man. I'd pay even more attention.

"I spent too long in the shower," I blurt.

"Looks like you need to go back again," Darian whispers.

"Well, take this as a warning, Brandon. Since you missed my wonderful introduction while you were 'in the shower', I am Miss Ryan. Mrs. Ayler will not be present--"

"Ms. Ayler," someone corrects from the front of the room. It's Mystery Hipster Guy. There are too many hot people in this room for my hormones to handle.

"Ms. Ayler will not be present for a while, maybe a month. My instructions were to teach a different chapter entirely, because Ms. Ayler had specifics for the current section." I watch her legs as she bounces around the classroom. I don't even hear the streamed sentences coming out of her mouth. Thinking I'll like first hour a lot more for the next month.

Hipster Guy talks to Miss Ryan for a little while. My paper is finished quickly, so I have some time to check them out. Don't get me wrong, Logan is the most perfect human being I know, but Hipster Guy is that different kind of hot. And Miss Ryan... well, I'd tap that.