Michael Clifford

Chapter 2

BEEP BEEP BEEP

My alarm clock annoyingly wakes me up, as I slowly and groggily wake and get out of bed. I glance over, seeing that I've woken up late, once again.

Walking over to my mirror, I look at my reflection and notice my flushed cheeks, and wild hair. I walk to the bathroom and get ready for school.

I brush my hair and teeth, wash my face, apply mascara and a bit of concealer, deodorant and then I'm done.

I walk into my closet, pondering on what to wear for today. It's Monday, so nothing too fancy. I end up with a pair of dark wash skinny jeans, and a casual v-neck light blue T-shirt. I fold up the ends of my pants, creating cuffs so that they're capris now. Grabbing my vanilla body spray, I spritz myself before leaving my room. I jog down the stairs and pour myself a cup of coffee to go, as my bus will be here in five minutes.

"Someone woke up late again." My dad snarls as me. He's leaning against the counter behind me, his arms crossed and his expression a cruel frown.

"Sorry." I reply bitterly, without turning to look at him.

"Maybe you should be going to bed a bit earlier? And aren't those jeans? Not capris."

"Maybe you should mind your own business..." I mumble quietly to myself. Low so that only I can hear it. At least I thought only I could.

"Why did you just say?" He raises his voice, glaring at me. I ignore his question, and grab a granola bar and some grapes for a quick breakfast on the bus. As I reach the front of my house, I sling on my bag and throw on a pair of beige Sperry's. I can hear his loud steps following me as I leave the house and walk to the bus stop. I'm glad that I can leave the house, a lecture and/or beating before school would not exactly make my day.

It's only a two minute walk-thank god- and I make it there just in time. I'm not really friends with anyone on my bus, so I sit alone as usual close to the back, but not in the very last row.

I put my headphones in, and unwrap my granola bar.

I'm quietly sitting here, for a few minutes when suddenly something hits me on the head.

"Ow." I say out loud. I take out my headphones and look around to see who hit me.

"It was me you idiot!" I turn around to see Megan Young smirking at me. She has strawberry blonde hair, that's mid length, and she's wearing a tight white crop top, and I'll assume shorts as I can't see her bottoms. I've known her for nine years now, since the second grade. We were distant friends in elementary school, and then we came to high school and she went all super-slut on everyone.

"Oh hey Megan." I say without emotion.

"I've been trying to say hi to you for the past five minutes! What are you listening to?" She pesters me, leaning her arms on the back of my bus seat.

"Music." I answered quietly.

"Wow your so funny. Jeez just trying to make polite conversation with a friend." She rolls her eyes and sits back down in her seat. Since when are we friends? I think to myself.

The bus reaches the school and I step out, without tripping for once. I'm quite clumsy, all the time. I walk to my locker, throw my science and religion in there, and shut it.

I have fifteen minutes till class so I decide to go to early to my first period, art, to finish a project I didn't complete yet. Id rather not walk awkwardly alone in the hallways. I have friends, just not many.

I reach the art room, and luckily the door isn't locked, so I walk right in. I go to my cupboard section where my clay sculpture lies armless; it's a mock Hercules. I take it out and carefully turn around. As I turn I nearly drop my sculpture as standing in front of me is a guy, holding multiple paint brushes and a few bottles of vibrant coloured paint. I recognize him from my religion class; Michael Clifford. I know his name not only because we have a class together, but because I think he's the most interesting person at the school. He has an abundance of friends, yet I never see him talking to anyone else. Also he's a generally mysterious person. I don't really know anything about him, and I'm not going to lie, I really want to. Everything I know is from what I've heard; conversations on the bus, in hallways, even online. He's a rebel, he drinks at parties and smokes when he can get his hands on something is all I really know. His hair sticks out in all directions, and is a light shade of green, and almost brown in some sections. He's wearing black skinny jeans, combat boots, and a quarter length T-shirt that's sleeves are a different colour from the rest of the shirt. I notice the text on his T-shirt: idiot. Must have a high self esteem, I think to myself sarcastically.

"What are you doing here?" He asks me, curiously, as anger creeps into his voice.

"Finishing my sculpture." I reply curtly, immediately flushing a deep scarlet.

"What are you doing here?" I continue quietly, after a few moments.

"What does it look like?" He smirks, and eyes the paint brushes and paints.

"Um I'm not sure... Are you-are you getting ready to paint a picture?" I'm stuttering. Why am I nervous? Pull it together. He chuckles quietly to himself at this.

"Sure." He's grinning now, and walks out the room, leaving me confused. I start to follow him, going to ask if he planned on returning the paints and stuff, when the bell rings.

Miss Taylor, the art teacher is usually late, so I put my sculpture back and leave the classroom, so it doesn't look like I went there early.

Hey! Hope this is a little more lengthy and enjoyable for you all. More coming soon I promise 👍 Were just getting started here! Please comment if you enjoy! Tell me what you like, don't like etc ❤️😉🙊