The Days of Our Lives

Chapter One

Roger POV

I tap my foot out of boredom. I've shut out the monotone voice of my teacher and am trying to keep myself entertained. Tap, tap, tap my foot goes at a steady pace. I pick up my pencil and lightly tap it against the table at another pace than my foot, keeping my foot going. The girl sitting next to me frowns at me as she always does, as this is an often occurrence. I sneer back at her and keep on tapping my pencil. She lets out a frustrated sigh and furiously scribbles some notes down on her paper. Satisfied, I lean back in my chair, keeping my rhythm going.

This was something I realized I was good at awhile ago. And as one does, you show off what you're good at. I lazily twirl my pencil in my hand, not missing a beat. Running my free hand through my frazzled long blonde hair, I glance at the clock. Class is thankfully almost over. I finish my beat and twirl my pencil to where it sits behind my ear. I scan the board quickly to see what happened during class, it was a bunch of nonsense that I wouldn't have understood even if I was paying attention. What's the use of science anyways? I think to myself. It's pointless.

The bell rings and I stand up and stretch. Everyone arounds me packs their things into their bags, but I just carry around a notebook and pencil, even though I don't take any notes. At the front of the room, my friend Brian struggles to put his wads of notebook paper into his satchel. The nest of dark curls that lodge on his head, that he calls hair, falls into his face, causing him to mutter under his breath. I walk up to him, and he notices me.

"Oh, 'ello Rog," he says to me. "That was a fascinating lesson today, wasn't it?" Brian is what I like to kindly call a nerd.

I grunt, making sure the teacher isn't in earshot. "Exciting as watching god damn paint dry," I say sarcastically. Brian frowns at me, hugging his books close to him. We head to the exit.

"I don't understand you," he says to me. "How did you not find that interesting?" I give him a look that he is familiar with, a listen-to-yourself-you-nerd kind of look. He rolls his dark eyes at me.

"Whatever," he says. "Different interests are ok." Comments like this make me snicker. Brian and I are very different people, which amazes me that we became friends. He also doesn't have as many friends as I do though, which is why he wants to have the least amount of conflict with me as possible. Understandable. I'm one for arguing.

In reality though, Brian is one of the smartest people I know. He's also the tallest. In only junior year in high school, he stands at six feet tall, and I'm at only at five feet and six and a half inches. I sometimes struggle to keep up with his pace in the halls.

I don't today though, because Brian and I both have free period, so his long legs aren't moving as fast to get to the next class. I like the days we have free period after science for many reasons. Mainly because I'm not panting to keep up with my friend, but also because science is at the other end of the school from where we hang out during free period. I like that aspect, much to Brian's dismay, because this allows for me to check out as many girls as I can.

Obviously, in high school, there aren't that many of interest. Sometimes there happen to be a few though. What Brian doesn't understand, is that the long walk allows for more possibility.

There doesn't really seem to be anything of note today, but I do wink at a gaggle of girls passing by just for fun. I can almost hear Brian's disapproval, which might also be part of the reason why I do it.

"Oh, lighten up," I groan at Brian, after the girls pass. "Live a little." Brian frowns down at me, stopping in front of his locker. It's so damn annoying that he's taller than me, and he uses it to his advantage.

"I just don't understand your priorities," he says, shoving his science books into his locker. "You don't care about school at all, when it's something that's vital to you being successful in life."

"What? Is not," I retort. "I don't want or need any of this shit to be successful." I'm confident in that. Brian cringes at my fowl language, looking around for strict teachers.

"You don't know that, Rog," he says. "You're literally failing all your classes except music theory. Does that sound like you're destined for success? I don't think so."

I want to come up with a clever comeback or witty remark, but I'm tired of arguing with him.

"Bugger off."