Author's Note - Hello again! It's been a while! Thank you for waiting, those of you who are still loyal. ^^ I know you might wanna kick me for making you think I was going to make this a short story but, change of plans; I'm keeping it full length! Ta-Da! :D (please don't hate me heh. xO)
I also edited the title to keep it plain so people wouldn't have trouble finding my story, need be. ^^
7:55 a.m. - Ferry Mount High
"Julia! Julia!" My kind-of-best-friend Demarcus yelled out to me.
"Go Demarcus! Go Demarcus!" I said half-loudly-half-quietly.
"I swear I will roundhouse your impossibly-adorable self if you don't quit it with the sing-songy bullcrap." He said to me with a don't-try-me-look on his face.
"Sorry Demarcus. I just can't help myself." I batted my very long eyelashes at him, emphasizing his name purposefully.
He threw a library book at my head which I happily dodged, not wanting a concussion. I heard it thud against my neighbor's locker door.
"Hehe! Missed me!" I cheered. It's like I'm invincible! Like I'm pretty sure I'm Domino (The movie version of course) in Deadpool 2. Like seriously..
> Once while I was sitting against a school desk it started to fall on me and almost crushed my neck.
> I also almost got hit by a stray football once.
> Oh! And a basketball almost hit me in the face too... Good times.
Keyword: Almost. But every single time Demarcus almost had a heart attack. I swear, he's so protective of me its kinda funny.
But anyway, back to reality....where Demarcus is snapping his fingers in my face and calling my name. I must have zoned out again. Sh*t.
"Sorry D. I didn't mean to zone out on you again..." I said sheepishly.
"Babe, you need to get that mess checked out. Black people don't do that sh*t." He warned me. I rolled my eyes and my head fell back. I hated the "Black-people-don't-do-this-" crap. It's so annoying. But that was the norm. I get called "White" all the time for wanting to try certain things or saying certain things, even for the way I dress. For Example, "Black people don't say Duh, Crap, or Dude." We say "Dead*ass, Sh*t, and N*gga." Like, ugh. I'm tired of being criticized for not being "Black Enough" for other Black People.
Sh*t be tiring as f*ck.
I stared back at Demarcus with a dead look on my face. "I don't need to get anything checked out D. I'm fine." I said, fixing my bag strap.
"No the hell you are not, I don't need my JuJuBee trippin' out on me. You're not on m*th or ac*d are you Ju?" He looked at me with his sternly furrowed eyebrows.
"NO." I said defensively. "I don't even do drugs. I'm way too young anyway."
Demarcus let out a sigh of relief I didn't even know he was holding. Earning yet another eyeroll from yours truly.
"Good thing you a prude, I ain't gotta worry 'bout you." He said nonchalantly.
My stankest face ever in existence slipped out and there I was about to sock my kinda-best-friend in his balls. This b*tch did not just call me a prude.
His eyes flickered up to my angry-as-hell ones and he shrugged. "You are. Don't act like you not."
Then the bell rung. F*ck him and his beanie-wearing-a*s. I thought angrily.
