The Hate Wars (Slow Updates)

Check One

Charys' POV

My whole high school sophomore year changed the moment I entered my English Lit class. The first day back to school, I'm sweaty on the inside out, wondering if I would be assigned to a class with any of my friends. It would totally suck if my first day in school would be spent in front of an unfamiliar classroom, with unfamiliar teachers, and unfamiliar faces.

I pick up my schedule and see that my next class would be English Lit. A smile creeps onto my face. English--- my favourite subject. I hope I'd get Miss Hall for my teacher, she's cool. She lets us sit wherever we want, and doesn't comment when we talk in class. These teachers are hard to come by.

I pick up my shoulder bag and head for Hall three, where most of my classes would be held this semester. Along the way, I keep a lookout for my best friend, McKenzie. I don't see her anywhere. Sighing, I fish out my iPhone from my jeans pocket and send a quick text to my friend:

Kenzie!!! Whr r u? I hav Eng Lit. :)

I hold my phone in my hand as I walk, hoping that any minute now it'll buzz with a new message from Kenzie. My friend is pretty attached to her smart phone. She practically sleeps with one hand around her pink hello kitty phone!

The bell sounds, loud and piercing. How I hate that bell! It's a mechanic tool designed to rope the student populace in order, excusing students from further monotonous lessons in class. I heard that last year, the neighbouring folk had rallied to sue the school--- just because of the bell! I'd as soon as step up, if I lived around here.

All around me, the gathering students had begun to pick up pace, calling out rushed goodbyes, slamming their locker doors, scrambling to their next classes... I have to suck in my breath and squeeze my way through the sea of high school students, fresh from their expansive holidays and hilarious parties, not in the least ready to be limited to the school's old rules and regulations.

I slow down as I approach my class. By this time, my hands are starting to shed so much excess sweat I have to stick them into my jeans pockets to dry them. A few girls passing by gave me weird looks, and I shrug, red-faced. Of course, the girls here don't stick their hands in their pockets, other's see this as a termination to every girls' guide on feminism, which is totally unfair in my opinion.

I pause at the doorway to the class, taking a moment to survey the situation. As soon as I stick my head through the door, I'm hit with the sharp scent of fresh paint. Sure enough, the class is painted all over in... pink? Who even paints classrooms pink? I wrinkle up my forehead. Then I couldn't help smiling. I wonder what Kenzie would have to say about this. She is extremely anti-pink, anti-barbie, well... anti everything girlish.

Speaking of her, I do a quick scan of the room, wondering whether Kenzie would show up. Right now, only half the seats are occupied. Three girls huddle at the back of the room, exchanging lip gloss and flashy magazines, giggling and fluttering their heavily done eyelashes at every boy who enters the room. My eyes flit over them in a hurry. Eva, Elle, and Meg. The Big Three of the school, the popular, in with the times girls, whom boys fall over themselves to claim as their own, and the very three Kenzie and I always managed, upon silent agreement, to steer as far away as possible from. We call them EME.

Other than EME, about six other students were present. I see two or three individuals, seated in the front rows, backs straight and books ready, with serious looks in their eyes, staring at the wall in front, impatiently waiting for the teacher's arrival. When I see them, my blood runs cold.

Penelope, Chloey, and Reymond. The three top spots in every class, the teacher's pets, the straight A students. Always so dead serious, swotting their heads off between classes, studying, studying, studying. I foresee a year of high blood pressure. I don't know what the teachers are thinking. placing the top three model students in the same class, competing for the same things, and against each other. Even now, as I stand at the doorway, I feel the tension in the air. I see that Penelope had managed to bag the front of the class seat, which the other two clearly didn't look so happy about.