- Adrenaline -

Chapter one

     So here I am, a 5'2", 102 pound art geek at a stupid jocks party. Now, before accuse me of being 'thin skinned' or easily manipulated, I should give you some context.

     It's Tuesday, the day after the major school-wide JXTs, the real version of the PXJTs. The halls of the high school are always louder the day after a major test like this one — probably because the students can finally sleep at night without waking up with half a trigonometry textbook stuck to their face. True story, by the way.
     Anyway, all I care about was getting to and from my locker before first period English with Mr. Ernest Hemingway— pretensious prick. So I keep my head down and my arms to myself.
     There are times though, when you find yourself being broken out of your bubble. You're forced to remove your head from the hanging gallows and provide attention to whatever is in front of you. This time, it was Cleo demanding my attention.
     Cleo — queen bee of all queen bees — had slammed my locker shut, all the while leaning against it so delicately, maintaining her beautiful yet fierce appearance.
     "Hey little guy!" She coos, as if comforting a child who had lost his mother in the mall. (Which, she shouldn't do.)
     "Do you even know my name?" I raised my brow the same way she raised my suspicions.
     "Of course I do!... Victor?"
     "Vincent."
     "That's what I said."
     I was beginning to think she didn't have my best interest in mind.
     "Anyway Vicky, I was wondering if you're free this weekend! My super hot and sexy boyfriend is planning a huge party to celebrate passing the XJTs."
     She doesn't even know if I passed mine or not. I shook my head, opening my locker and refusing to waste my breath on someone who couldn't even be bothered to learn my name.
     Cleo sighed wistfully, in a way that said she knew exactly what she was doing.
     "What a shame, you know, if you were to accept, I would have asked to use your amazing art for the upcoming fair."
     Now my interest was piqued.

     Yes, I know — GOD it was stupid, but listen! When you're a struggling artist, and you're tempted with publicity and credit, you can't help but crumble! Besides, it's just a stupid Saturday night party. All I would have to do is show up, and bingo! I've got art commissions up the hoo-ha!
     So now I'm here, covering my eyes from the assaulting disco lights, in a corner far away from the grinding bodies, tucked into my own personal hell.