The High School from Hell

"Addy? Addy can you hear me? My name is Rex. Reeeeex."

"I'm still calling you Rexy."

"Damnit."

Ugh... My head.

"What the hell happened to me?"

"Bekka kicked, correction, THREW a soccer ball, it hit you in the back of the head and sent you straight into a light pole. I mean seriously, how cartoon network is that?" Nathan grinned. That boy... I shake my head at him.

"Did she get in trouble?"

"She claim she saw a bee." Rexy rolled her eyes.

"Oh, please."

"Well, Keiler didn't catch it because he was in the locker rooms. He didn't think a bunch of 'delinquent' witnesses were good enough. Plus I don't think he cares about your welfare much." Mace smiled.

"It's nice to know sarcasm has it's price."

"Oh good you're awake. Look at me dear, follow the light. That's it dear." Oh my god. Did I mention the school nurse reminds my of Madam Pomfrey? She's so awesome.

"Been doing something dangerous have you? I told Principal Lasseder to cut the gym program... I don't know how many kids I've had in here with injuries..." I caught Nathan's eye and grinned. I looked away quickly, stuffing my fist to my mouth to stop from laughing.

"Get out! OUT!" Nurse Jenkins shouted suddenly, shooing Rexy, Mace, and Nathan waving her hands wildly. "This young lady needs rest! Back to class with you!"

Wow. She DOES remind me of Madam Pomfrey.

I told you so.

"It seems you have a mild concussion. Nothing to worry about. I'll need your father's work number to call him and ask him to pick you up." Le sigh. Dad is not going to be happy about this.

"YOUR -BLEEP-ING RIGHT I'M NOT HAPPY ABOUT THIS!" This is how I imagine the last few moments before your death.

Oh ha, ha. VEEERY funny.

I try.

Well stop.

Oh head, why do you hurt so? RAWR damn that play, and it's scenes that need painting. Oooh... That reminds me...

"Your father said that on NO condition were you to drive home. And if you didn't get one he'd get one for you." Oh that's nice.

"Oh.. And he remembers you 'after school activities,' and decided he'll just get you a ride because it'll save a load of trouble."

Haha, you know what'd be funny? If he got Matt's mom to do it. Hahaha.

DON'T JINX ME.

Okay, okay, jebesus...

That's MY word. If you weren't in my head I'd glare at you.There's a buttload of things I would do to you if I weren't in your head.

That sounds dirty.

MY HEAD. UGH. I... NEED... VICODIN... HEAD... PAIN... When the spots go away I must remember to call my Cousin and tell him to KILL Bekka. You mess with me you mess with the Mafia. Which is funny because I'm not even Italian. I'm Belgian. And French. And a little Swedish, which is probably where I get my blonde hair come to think of it. UGH. NO THINKING. MAKE. IT. STOP. Mommy, why does it hurt so?

Umm... You might want to watch where you're painting, there...

OH DAMN. You couldn't have warned my BEFORE I cut the rose bushes in half with the brown? Not to worry. Easily fixable.

"You desecrated those roses." Just what I need. Headache, AND a pain in the neck. FUN.

Think of revenge. REVENGE I TELL YOU.

Shiza I'm insane.

"What... Not talking to me Blondie?"

"Look, Matty, I have work to do, with a mild concussion, a headache, and more bruises than I can count. GO AWAY."

"I'm hurt." He put his hand to his chest. "Don't call me Matty."

"Don't call me Blondie."

"Meow."

I was totally just going to say that.

Oh liar.

"Do I LOOK like a cat to you?" He opened his mouth but I overrode him. "Don't answer that." I sent him a glare. He's a bastard son of a mother.

"Oh that's nice." Damn. Did I say that out loud?

"Yes." DAMN! I'm screwed up in the head.

"Yes, yes you are." OH COME ON!

Heheheh...

Shut up you.

"Shut up who?" You've got to be kidding me.

"Nope." OH MY GOD. He will pay.

"OW! What the hell was that for?" He growled, rubbing the spot in the back of his head where I had smacked it.

"Because I felt like it. That's why."

"That's a dumbass reason."

"Yeah well, life's tough."

"Why do I have the strongest urge to dump a can of paint on you?"

"Do it and your car is going in a ditch."

"You wouldn't." He laughed. I... resent that.

"After all we've been through and yet you still doubt me. You should know better."

"That rose is crooked."

"It's not crooked!"

"Uh, yeah it is."

"IT IS NOT!"

"Miss Rosch there is really no need to shout." Miss Cross called across the room. Damn him.

"You're a bastard."

"You're a whore."

Oh. My. God.

"Say it again. I dare you." My voice shook. How DARE he?

"Touchy aren't we?"

"Fuck you, Silent." I stood and walked out, resisting the urge to slam my fist in the lockers.

"Where are you going?"

"GOD CAN'T YOU FUCKING TAKE A HINT?! LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!"

"I can't."

"Dare I ask why?"

"I'm taking you home."

...Y-you're joking...?

...Right?

I HATE old cars. I mean, they're hot looking, but they have this distinctive "old car" smell. It just DOESN'T GO AWAY. No matter what you do it lingers, like... like... I don't know something that lingers. God, my head hurts.

You know, it's ironic...

Okay, I'll bite. What's ironic?

I jinxed you, yes instead of his mother, you got him.

I hate you from my very soul.

"The roses were crooked."

"THEY WERE NOT CROOKED! How can roses be crooked? Makes no sense! WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING AT ME!" Not that his laugh isn't pleasant. It's a deep, yummy, rumbling sound. He has yummy eyes too... His hair all... unruly and messy... midnight black... Why must everybody so irritating be so HOT?

"You have issues." Yeah. You don't think I know that. Damn... hot... jackass...

"Dude, your care stinks."

"I believe that is your fault."

"Not like egg, moron, like... old car."

"Old car?"

"You heard me. Old car! It stinks." He mimed wordlessly staring at me as though I were insane.

"Green light."

"Oh shit." Haha, loser.

"God the 9ers suck." He growled as we passed a suburban with a SF sticker. Um. What?

"I beg your pardon?"

"The San Francisco 49ers? They suck." Oh. No. He. Did. NOT.

"They do not!"

"They just got killed by the Seahawks."

"Only because our Quarterback got injured."

"Oh yeah right."

"Who's you're team then."

"Chicago."

"You're joking. Right? The Chicago bears? They're lame ass."

"They went to the superbowl."

"And LOST."

"And the 9ers are so great."

"I admit we've had a rough few seasons," he scoffed, "But we won the superbowl FIVE times in a period of NINE years. The only reason we've been having issues is change of ownership. We were the best in the league."

"Keyword: were, not anymore."

"We might be 2-2, but that's more than I can say for YOUR loser team. They're 1-3, and the only reason they have one win AT ALL, is because they beat the Chiefs. Who suck. By the way."

He rolled his eyes. HE MUST DIE.

"Not only that, but my OTHER team, the Packers, are owning face this year. And when we play and slaughter the Bears next Sunday, and we will, we'll be 5-0."

"How do you know they'll win?"

"One, because Brett Farve kicks ass. And two, because Chicago ALWAYS chokes when they play Green Bay. It's a proven fact. Like last year, they got whooped by the Packers, and that was the year they were actually doing good."

"Get out my car."

"With pleasure, Bears fan." I said as I slammed the door shut. HOME. GOD BLESS HOME. Daddy better make me brownies... This is all his fault... brownie...

"DDDDDDDDAAAAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDDDDDDYYYYYYYY! I'VE BEEN TRAUMATIZED FOR THE REST OF MY NATURAL BORN LIFE!!!" I cried, running into the kitchen to fine my dad washing dishes.

"Oh, poor baby. What happened?"

"Something, as Nathan put it, worthy of Cartoon Network. Mild concussion, nothing to worry about. Where's my Vicodin? My head hurts like a bitc-- jerk... lady... person.. My head hurts."

"It's in the cupboard."

"Oh sweet relief. I swear one of these days I'm going to commit mass murder." I growled, downing a glass of water.

"Aw, I'm sorry dear, what happened?" He asked, drying his hands on a towel.

"The moron you had give me a ride home, is a," I paused and shuddered, "Bears fan."

"What? Why? The Bears suck." He looked at me surprised.

"I KNOW, and he said my roses were crooked." I pouted.

"How can roses be crooked?" My dad asked, confused.

"THIS IS WHAT I'M SAYING."

"I'm sorry honey."

"Yeah, well... But you know what you could do to make up for the car ride from hell? Make me some brownies... pretty please.." Wait for it... And hit him with the puppy dog eyes.

"Alright." VICTORY.

"YES! SCORE!" I shouted, throwing my fist in the air and bringing it back down in a victorious pose. I so win. There's only one cure for a Bears fan: brownies, Fall Out Boy, and Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends on DVD.

Mary mother of Jebesus. Tomorrow's the big day. Wednesday, is officially my favorite day of the week. Officially. Tuesday, the preparation, Wednesday, the of doom upon all those who have grieved me. Except for Britney Spears and Paris Hilton, that will have to wait for another day. Or at least Thursday. But anyway, Wednesday... That of Appending Doom Upon All. They day of... awesomeness... My favorite day of the---

I think we got it.

I think I've rubbed up on you my dear. I'm quite proud of it.

Oh god. I'm turning into you.

Haha. I so win.

I'm going vacation.

Where to?

The spitting llamas, even they're better than turning into you.

That... hurts, kind of...

SWEET JEBESUS! WHAT IS THIS BOY DOING? A strong muscular arm wound itself around my neck, strangling me, in a gesture I'm going assume was supposed to be a hug.

"Umm... can... I help you in some way?"

"You're going to pretend to be my girlfriend for the day because I have a stalker." Whispered the male, still strangling me might I add, huskily in my ear. I shivered. Sexy. But NO. I flipped around to deck him when I saw... Aaron, grinning down at me.

"Help me PLEASE." He smiled at my with pleading eyes. Oh poor boy... Help him get rid of his stalker, and pretend to have a hot boyfriend, or deny him any hope of surviving the day without getting raped.

"Why me?"

"Because you're the only one I could think of who could kick her ass if she tries to molest me." I find it scary that we think alike a lot. Hmmm... What to do, what to do? What the hell, hot boyfriend it is!