We Were Lost and Broken Until We Met You Guys

I was known all over this school as - putting it nicely and in less vulgar terms - “The Biotch.” I could tear you apart - emotionally and physically. I’m very observant, so when someone tries to tell me I’m a female dog, I simply watch the way they move, they talk, and gather what I know about their day-to-day behavior and retaliate tenfold. I’m not an easy person to read, but others are so easy to read.

I am Bree, the eldest cousin of Kat and Francis. I’m usually not a meanie to them but I do have a short fuse and I will occasionally blow up on them, however that is a rare thing and I instantly regret it when I do, especially Francis because she’s so small. I love both of them to death. They know the real me, which is really not a bitch, but rather a smart, caring person who wants to work as a Special Education teacher while also volunteering at an animal shelter (which I already do).

I only act the way I do because the day I walked into Jersey High as a new student my freshman year I was immediately judged and dubbed “The Slut” because of some jerk who moved away a couple months after I came. He decided to grope me, kiss me, all of it behind the bleachers during lunch. He took pictures - and it’s obvious that they were inappropriate - and he sent them to everyone, who sent it to everyone else. No matter how I tried to convince these people otherwise, they stilled judged and still called me The Slut. I gave them what they wanted, and was later named The Bitch.

Leslie had just told me about the party she was having this upcoming weekend. Kat and I knew it was mandatory that we go and I put on my fake smirk, batted my eyes and said I would be there, holding onto my . . . boyfriend like I was in love with him. He held onto me tightly as we walked to my second class of the day, ready to barf when his hand slid to my buttocks.

Of course I would be going to this party celebrating the new school year because it will be so much fun and of course I say that with sarcasm. There will be alcohol because Leslie and her partner in crime Sam have their way of sneaking alcohol into any party. I only drink some because it’s part of the show I usually put on. My boyfriend will have some as well, mostly because I offer him mine after I have a few sips so I could get rid of it. I am really not looking forward to this party.

Drake, my boyfriend, stopped me at the doorway of the classroom and pulled me closer to him so he could give me a sloppy kiss. I tried to think of how excited I was about my next class, AP Calculus, instead of his bad kissing and sometimes disgusting breathe, and the way his hands like to roam. I pushed his hand away from my butt and thought of the various math problems I’ll conquer. I said I was smart, didn’t I?

Drake has the IQ of a jellybean, therefore he was not in this class, so when the bell rang, I pulled away so he could get to his class (when most of the time he ditches) and so that I could stop his hands from roaming up to my chest. As I walked in he patted my butt, and my teacher put his hands in his pockets, staring down at the linoleum floor my heels clicked against.

My teacher was a nervous man; the sweat glistened on his balding dome as well as his whole face. The hair on the nape of his neck (the hair that was actually there) was clinging to his skin and his hands fumbled in his pockets. I gave him a small smile when he looked up but he looked back down, but not only down, at my chest. So, him averting his eyes from mine added a timid nature to his behavior as well as shyness and, from him looking at my chest, a bit perverted. Of course, my low cut shirt probably did not help.

I looked for an empty desk and found one in the middle of the three rows: the third desk in the second row. This class was probably the smallest since most students are not smart enough to get into this class or just don’t try hard enough. I tried, and I succeeded, but it was only me out of my usual group. They, too, had the IQ’s of jellybeans - except for my cousins, of course, but they were younger than I. I was going into my last year of high school into an AP Calculus class with students I cannot socialize with. According to our “rule” we cannot associate with nerds, geeks, etc.; I could not really talk with any of them, fall for any of the geeky boys or date any of them.

But he could be the exception.

As I took a seat next to him, I could not help but pay attention to him, only because I am a reader of people. He grinned at me before he turned back to the board which showed me that he was friendly but he wanted to be serious about this class and pay attention. The desks had the sidebar and basket for books on the bottom of the seat, and he had his elbow propped up on the sidebar, leaning into it, and had a slightly arched back while sitting on the edge of his seat. That told me he was relaxed in this class, engaged, but he was energetic and was ready to bounce up and leave when class ended.

After I paid attention to his body language, I assessed his looks from the corner of my eye. Mr. Bates, my teacher, told us what the class rules were and all, and I watched the guy concentrate as well as got a good look at what he looks like: He had hazel eyes with curly hair and sideburns. Sideburns? It told me that he liked the vintage look, but he also liked to look good because his curly hair was cut to near perfection, and he thought sideburns looked good. On him, they did. He also had a slightly wide button nose, one that fit his face pretty well, and his lips had a downward turn that made him look like he was frowning, but they were full and looked like they could turn up into a smile quickly, and most likely often. He had freckles on his neck, not really on his face. His cheeks were rosy and round, which fit someone who probably smiles a lot.

Another obvious thing about him other than the expressiveness and energy: He was a geek. He wore glasses - not that that automatically makes you a nerd - but the way they sat upon his face told me he was one, a logical one, almost like that pointy-eared guy from Star Trek or Star Wars. He almost had the same ears, too. He must like that weird Sci-fi stuff, and when I looked at his bag I saw buttons with the logos or whatever those were and it proved my suspicion. His binder had a couple stickers of it as well as a guitar pick and a picture of a Les Paul. I know what kind of guitar it was because I play.

I know I was judging before I knew him - not like I could get to know this handsome geek - but I am judged, therefore I judge in return.

Class was coming to a close and Mr. Bates already had us working on something, so he could see what we remembered from last year’s math and how it will affect us this year. Another thing I picked up from Mr. Bates: He was one who liked to challenge us and liked to test us, to make sure we were getting what he was teaching. Even on the first day of school.

The geek that I had been paying more attention to than the math leaned closer to me and I caught a small wiff of his cologne. If I could smell it from where I was, he put on a lot of it. I could tell that he may have had a bit of confidence issue and wanted to make sure he smelled good, so he put on a lot of cologne. I do that myself.

“Hey, um, could you help me with this problem?” he whispered, a slight grin on his lips. “For some reason Pre-Cal problems have jumped ship.”

That was actually fairly funny and I found myself giggling, stopping myself and putting on a straight face. While I looked at the problem - an easy one, by the way - I wondered if I should put on my façade or actually help the guy. The guy was new; I’ve never seen him around this school before, so I knew word about me, The Bitch, hasn’t spread yet. I would be nice and help him before he, too, judges me like the rest.

The bell rang and we got up from our seats, and before the guy could say goodbye I walked out of that classroom as fast as my heels could take me. His voice was attractive and hearing it only made me consider liking him more, which is bad.

“All right then,” I heard him say as I passed the door. “Bye.”

I could not help but turn around, put my hands on my hips, and put on my signature smirk. I saw him grin slightly and put his hands in his pockets. I checked my nails, which were less-than perfect, and muttered a goodbye before turning my heel and leaving him behind. I heard him chuckle; that intrigued me.