His Deepest Secret

Every girl would love to jump his bones, be called his girlfriend, steal a kiss of his, or even just be winked at by him. But Mr. Popular over there hasn't found anyone good enough yet. Girls basically drool over him, but he doesn't even notice, it seems like. Most jocks would love to have that, and he is the biggest jock of all.

Charlotte was sitting at the lunch table she and her friends had claimed as their's, letting her mind drift off as she mindlessly watched Anderson. She could never understand him. She never talked to him, but rather argued and fought with him. She only observed him from afar, judging that he was like every other jock out in the world, the kind that stepped on the others who were everything but normal, who were different, like she was. And for that reason, she hated him, just like how she hated every other popular person at her school.

Daily, she was reminded how she was weird. Daily, she reminded everyone she didn't care. She didn't care that she was different. She was glad she was different and not like every other person in the world; she was unique. Charlotte didn't feel the need to conform to society and their popularity rules. And for that reason alone, the popular kids at Washington High would try their hardest to break her down.

Rinnnnng!

The bell for lunch to be over made every student cringe, reminding them they had to go back to the torture they were accustomed to daily. Charlotte picked up her heavy backpack and slung it over her shoulder. She did not really touch her food, but merely picked at it. She was lost in thought at lunch as she observed the popular table from afar.

"Walk me to class!" Alissa yelled over to her. She came out of her daze and nodded as they walked towards the English hall together. "What's wrong dude? You are always talkative at lunch."

"Nahh. Maybe I like being quiet and you just never realize," she responded, her stubbornness kicking in.

"When have you ever been known to be quiet?" Alissa laughed as they weaved throughout the mass of students walking like scattered flies.

"When have you ever been known to ask so many questions?" Charlotte inquired.

"Shuddup."

They both laughed over the roar of talking teenagers. They entered the hallway and got divided between the squished students stopping in the way, cutting through to reach a classroom, and trying to walk their fastest around the slowest of the students.

Charlotte reached for her English class's door handle and pulled it open, walking through and lifting her eyes to see what she sees everyday. Him. Her face turned to a frown as she had to pass where he sat to get to her desk.

"And dude, I was like, you couldn't even make the basket and you're trying to get at my girl by bragging about your basketball skills," a jock said, Charlotte overhearing as she walked through them to reach her desk.

"That one chick, Eliza, has been dogging you down, bro. Why don't you ever go for any girls?" another stupid jock asked, directing his question to the one and only Anderson.

She turned around in her desk, curious to see what his response was.

He merely laughed, a flicker of something she couldn't understand flashing through his eyes for a mere second right before he replied. "Why are you complaining? You don't have to worry about any competition or me stealing your girlfriend." He laughed once more and the jocks nodded in agreement.

Charlotte turned around in her desk, feeling stupid for even caring enough to turn around for such an answer from a jock. She should have known.

The bell rang three times, signaling to all the students that if they weren't in class by now, they were screwed and to detention they were destined.

"Alright class, start on the warm up," Mrs. Heinagan instructed, busy dealing with students with questions and explanations for their homework being late.

Charlotte loved the warm ups; she loved how Mrs. Heinagan made her students think. She took out her journal and a pen, preparing a new page to be written in.

In your opinion, what is the worst thing that could happen to a person? After explaining why, then write about something that is worse than that one thing. Why is it people always believe they have it the worst? Use no personal pronouns."

Charlotte began scribbling away.

Two desks behind her, Anderson's face became grave. He did not even pick up his pencil, but simply stared at his paper with a hard look. His thoughts turned dark and he knew that every single person in the room were writing about petty problems or obvious problems, like world hunger or war. Meanwhile, the thoughts in his head taunted him. People did not even realize how good they had it, and for that reason, he was mad at them all.

"Turn it in!"

Every student besides him and a pothead stood up to turn it into the basket. Charlotte plopped down in her seat, sneaking a glance behind her. She saw the look on Anderson's face and thought, What problems does he think are so horrible? Not winning the football game?

Anderson looked up and made eye contact with Charlotte.

"What are you staring at?" he asked.

His friends were siting down by now and were looking at him with question.

"What are you so sad about? The fact your parents bought you a brand new truck instead of the Mustang you wanted?" she retorted, feeling defensive.

"What were you writing about? The fact that you are the most unpopular person in the school and that being a loner is the worst thing that could happen to someone?" Anderson's face was turning pink as he became angry.

"Oh yeah, like me having friends compared to you having the whole school surrounding you qualifies me as a loner. Just because I don't give a shit for football games, I don't whine about not being able to go to the movies this weekend, and I don't care to dress myself like all the other boring popular girls makes me a loner?"

"Yeah? And what does matter to you?" Anderson asked her, with a challenging look on his face.

"Not being like everyone else. Getting the best grades that I can. Books. Friends who are real, and not fake and boring like how every jock and cheerleader are. Your guys's problems are that your hair doesn't turn out just right. Or that your parents only gave you two hundred dollars to go shopping with," Charlotte replied.

"You are exactly like everyone else. Judgemental. Which is the reason I despise people like you. You make me sick," Anderson retorted, venom pouring out of the words he spoke. He stood up, grabbed his binder, and left the classroom, not even listening to the teacher calling after him.

Everyone sitting in a six-foot radius of the two overheard their entire conversation. It did not bug them. In fact, they were used to it.

Everyday was like this.

Little did they know, tomorrow was going to be immensely worse.