Immortal

Kellin.

Every second day of each week would be the same. Part one consisted of me waking up in an entrancingly grumpy mood, get ready for another day of school, go there, maybe hang out with the few friends of mine, then walk home to go on with my pathetic existence.
This Tuesday however, was quite different from the usual ones.

After leaving the house without so much as a word to my mom I put my earbuds in and blared blink-182 at full volume. Tom DeLonge's voice filled my ears as the first line of 'Down' started playing. I hummed along to the melody and carried on with my journey to school. Unfortunately, I didn't live far from the scarifying hellhole called Westridge High, hence I got there just in time for the song's final chorus to fade out.
I walked over the parking lot and tried my best to ignore the packs of jock-y seniors, surrounded by junior girls fawning over them. I recognized some of them, Tay who I think was in my English Lit class and a blonde with a nose ring. They usually hung out together, and I had noticed that they were still desperately trying to creep their way into the group of popular kids.

Honestly, I was sorry for them. This whole All American High School Culture was a complete mystery to me. Sure, our town wasn't the biggest, so it was somehow beneficial to be on good terms with most of the people here, but I couldn't and I would never understand how some of these idiots got off on their 'social status'. It was concerning how much time and effort some of them invested in their High School careers when in reality, it would only last for a time of four years, and then nobody would care about what they did at the ages of fourteen to eighteen.
Still, they acted like they had bigger dicks than anyone else just because they were nominated for homecoming king.

Sorry to corrupt your perfect little daddy-issue influenced world, but just because I'm the petite, band-shirt-wearing misfit-kid doesn't mean your annoyingly bubbly excuse for a girlfriend wouldn't choke on my cock. Not that I would let her suck it.
At that thought, my face contorted into a grimace of disgust. Gross.

I pushed the doors open and stepped into the hall, head down, strolling towards my locker. After half of the way, I jerked a little when I noticed a presence right next to me, but was quick to recover when I saw who it was.
Oli had a bit of habit to magically appear out of nothing, and it was not the first time he kind of freaked me out with it. I had no idea how he managed to do that, considering he wasn't exactly short.

“Jumpy much?”, he asked and smirked at me.

I rolled my eyes and hit his chest. “Not funny.”

Now we were at my locker and I opened it to get out the items I'd need throughout the day.
“Actually, Kellin, it's indescribably amusing to have you squeaking like a puny little bitch”, he teased, over exaggerating his British accent.

I shot him a death glare and then turned back to the task at hand. “You could also have that if you'd finally let me ride you.” I said in a disinterested tone, quiet enough so only he would hear. Mock flirting was normal to the two of us. And while other people thought it was weird, it was just our way of making fun of each other.

He snorted and laughed a little. “I don't think Hannah would approve of that.”
I smiled as he mentioned her. His girlfriend was a total sweetheart. She'd dropped out of school at the beginning of this year to start working as a freelance tattoo-artist. And surprisingly, she did pretty well. Oli and Hannah were still in love like they were in the beginning of their two years of relationship and I could totally see them grow old together.

“Aw come on. She's just a girl version of me. With tatts. And tatas.”

He laughed. “Well, you're right. But wh – biceps and his squad coming.”

I turned, just in time to see a group of four Mexican guys enter the hallway. Vic Fuentes just a little bit ahead of the others. Now, I could tell you how flawless he looked, levitating down the hall in slow-mo like they did in chickflicks, but I won't because I'm being honest here.
That Tuesday, Vic Fuentes looked like shit; as did the rest of his friends. He had a cut on his lip, bags under his eyes and he was wearing dirty clothes. Seemed to be the dress-code of his gang today. His brother had a nasty looking black eye and the other two of his friends were slightly limping, their other injuries probably hidden by their long, black clothing, that was really not that appropriate for a spring day in California.

But even though all of them were beaten up majorly, they didn't look half as bad as people like me would, it kind of added to the whole bad boy thing about them. And that was one of the reasons I was drooling over their leader. It was just his face and his eyes and his arms, God these arms.
This wasn't even a crush anymore. It was a borderline-stalkerish obsession. His voice, the way he spoke, how he rarely ever smiled, and his cold attitude in general. All of it was so unbelievably enticing.
Fuck, I didn't even know if he was into boys but it's not like I cared. I would never have the courage to walk up to him anyways because, as attractive as he was, he and his friends were also fucking scary. That's why I liked to keep admiring him from afar.
Also, Vic and I would never work. I was far from being intimidating. He was hot, I was kind of cute looking on good days. We were opposites

“You totally want to bang him”, Oli snickered into my ear.

I just brushed him off. “As if you didn't know already.”

+++

Calculus was one of my favorites, no sarcasm here. I was better than most of my classmates so it was just one of these classes where you don't even have to listen to get good grades. Right now, I was doodling in my notebook which was also filled with a lot of personal experiences. You call it diary, I call it 'collection of finest poetry', you write about a date with your boyfriend, I write paragraphs of nothing but insults.

The teacher kept going on about some shit I already knew, and I couldn't be bothered to pay attention – she'd already blabbered me into half an internal fit. I was just about to start shading my drawing when her shrill voice got closer. I looked up to see her on the other side of my desk, visibly angered. Oh.
“Mr Quinn, could you please stop painting in my lesson. Even though you might not need this, it's the least to show some respect to authority figures and also your classmates, got it?”, she asked extra sweetly.

I could've shot myself because of that speech alone, and the girls that were snickering on my left weren't really helping my temper. I tried to breathe in and out evenly, coping skills, anything. It didn't help.
“Won't I get an answer, Kellin?”
That tipped me over the edge. Don't get me wrong, I was actually nice to almost everyone, but if someone called me out and embarrassed me in front of a group of teenagers who were as thirsty for gossip as Facebook was for personal data, I was a goner.
I sighed.

“First off, Miss Pickens, I am drawing, not painting. Secondly, I'd advise you to calm your panties, because you're making a fool out of yourself.”
I couldn't stop the words from rolling off my tongue before they did, and I regretted it immediately. That's what you get from hanging out with rude little shits like Oliver Sykes.
I averted my eyes from my teacher, who I knew would be boiling with anger now. My usual, self-conscious persona began to surface again and I hid behind my fairly long hair to avoid eye-contact with any breathing thing in this room.

Only seconds later, a detention slip for 3 Tuesday sessions was smacked on my desk; followed by more snickering.

Oh great. Absolutely fabulous, Kellin.