Run, Lola, Run.

“That is so very gross.” Sarah comments from beside Matt, her tanned face scrunched up in disgust and, well, disgust.

“Dude, you look like you’re going to be sick,” responds Matt, his eyes never leaving the group in front of us, as they sling back different types of mashed leaves and mushrooms.

“They should call themselves, ‘The Greenhead Group”. I say, equally not being able to take my eyes away from the group of people, now trying the unfamiliar taste of whatever mushed mushroom they had inhaled so very quickly. Some were making faces of disgust, and some were looking at the cup with interest with a neutral look on their face, the last of the few were grinning from ear-to-ear, in obvious declaration of love for the substance in the tiny plastic cup.

“Totally.” Sarah’s eyes follow the headman as he walks around with a clipboard tucked between his elbow and his hand, checking the group member’s thoughts on said substance.

“Who, who, who does this for a living?” I ask, looking at Matt and Sarah, mainly Matt, after I state my question, reading their faces that blatantly read, gross, disgusting, nasty, ew, puke, as clear as day.

“I have no idea, but whoever decided they’d found a group like this, should be shot, maimed and then murdered, good God.” Matt says between deep breaths – most likely keeping down the bout of puke from arising.

“I’m Outie. Four thousand.” Sarah declared, looking away from the car crash scene.

“What’s that?” Matt asks, looking back towards Sarah before turning back towards the drinkers.

“What’s what? Freshmen Fourteen.” Sarah calls over her shoulder as she strides back towards the entrance, out of the school gymnasium where they are holding the taste test.

“Idiot, I never gained fourteen pounds during my freshmen year!” Matt calls after her retreating back, though most of it was covered behind her bulging backpack. “I didn’t, did I?” He asks, leaning down towards me.

“No, I believe you gained fifteen.”

“Did not! I have a great body structure and fitness.” Matt states proudly nudging my shoulder with his elbow.

“Yeah, have, now. Then, no.”

“I have always had a great bod. Sarah said so,” he says, laughing at my look of disgust (they just put together some kind of mushed mushroom and a honey glazed leaf together).

“Right, if Sarah said it, it must be true.”

I was never a fan of Sarah, with her peppy attitude that everyone, including myself, had wanted, her brains that never failed her, even in the toughest PAT ever known to man. She was top of any sport she ever played. She was never too skinny or never too fat. Everyone wanted to be her friend; they worshipped at her feet – even the teachers. Every guy had a crush on this girl since middle school, they’d pull her chair our theoretically, they’d pick up her dropped pencil and they’d ogle her thighs as she passed them in gym class.

All in all, she could be considered one of the most loved kid in the entire school, without a doubt.

Even if her unquestioned popularity started to get to her, her attitude drastically changing to anyone of lesser popularity.

Anyone of lesser popularity, who liked her, was mocked mercilessly by anyone and everyone for anything and everything.

“Don’t be mean, she’s a sweetie.” Matt defends her, he looks at me with a well-veiled contempt, its obvious I’ve pushed my limit with just a couple of words.

“I never said anything mean, and she’s far from a sweetie, but whatever you say, but God knows, you’re all knowing.” I hardly say the right things at the right time; some say people have good comedic timing, or good diffusing timing, not me.

I bulge right in there with an ax and words that could possibly end me up stapled to the death against a wooden wall.

“Lola,” Matt sighs my name, annoyance and tired sounds fill his voice, I guess he’s tired of my constant and rather petty, rather loose, hatred towards Sarah, “please don’t start this. God, I feel like your parent sometimes.”

And with that rather hurtful statement he stalks away, his hands dug deep into his too small sweater, his footsteps are muffling against the small chattering of the group and hang-arounds.

Rolling my eyes, and feeling slightly awkward at the loner moment I was having, deciding on my best option was leaving and getting ready before the hometime bell rang, so as I could leave before I ran into Matt at his locker – coincidentally placed beside mine, the luxuries of being able to pick your own locker.

The bell rings just as I grab my backpack out of my locker and slam it, then the brass, monotonous sound of the bell signals freedom.

I see Matt coming down the hall, Sarah once again beside him, he hasn’t noticed me yet, and so if I’m lucky I’ll be able to leave the school without him noticing.

But alas, I was not lucky.

Alas, the backdoors were stacked up with snow that could reach you ass if you stood just centimeters away from the door.

Having to pass by Matt and Sarah was excruciatingly painful. For the sole reason that he, and she, did not notice my presence, I even accidentally – or more accurately, purposefully – smack my backpack into Sarah’s side, she still doesn’t even look at me, or even notice me.

Does a great wonder for one’s self esteem, I’m telling you.

I once again find myself weaving through the hundreds of kids that were filling up the spacious hallways, I pass numerous grade eighters who were boisterously high-fiving each other for God knows what reason, more who were grabbing duffle bags for their out of town trip, which surprisingly, had not been cancelled due to the on-and-off snowstorms that had been happening more than not.

Everything was so hectic as I tried to maneuver my way through the crowds, my oversized coat hanging limply off of my arm, my backpack slinged back onto my shoulder, I finally reach the doors, the conversations I had previously been over-hearing had finally dwindled as I reached the small alcove that lead outside, opening the door I’m met with a huge gust of wind.

Wind that could possibly nudge one’s already frozen hands into further frostbite.