“They're gonna clean up your looks with all the lies in the books to make a citizen out of you,” a guy called Trickster sang from the back of class when the new kid walked in.
A few other guys, including their leader Josh, snickered from behind me as I peered over my compact at the vision of black stood by the teacher’s desk with a white sheet of paper in his hand. The guy stood looking at his feet as if he were afraid to face the class of seniors in fear of what someone might say to him. Either that or he had something on his shoe.
“Take a look at this one,” one of the guys behind me said, poking my shoulder. “I bet he just got out of jail.”
“Because they sleep with a gun and keep an eye on you, son so they can watch all the things you do,” Trickster continued in a low voice that made his friends snicker even more.
Anyone could see why they were getting a kick out of the new guy’s appearance, and why the song Teenagers by My Chemical Romance was being sung by the class clown. I’m sure he could hear them as well.
He wore a long, black trench coat that clearly had to be the nicest or at least passable thing he owned, for the rest of his black attire was covered in series of holes. Dark hair hung from his head, making the silver skull in his left ear stand out, to his chin. He wore black mascara around his eyes, which made his incredible, blue eyes stand out so boldly that when he looked at me, I sat there as if in a trance.
We made eye contact. His bright eyes shown in the light like sapphires in a jewelry display at Zales as he held my gaze. I would kill for eyes like that, I realized, just as any other girl who could be looking at him would probably be thinking.
I watched as Mr. Thomason took the piece of paper from his hand to look over it, which distracted the guy standing next to him. He looked around the class at the empty seats about the room until the teacher’s eyes rested on me.
“Class, listen up for a moment,” my English teacher said as he waved his arms in the air like he did every time he needed our attention. When the snickering guys silenced behind me along with the chatting girls in the front of class, he continued, “This is Billy Williams. He just moved here from New York.
“Billy, your seat will be in front of Miss Wilson. Melanie, will you raise your hand please, so that he will know who you are?”
With a sigh, I raised my hand just barely above my head but just enough to make myself known. I had hoped that it would not be me who would be lucky enough to sit behind the new kid that was getting made fun of. Now, they would be snickering about that too or at least people would be refering to him as my new friend.
Billy made his way past some of the chatting girls to his desk, his eyes never leaving mine as he did so. I just sat there with my compact in hand, for I had completely forgotten about fixing my lipstick after a short make out session with my boyfriend, Sean Mackey.
“Hey Melanie,” Josh Johnson whispered from behind me. “You got a new friend?”
“Very funny, Josh,” I replied dryly as I went back to reapplying my lipstick. “You know I don’t associate with people like…him.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
I told you so. This new kid was already going to put a dent in my reputation, yet he hadn't even been a student for more than five minutes. The way things spread around this school, everyone would know about how Mr. Thomason had involved me. That was a big thing here. A big stupid thing.
“Okay, Josh,” the teacher suddenly said. “Since you are in such a talking mood, you can start the presentations. You’re first.”
I turned in my seat to smile at him like I did every time he had to go first on something because of his big mouth. At the same time, Trickster commented, “You aren’t going to discuss anything like gun control or jail are you?”
The guys were snickering again, well except for Josh. He was too busy getting his papers together to laugh at the little joke. He hated being first at anything because his friends always made faces at him, which made him crack up and he always failed the project. The only reason he wasn’t failing the class was for the fact that he actually did his homework unlike his friends.
Cathy Peterson, one of the chatting girls, suddenly asked, “What’s wrong with doing a discussion on the importance of gun control?”
Clearly, she had no idea what was going on. I couldn’t help but laugh at that one. It was another stupid move by the captain of the cheerleaders. I was once one of them and was glad that no longer was when he mumbled under his breath.
“I hate cheerleaders enough to kill them,” he mumbled. “Melanie.”
My next thought: Oh, my God, he's psycho.
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