Dirk squinted anxiously at his reflection in the mirror. The image of an attractive, charming young man squinted back him. His lengthy and dangerously close to being feminine eyelashes complimented the orange hue of circular irises. Each one of those tiny hairs protecting his peculiar narrow orbs was of a blonde tone, proving that his voluminous head of hair was all natural. His skin was abnormally pale for the region but he could do nothing for it: it was a condition. An epidemic of brownish freckles plagued the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks, but that was all he had to show for how much sunlight his skin would take in each day. Dark bags lined the bottom lids of what would normally be bright, energetic and young eyes. The imperfections discouraged those comely orbs, but alas he had a solution: his signature shades. Sleep seemed like a frivolous thing to him. He only did so when absolutely necessary. That, and of course during school.

School.

It was the first day of senior year. For him, however, it felt just like any other day. He gritted his teeth at the citrus-eyed freak in front of him and slipped his triangular glasses over ugly leers. Those infectious hues were the exact reason he preferred to look at his life through a lens. Well, that and his brother.

It was a genuine shock to him that his skin had not grown accustomed to the lengthy showers he would take on a daily basis. Though he went through the same process each day, his fingers would still prune nevertheless. Even then his fingerprints were altered, regardless of him being out of the stream of water for at least a half an hour, if not more by then. He assumed he would probably be late getting to school. Not that he cared all too much; he had no first period. There had been a defect with his scheduling, as he was required to make up a credit, and he was expected to meet with a counselor on the issue to get things regulated. They were surely anticipating his arrival. He, on the other hand, had bigger things to worry about. Such as if he should bring an extra set of batteries for his camera, or if he should just leave well enough alone and preserve what battery life he had. He quickly decided it was best to bring an extra set, as it was his duty to thoroughly tick off each and every last one of his new teachers by taking a snapshot every few seconds. What kind of Strider would he be if he didn't establish his authority right off the bat? An awful one, that's what.

He had always loathed school. Not only was he surrounded by mindless, ignorant pricks in every direction, but those same pricks did all they could to expose his deepest and most sensitive flaws. The world was a cruel place, he wagered. Thankfully he had a prized heirloom - though it wasn't really an heirloom, he called it that for sentimentality. And irony, of course. Even if it was just a vintage single-lens reflects camera, Dave would be disappointed if he titled it anything else. He also had a collection of scars, each one with a story behind it. Though the presence of scars was more commonly portrayed as a negative thing, he viewed each one of them as an appreciated lesson.

Maybe that was why everyone thought he was such a freak. He was not afraid to show them, after all. The only time he had managed to escape those judging leers and thousand questions is the few days after he was first left alone. Everyone seemed to be giving him his space for a while; those who voiced their negative opinion on him openly, whether it be through words or physically, and those who silently admired his collected personality and no-nonsense smarmy attitude. They had all learned from rumors, and it was only this one time that he was thankful that rumors existed. Even if he was stoic on the outside, he knew there was no way in which he would be able to admit what happened aloud. Not yet, at least.

"Let's get this fuckin' irony train moving Strider. You got places to be, middle-aged women to piss off. You're the ultimate conductor of this beastly fucker. All aboard," he said to his mirrored self, slicking his fringe in place for the thousandth time. He took a moment to fluff his lion-like mane and gave himself a subtle wink, even if the shadow from his glasses hid the action.

There would never be anyone he hated more than himself.

"Next stop; scheduling counselor. Fweet fweet."

Of course he had a Texan twang to his words, but he was an expert at hiding it. The only person he had ever met face-to-face that did not have the same drawl as every other insufferable drone to the population was one of his best friends, Jane. She had moved to Texas in freshman year from Washington state, and had thankfully avoided picking up the repulsive tone of the people she was surrounded by. Because of this, he could easily listen to her for hours on end. People had often suspected them of dating, but they would each be quick to deny it. Roxy was more in to him anyways, and he preferred the other team. Not that he ever had any luck with the gender he favored; the only guy he had ever dated found even the slightest of touches to be absolutely obscene. Dirk was not a pushy guy, but he assumed that after being with someone for so long he would at least allow a hug without screeching about how bold the Strider was for doing so in public.

Some people could be so detestable.

He regarded his dirty kitchen with a subtle wince; it was painful for him to see such messes that did not exist in his room, but he really had to leave at that point. Making a mental note to tidy up later on, he shoved his feet in to a pair of tennis shoes and slung a messenger bag over his shoulder. The high school was only a few blocks away. He decided to walk that morning, since the air was so pleasant. Normally it would be sticky and hard to breathe, so he appreciated even the smallest of breezes and fair atmospheres.

The leaves on the trees were of vibrant oranges, brilliant yellows, and a few unsightly browns. One particular tree looked quite promising to him - he approached it cautiously as if it were a snoozing beast, regarded the angle and snapped a few still shots before continuing down the sidewalk.

He was trying to get more in to photographing nature. Every picture he took, or at least the ones that came out well, he drew. With a yearning to expand his horizons, he was seeking a change of scenery. Evidently that scenery was scenery itself.

When he reached a point where it was necessary to cross a busy road, he failed to even regard if it was safe to go or not. Apparently it had not been, because when he started across the pavement in front a collection of cars, each one of them honked noisily at him. He simply smirked, made a motion with his arm as if he were pulling the horn of a train, and called out, "toot toot motherfuckers. Make way for this irony train, it ain't sparing anybody who gets in its way."

That building which he so regarded with such resentment was just another block away. He reached in to his pocket and pulled out a pair of large headphones. Careful not to damage the flawless image of his hair, he slipped them over his ears and unlocked his iPod. In seconds he was enjoying one of his brother's older tracks, mouthing the words as he attempted to keep up with the firing lyrics. He concluded for probably the millionth time that he would never be as cool as Dave Strider was.

Was.

Clenching his jaw, Dirk quickened his pace. The downside to calm days like this was they made him think. When he thought, he always seemed to drive himself in to a hole. For the first time in his life, that looming establishment looked promising. He switched the song, quietly and calmly listening to a classic tune.

'Sburb High' a sign on the freshly cut lawn of campus read. It was a peculiar name and most students had a great deal of trouble pronouncing it correctly, but it was within close enough proximity of Dirk's apartment building that he could not resist attending the place. Even if it was absolutely nerve-wracking.

The halls were basically bare, except for the occasional freshman who had absolutely no clue where they were supposed to be. One or two of them would ask where a certain class was, and he would pretend to ignore them and continue to his destination.

"Hey. Sorry for being late. I'm here," he called in to the small office space of the woman he was scheduled to meet with. She peered up from her computer over thick frames, eyeing his appearance with pursed red lips. He was wearing a pair of tight, form-fitting black pants and a striped shirt of multi-toned oranges. A lanyard dangled from his back pocket which was decorated with a colorful cartoon pony who sported a radiant rainbow mane.

"Dirk Strider?" she queried. It kind of sounded less than a question and more like a command for him to get his lanky ass in there and plop down in an uncomfortable chair, but it was a question nonetheless. He entered the minuscule office, but leaned up against the wall with his hands shoved in his front pockets rather than taking a seat. She raised an eyebrow in question at him, and he simply nodded his head as if to acknowledge her presence halfheartedly.

"The one and only. Care for an autograph? Or are we gonna get this show on the road?" He leaned his head back against the wall and shut his eyes calmly.

"Care to remove your glasses young man?" she snapped, obviously annoyed with his sassy attitude.

"No can do ma'am."

"Why not?"

"I don't have any eyes," he said stoically, though he was inwardly cackling like a hyena.

"If you're going to be short with me, you can leave."

"All right, all right. I've got a note. See?" he said, digging in his pocket to retrieve a letter of permission for him to keep his signature shades on. The parchment landed on her desk right in front of her. She unfolded it and read it closely, only to sigh at its genuine truth and set it back down.

"It has come to my attention that you have no first hour."

"Really? I thought I was just dropping by for a quick chat."

She audibly groaned. He inwardly high-fived himself.

"You're required to make up a credit as well. Fortunately there were a few spaces left in Mrs. Condesce's first hour. Have you heard of her?"

"She's the cooking teacher right?" he played along with her questions, though he knew full-well he was right.

"That's right. So you'll be taking her class first period. Now run along."

He snatched up the note, saluted her with an enigmatic and hardly noticeable smirk, and exited the suffocatingly small work space.

"Your name is Dirk Strider and you already despise anything and everything about senior year," he grumbled to himself, finding it safe enough to curl his nose and scowl as if he had just taken a whiff of an unpleasantly pungent smell. He was alone in the hallway, after all.

Always careful to conceal emotion.

That's what Dave taught him.

Dave's gone.

"Shut up," he growled aloud, immediately clamping his mouth shut and wiping his face of emotion.

"-nd if you do anything out of turn, you will be out my classroom. I mean i- ...who are you?" a tall beast of a woman with black hair cascading down her back and clothes of the same color addressed Dirk as he entered the room. He realized instantaneously that she was annoyed with him from the get-go, and so he decided to test his fate; with no words of a response, he lifted his camera from its dangling position around his neck, angled it well enough, and snapped a photo of her. She growled. He stifled a chuckle, only omitting a posh sort of 'pff'.

"Dirk Strider. I'm in your class. Any place for me to sit?"

"You can plant yourself right here," she motioned to a seat in the very front row next to- oh, that was a plus. He strolled over to his seat, thankful that he was alone at the two-person table. "Now, any more distractions Mr. High and Princely? Or can I continue to teach my class?" she hissed. He tilted his chin upward, raising a brow defiantly at her angered expression.

She rose her snout to the sky and turned on the balls of her feet to deliberately speak to the entirety of the class excluding him. He shrugged, leaning his head forward until it rested comfortably against his folded arms.

Time to sleep

Slumber came quicker than he expected. His abnormally colored eyes fluttered to a gentle close, and almost immediately he sprung up in his seat to see the same room he had been in moments before, except this with a mild blue overlay. Looking down he raised his brow at a sleeping identical twin and crawled atop the desk, smugly listening to the powerful words of his first period teacher.

A new year, and the same method of learning.

Lucid dreaming could be so effective at times.