September 1, 2017
Dear Diary,
I believe I am a good person. You know, I think there's good in everyone. But here we are. Senior year! And uh, I look around at these kids I've know all my life and ask myself, "What happened?"
Lance McClain sighed and tried to make his way to his locker before a broad shoulder smacked right into him making him cry out, and glare.
"Ugh! Oh, sorry!" The poor Cuban boy squeaked once meeting the burning glare of an unknown jock.
He quickly shimmied through the multiple bodies crowding the hallways of Westerberg High to finally get to his locker only to trip a poor kid on his way to first period.
"Ow!"
"Hey are you okay?"
"Get away, nerd!"
"Oh-okay."
Lance sighed and got his camera out for the stupid yearbook club he was in, not noticing the hulking figure bustling his way till said figure knocked into him, knocking all the papers to the floor. It was a miracle his camera didn't go flying as well.
"Ooooops." A deep mocking tone droned out.
Looking up Lance saw the large yet beautiful, not that he would say that from fear of being verbally and physically shanked, Takashi Shirogane. Third year as quarterback, and eighth year of smacking lunch trays, and being a huge dick.
"What did you say to me freak?"
Lance winced, he must have said that last part out loud.
"Aaah! Nothing!" Lance flinched away from the raised fist and ducked under one of his arms, hurrying to the lunchroom.
The cafeteria was packed as usual with your typically geeks, freaks, and jocks- all separate of course, they wouldn't dare sit anywhere the other might even breath near them. Lance quickly spotted the one person in this hell that made him feel human.
Hunk Garrett, his best friend since diapers.
"Hey Lance."
"We on for a movie night?"
"Yeah, but you're on soda detail." Lance commented, sitting his stuff on their table far in the back.
"I rented The Princess Bride." Hunk said, excitement clear in his eyes.
"Oooh, again? Wait, don't you have it memorized by now?" Lance asked, amusement clear.
"What can I say, I'm a sucker for happy endings." Hunk said with a shrug before putting more chocolate pudding in his mouth.
"Hunk Gayrett! Wide load! Ha! Hahaaa!" Kurt Kelly, lineman. He's the smartest guy, save Takashi, on the football team, which is kinda like being the tallest dwarf.
Kurt howled with laughter some more and knocked Hunk's stuff off the table.
"Hey! Pick that up! Right now." Lance shouted making the guy turn around with fake confusion.
"I'm sorry, are you actually talking to me?"
"Are you deaf? I wanna know what gives you the right to pick on my friend? You're a high school Pendejo, you'll probably never amount to anything more than a future gas station attendant."
Kurt glared fiercely at Lance before smirking, "You have a zit right there."
The lunchroom erupted with laughter like Kurt has just said the funniest joke ever made, but Lance still flushed red with embarrassment and picked up his shit, running from the lunch room to the restroom to check and see if he did indeed have a zit on his face. Though it was highly unlikely with all the products he put on his skin to make it shine.
Dear Diary,
Why do they hate me?
Why don't I fight back?
Why do I act like such a creep?
Why won't he date me?
Why did I hit him?
Why do I cry myself to sleep?
Somebody hug me!
Somebody fix me!
Somebody save me!
Send me a sign, God!
Give me some hope here!
Something to live for!
Tears rolled down the Cuban boy's face as he looked at the mirror to find an invisible zit when he heard the restroom door open. Lance quickly ran into a stall door to not face anymore mockery when heavy footfalls led to the stall door next to him, sounds of disgusting vomiting filled the room. Lance, concerned opened the door and quickly wiped his face to open the stall only to flinch at the sight of Michael Duke.
The thing is at Westerberg High, you do not fuck with the Michaels. They are top of the literal food chain. They all have the same name Michael and are insanely popular.
Michael McNamara, Head cheerleader - even though he's a guy, he's just that girl. He can do a kick up to his ears. His dad is loaded, he sells engagement rings.
Michael Duke, runs the yearbook. No discernible personality - but his mom did pay for breast implants.
And Michael Chandler, the almighty; you might as well call him God himself.
He is a mythic dick.
They are solid Teflon, never bothered, never harassed. Lance would give anything to be like that.
Which is why he needed to leave before they knew a freak was among the perfects.
"Grow up Michael. Bulimia is so '09." Came a voice from behind him, Lance snapped his head to the side to see God himself. Michael Chandler was looking at his phone with a bored look, not noticing Lance awkwardly gaping at him. Now would be the perfect time to-
"Maybe you should see a doctor Michael," came another voice, Michael number #3 had arrived.
"Yeah, Michael. Maybe I should." Michael Duke mumbled from inside the stall.
Clacking heels made Michael Chandler tuck his phone away before looking up and finally noticing Lance.
"Um..."
"Ah! Michael, Michael-"
Michael Duke vomited noisily again, making Principal Allura Altean blanch.
"...and Michael. Perhaps you didn't hear the bell over all the vomiting. You're late for class."
"Michael wasn't feeling well, we're helping him." Michael Chandler said innocently.
"Not without a hall pass you're not. Week's detention." Allura said coldly, before opening her pen to write down their detention on her clipboard.
"Um, actually Mrs. Altean..." Lance spoke up for the first time, making all three - minus Duke who was still vomiting - snap towards him.
"All four of us are out on hall pass. Yearbook committee." Lance fished out his pass, he had added all three Michael's name to it when Mrs. Altean had mentioned detention.
Mrs. Altean took the pass and expected it thoroughly then grudgingly gave it back. "I see you're all listed. Hurry up and get where you're going." Mrs. Altean quickly left the room.
Michael Chandler snatched the pass and look at it with raised eyebrows, "This is an excellent forgery. Who are you?"
"Uh, Lance. McClain. I crave a boon."
"What kind of boon?" Michael Chandler said through narrow eyes.
Lance blinked before fumbling through his request, "Um, Let me sit at your table, at lunch, j-just once. No talking necessary! If people think that you guys tolerate me, then they'll leave me alone..."
All three Michael laughed, Lance quickly butted in before they said no outright.
"Before you answer, I also do report cards, permission slips, and absence notes."
"How about prescriptions?" Michael Duke asked before throwing up once more.
"Shut up Michael!" Michael Chandler snapped making the other apologize and throw up one more time before flushing and stepping out shakily.
"For a greasy little nobody, you do have good bone structure...and a great complexion. What products do you use?"
"And a symmetrical face!" Michael McNamara supplied hurriedly to get in on the conversation.
"If I took a meat clever down the center of your skull, I'd have matching halves. That's very important."
Lance blinked at that, Michael Chandler began circling Lance taking in his clothes and body.
"Of course you could stand to lose a few pounds, and you know...style your hair a little more..maybe a haircut, some nicer clothes...you could be rather beautiful."
Lance blushed furiously at that and looked at the ground bashfully. Michael Chandler touched Lance's chin with one finger to make him took up then to the left, then right.
"Alright, let's make him beautiful."
"Whoa, who's that with Michael?"
The normally three group had an extra person. His bronze skin shimmered and practically sparkled with freckles that dusted his cheeks and nose. His bright blue eyes like sapphires, a dark green beanie on op of his head with a few brown strands poking out, he wore a long-sleeved v-neck shirt with a dark grey flannel with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, maroon skinny jeans with a few holes in them, and dark blue converse.
"L-Lance?" Hunk gasped looking at his re-formed best friend who smiled cheekily at him as he passed by.
TRANSLATE:
Pendejo - Jackass / Asshole