A/N: Hello! Here's a new story... Not sure what to say about except that it's going to get better, everyone's POV's will be used and that ships will be announced later, since we have to wait and see how this plays out at first. Also, sorry for the stereotyping. :P
Disclaimer: Don't own Beyblade.
Warnings: Religion talk, some coarse language, stereotyping and maybe even some yaoi in future chapters.
Sitting at a desk in a room practically bursting with students with too much energy, I looked around thoughtfully. These people only have one thing collectively in common: they all, myself included, think that Religion class is a waste of time.
You'll never hear me say that there's anything wrong with Religion (my mother would probably throw me out) but it's definitely not good enough course material for four compulsory credits. As I played idly with my uniform tie I paid little mind to the ramblings of Michael, who was sitting beside me. He was flipping through our tattered eleventh grade World Religions textbook, commenting on the people in the pictures and future course material.
Can I tell you a huge, massively huge secret? I, Max Tate, in all honesty, don't give a shit. Don't tell anyone I said that!
With my perfect grades, perfect uniform, perfect attitude and perfect family, no one would ever expect me to utter those words. I. Don't. Care. About. This. Not just World Religions, that would be very ignorant of me, but school in general. It kills me. It just totally kills me to come here every day and do my goddamn homework before the end of the period so that I can smile at my teachers and make them proud of me, the model student, the one who everyone should aspire to be.
It's a total shocker, but I'm not perfect. I'm just really good at pretending.
Michael was tapping me on the shoulder to show me the practice test for the unit we're just starting. Usually it takes me a whole semester and a half to get sick of school but it's only the second week and I'm ready to just collapse and start screaming. Instead of screaming I put on a fascinated expression and read through the practice test until my teacher walked in the room.
He was at the front of the room talking. I watched Michael watch him. He looked so alert and attentive. I fought to keep my eyes open, staring past my teacher to instead look at the blackboard. He was talking about a project.
As soon as he mentioned groups of four, Michael had absentmindedly grabbed my arm as he started looking around the room, catching Emily's eye.
"Sir, do we get to pick the groups?"
My eyes drifted to Tyson Granger, who hadn't raised his hand, was wearing an out of uniform sweater and had his tie slung across his desk rather than around his neck.
"No, I have pre-assigned groups here," he said, gesturing to his desk. He continued on to explain the project, but Michael was looking at me with horrified eyes.
"He's going to split us up and put us with people who don't do anything," he whispered.
I shrugged. "We'll see."
Anyway, the project is to create our own religion. It sounds pretty easy to turn into some huge show that's way more time consuming than anyone else's project in order to get 100 as opposed to everyone else's 85-ish marks. I sighed and looked down. For once, I would like to just… not care.
After explaining the project we did a lesson about the different aspects of a religion. Michael was twitching the whole time, waiting to find out who would be in his group. I was watching the clock, waiting for the period to end so I could go down to lunch and get some sugar in me. It's hard to be peppy otherwise. By the end of the period I was pretty much asleep on my arm.
"Hey, Max, are you okay?" he finally asked. I nodded and raised my head.
"I didn't sleep well last night," I replied.
"Aw, that's too bad." He says it as if I was up most of the night crying or something. (So maybe I was, but he doesn't know that. I wonder what his reaction would have been if I had said that.)
"It's okay, I can get some sleep after school before work."
"That's good," he smiled brightly. I can see right through that smile: he doesn't care.
My teacher got out his list of groups. "Okay, before you go, I'll just let you know who you're working with. Group work starts first thing tomorrow."
I listened for my name, but for dramatic effect he saved it for last. Michael was in a group with Emily and he was ecstatic, offering me a simple word or two of sympathy before excitedly signing ideas back and forth with her across the room. Finally, he said my name.
"Max…" I looked up and waited.
"You'll be with Tyson…"
Tyson nodded without looking at me. I sighed, he never does any work.
"… Ray…"
I glanced at Ray, who was sitting quietly by himself behind Emily. He gave me a nervous smile and I returned it brightly, as is my nature.
"… and Kai."
Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh…
I didn't look at him. I just looked down at my desk, listening to my heart pounding. Just my luck. Just my goddamn luck. He's this totally anti-social guy, never follows any rules, barely ever comes to class and is never in uniform. I've never heard a word out of him but he spends a lot of time with other guys of his sort – that is, bad guys, I guess. Tala, Bryan, Ian, Spencer… those types who spend most periods standing around the outside of the school doing drugs. This is just a guess; I've never gone near them.
Michael was being his usual irritating self. "Well at least you've got Ray, he's pretty smart. Not sure if he can speak English, but at least he does some work, right?"
"Yeah," I replied, barely hearing myself.
"Hey, don't worry. Worst that can happen is that you'll do the whole thing by yourself."
Yeah, that's the worst that can happen, Michael. Oh, how I wish I had real friends. Friends who I could be honest with. Then maybe this wouldn't feel so bad.
When I walked in the house after school, I was greeted with the usual scene: my parents standing on opposite ends of the kitchen. Mom was holding a frying pan, her hair was sticking out at all angles and she looked ready to throw it. Dad was holding a crumpled handful of bills, still in his suit and tie from work. Both were red in the face from yelling at each other, but when I walked in they looked at me.
"How was school?" mom asked, trying to laugh it off.
"Good," I replied, kicking off my shoes and walking through the house. "Got a 95 on my math test."
"That's nice, sweetie," she said in a distant voice. As soon as I had left the room I heard them start again and sighed, hurrying up the stairs.
I put on headphones and some loud music. Once I had blocked them out I sighed, falling back onto my bed and squeezing my eyes shut.
I have the life everyone wants, and the more I reminded myself of that the more I hated it. I have a group of friends, I have good marks, I have a big house and all the latest expensive stuff that people want.
But none of my friends really know who I am. My parents are on the verge of splitting up, but maybe that's for the best – the thing with them is that neither of them care about me, just about the marks I bring home. Then we get into the more pathetic stuff – the fact that I've never been kissed. And the reason why.
And the one person who I've fallen for in my entire lifetime.
And how they don't know I exist.
And how I wish it could stay that way.
And that's not to mention what my parents would do to me if they found out who it was.
