The end of the world wasn't as pretty as I though it'd be. My stepmom handed me lunch in a neatly folded brown paper bag. The words "I love you" scribbled in pen down the part that wasn't folded, which I planned on throwing away the second I left the house, anyway. Air pollution was heavy, but so was the idiot epidemic, so I figured that was normal.

Nope. The only thing apocalyptic was high school.

Grover, my friend-on-wheels, skidded to a stop in front of me. Or, skidded as much as you possibly can on a wheelchair decorated with "Go green, Go happy!" and "Save the planet or go to hell!" stickers. Okay, so maybe I paraphrased that last one a little. Grover is probably the nicest person you'd ever meet. I'm pretty sure he's a Buddhist or something.

"Nico," he said. "Nico. Nico. Nico. Have I ever told you how much absolutely, positively, reverently, and irreversibly in love with Wednesdays I am?"

"Er-" I said.

"No? Well, let me explain to you, kind sir, why I love days like today with an adoration that beats down upon me like a thousand burning suns."

"Are you drunk?" I asked.

Thalia, my other friend, came around the corner. Her choppy raven hair and her dewy eyes made her get mistaken for Winona Ryder more than a few times. Personally, I thought that if her defiant stance and punk persona was anything to go by, she looked more like a homicidal Avril Lavigne. "Of course he isn't," she said. "He has a wheelchair. He can't drink and drive. What are you idiots on about now?"

"I was just saying how much I ardently love Wednesdays." Grover said.

"That's nice," she said, and then turned to me and mouthed the words "Wednesday is enchilada day" which for some reason I guess turned Grover into some kind of sesquipedalian version of Noah Calhoun.

I nodded discretely. Today was my first day of Junior year at my new school. Before I graced these decaying halls I went to a place called Westover Hall, a name that in my experience is synonymous with the word hell. But then again, as far as I'm concerned hell is a place in your head that you bring around with you and I just happen to be the new and improved Charon catering to its needs. As far as I'm concerned, I always mess things up for both me and anyone close to me, but there's really no point in explaining more. I'd probably muck up an explanation too.

Honestly, the only reason why I have friends is because the lovable dickheads I have I met when I was still Happy Nico. The Before Nico. Now I'm just Aftermath Nico.

Anyway, apparently if you withdraw away from civilization enough, people around you get concerned and then those concerned people tell your usually absent parents and then those said usually absent parents send you away to a different school because maybe then people around you won't get concerned because maybe you'll actually socialize in a place with your old camp friends and therefore not withdraw from socialization to the point where concerned people contact said usually absent parents.

But then again, maybe not.

AN: I know it's short, but so is my patience. Constructive criticism makes me happy.