Gregory was having a pretty good day. Classes hadn't been too hard, teachers hadn't been too annoying, and he'd snagged a nap in 3rd Period without anybody noticing. As he opened his locker at the start of lunch break, he was feeling pretty optimistic.

Suddenly, his gaze shifted. His eyes hardened, and his stance shifted ever so slightly.

There, walking down the hallway, was Abraham. Gregory didn't know him personally, but he knew what he was instantly. His black clothes, tight jeans, and multiple bracelets gave him away.

An emo boy.

Gregory's lip curled. He had a special hatred for all emos.

Abraham hadn't notice Gregory; he was too busy reading a book. Gregory scowled as he watched. Contempt boiled inside him, and he glanced around. No teachers in sight. Slowly, he shut his locker, and walked casually up the hallway.

It was a small movement, but it caught the attention of everyone in the hall. Conversations slowed down. Eyes flicked to follow Gregory and Abraham, as they converged on each other. Gregory notice some of his friends in the crowd, looking on with sudden interest. Good. He would need backup if things got out of hand.

As Gregory approached, Abraham looked up. His eyes narrowed as he saw what was going on, and he dropped his gaze again. Gregory smirked. Filthy coward didn't want trouble. Well, he'd take care of that.

Despite Abraham's attempts to ignore Gregory, his eyes kept sliding back to Gregory's face. Gregory waited until he was a few feet away, then casually slid his middle finger toward the other boy.

Abraham's hands tightened on his book. He stopped walking. Gregory became aware of the students around them pause, as his classmates turned to watch. Everyone was tensed, waiting to see what happened next.

Slowly, Abraham shut his book, and turned toward Gregory. Gregory feigned nonchalance, pretending to chat with one of his friends.

"Do you have a problem?", Abraham asked tightly. He stared at the impertinent 14 year-old in front of him. His eyes raked over Gregory's clothes and hair. They were new, bright, colorful, the latest fashion. Abraham knew this type. Just another prep, obsessed with the trending styles and topics. He wanted nothing more then to tear Gregory's fine clothes to pieces in his smug face, but he took a deep breath. What ever happened, he could not be goaded into a fight.

Gregory looked up, feigning innocence. "Who me? Maaaaaybe." He glanced around at the crowd, enjoying the attention. Some people laughed, but most stayed quiet. Gregory met Abraham's eyes again, daring him to walk away.

"Are you asking for a fight?", Abraham asked, then kicked himself. Of course Gregory was asking! He heard the laughter again, but refused to acknowledge it.

Gregory stepped forward, his eyes dancing. "I'd love to," he said. "But I obey the rules, unlike you psychopaths."

It was a weak insult, and Gregory knew it. But his friends jumped at the chance, laughing as if it was the funniest thing in the world. Abraham's eyes narrowed, and his pulse quickened. His mind searched for a come-back, though he knew he shouldn't. "Too bad," he said calmly. "I was looking forward to putting a brat in his place."

This time, the laughter was against Gregory. Some other emos had been attracted by the crowd, and were anticipating a fight. Gregory's gaze darkened slightly, as he gazed around. Well, more reason to get into this.

He looked back at Abraham and tilted his head. "Sorry to disappoint you," he said lightly. "But I wouldn't want you to get hurt." Abraham raised his eyebrows, pretending the words didn't affect him. But Gregory knew he was reaching the teenager in front of him.

"But I'm not really worried," he said, glancing back at his friends, as if sharing an inside joke. "Everyone knows you punk weirdos just act tough. But faced with a fight, they run like scared-"

There was a crash, as Abraham let go of his books, and charged at Gregory. Gregory rose to meet him, and the two boys spun out into the middle of the hall. Shouts rose up, as Abraham and Gregory tore at each other, trying to inflict as much damage as possible.

"Stop! You idiots!"

Everyone turned, as a new person raced onto the scene, darting between the two fighters and pushing them apart. Everyone recognized him instantly. It was Benvolio, an emo Sophomore with a peaceful attitude. His brown hair was sticking up in all angles, his spiked gloves were askew, and his ripped black shirt was drenched in sweat. He put his hands on both fighters' chests, stopping them from fighting. "That's enough," he said calmly, meeting both their gazes.

Gregory broke away, his face flushed. "Don't touch me, freak!" Benvolio ignored him, glaring at Abraham. The other looked just as angry, pushing against Benvolio's restraining arm.

"Benvolio!"

Benvolio froze.

There, across the hallway, was Tybalt, a hot-headed teen with an appetite for fighting. His black hair was cut in the trending fashion - messy and wind-blown in a supposedly cute way - and his clothes were neatly pressed. Never the less, he cut an opposing figure as he strood across the hallway toward Benvolio. His eyes glittered with a challenge.

Benvolio took a deep breath. "Tybalt," he slowly. "Don't you dare.. Either help me stop these two or-"

He didn't get to finish. Tybalt had gotten close enough for a good lunge, and Benvolio was forced to move, or be hit. A great yell rose from the crowd, and the fighting resumed. Benvolio was aware of more people charging in from all sides, as he grappled with his opponent. The crowd erupted into yelling, as more and more students joined the fray.

"What's going on here?"

Benvolio looked up at the new voice. There, at the end of the hallway, surrounded by a bunch of other students, was Capulet. Her long black hair was sweeping her thighs, just above her tiny shorts. She folded her tanned arms over her purple crop top, and surveyed the chaos with annoyance.

She wasn't the only Junior attracted by the fighting. Benvolio spotted the familiar figure of Montague, usually someone he looked up to, coming from the other direction, and groaned softly. Capulet and Montague hated each other with a deep passion. How was he going to stop the fighting now?

Montague stopped inches from Capulet's face. "Looks like your weak little posers thought they could take us in a fight." he said smugly, grinning into her face. Capulet moved like she was going to attack, but one of her friends grabbed her arm. Montague snorted, and folded his arms. "Cowards."

Capulet wrenched her arm from her friend's grasp. "It's not nice to insult girls," she said sweetly, before raking her manicured nails across Montague's face.

Benvolio had no idea what happened next, because Tybalt wrapped his arm around Benvolio's neck, and attempted to strangle him. As Benvolio struggled for air, chaos resumed. The Juniors charged eagerly toward each other, and bystanders threw themselves out of the way. Everywhere you looked, emos and preps were slugging it out, trying to tear each other apart. There was nothing Benvolio could do to stop them. The situation was out of control.

"Stop! All of you, stop!"

Benvolio froze, then stumbled as Tybalt released him. All around him, students were freezing, letting go of each other, and turning towards the speaker. Only one person in the school could command that much authority.

Principal Escalus had arrived.

The Principal was shaking with fury. He stared around at the abashed crowed, and his eyes settled on two figures, obviously the persons at fault. "Miss Capulet!", he bellowed. "Mr. Montague! Come here! Immediately!"

The two Juniors sheepishly approached the principal. They knew they had done wrong. Principal Escalus glared down on them. "Haven't I told you, thousands of times before, that there is no fighting on school grounds?" He turned his attention to the crowd. "Haven't I told all of you this? And yet, time and again, you disobey me!"

He paused for a moment, and put his head in his hand. "What must I do to make you stop?", he asked, almost to himself. "I am sick to death of your constant quarreling, Capulet and Montague! Every time there is a dispute on this campus, you are the ones either starting it, or in the thick of it! There must be something I can do!"

Suddenly, Principal Escalus looked up. "I was hoping," he said, staring at each fighter individually, "I would not have to take such desperate measures. But now I see that you will not listen to anything else."

"If there is any fighting on school grounds again, any fighting, those fighters will be expelled."

The crowed broke into nervous muttering as they digested this statement. The Principal surveyed this scene, before waving his hand. "You are all dismissed. Capulet, Montague, I will have to write to your parents about this."

As Principal Escalus turned, the crowd began to disperse. Benvolio rubbed his neck slowly, and was preparing to walk off, when he heard someone call his name. He turned, and saw Montague standing with a group of his friends. Montague waved. "Benvolio! Come here!"

With a sigh, Benvolio turned and headed toward the Junior emo. Montague had blond hair, dyed with thick streaks of black. He wore a black shirt with a skull on it, and purple skinny jeans with zips on them. His many necklaces clattered, as he put an arm around Benvolio's shoulders, drawing him close. "Rough fight today, wasn't it?"

"Yup." Benvolio couldn't help being on edge. Montague only paid attention to Sophomores when he needed a favor. "Tybalt nearly killed me."

"Yes, yes," Montague said, obviously not interested. "Tell me, how's my little brother doing? I haven't seen him in ages."

Aha. Montages wanted to talk about Romeo. Benvolio considered how his best friend might react to Montague's prying, then decided on an answer. "I saw him sulking around the park earlier in the day. He didn't seem to want to be bothered."

"Hm." Montague looked dejected. "I'm worried about him, Benvolio. He's even more melancholy then usual."

Benvolio nodded in agreement. Romeo usually seemed slightly moony, but this was strange even for him. Benvolio glanced around, and his eyes widened. "Hey, there he is!" He spotted his friend coming across the hall, dragging his feet. Romeo was defiantly depressed about something.

Montague followed his gaze. "Yeah I see him. Maybe I should go talk to him."

"No!" Benvolio started forward. The last thing his friend would want was his slightly over-protective big brother bothering him. "If you want, I'll go talk to him. He'd tell me, honest."

"You would?" Montague grinned. "Great. You're a good guy." He gave Benvolio a little shove. "Go on."

Benvolio headed toward his friend. Romeo saw him coming, and looked up. His hair - blond like his brother's - was dyed black at the tips. He was wearing a shredded My Chemical Romance shirt over a dark grey shirt. He had a red studded belt inserted in his skinny jeans, and grey converse sneakers. He raised an eyebrow at Benvolio, but made no move to leave.

Benvolio forced himself to be happy. "Morning, Romeo."

Romeo sighed mournfully. "Is the day so young?"

Benvolio groaned inwardly. Oh boy. Romeo was in a poetic mood. This was going to be even more difficult then he'd thought. "It's just 11:30," he said, still trying to be optimistic.

"Aye me, sad hours seem long."

Benvolio dropped the act. "Romeo, what's the matter?" He'd never seen his friend quite like this before. Or had he? Benvolio tried to think. There had to be something...

It suddenly hit him, and he kicked himself for forgetting about that. "You're in love again, aren't you."

Romeo just sighed, which was answer enough. He was, if nothing else, a hopeless romantic. Love seemed to hit him at odd times, and he always seemed moody and depressed. It was so obvious. Benvolio sighed too. "Who is it this time?"

"Rosaline."

"Rosaline?" Benvolio stared at his friend. "Are you sure? She doesn't really seem your type." Rosaline was a bouncy, bubbly sophomore, quite the opposite of Romeo. She was one of those gossipy, giggly girls, too close to being a fashionista for Benvolio to feel comfortable around her. Why on earth would Romeo be hitting on her?

Romeo tossed his blond hair out of his eyes, and glared at him. "Did you come to make fun of me?" Before Benvolio could replay, he had turned, and slipped away into the crowd. Benvolio watched him go, then ran after him.

Okay, fine, Romeo. If it's love that's bothering you, I can fix that. Just you wait.