"Kenny,"
"Kenny!"
"Kenny wake up!" I felt someone shaking me. I snapped out of my daydream and came back to reality. My vision was blurry- that could be because I've been sleeping all class or the fact that I'm still on a hangover from last night's gathering.
I looked over to who was shaking me. Vision clear, I saw Stan sitting quietly at his desk look at the teacher. He glanced over at me and gave me a thumb's up and I mumbled a, "thanks," even though I really didn't care what Mr. Garrison had to say.
As I laid my aching head down on my desk, I could faintly hear our teacher Mr. Garrison finishing up a lecture with, "and that's how you make pudding in Africa."
That guy is so full of it, I thought to myself.
I sat back up, not wanting to go back to sleep again anymore, and looked around the classroom.
As usual Stan is staring at Wendy across the room, they're so disgusting.
There's Kyle who actually is making an effort to listen to our dumbass teacher.
Cartman, who's hopelessly doodling something in his notebook- probably planning something that involves himself and a load of cash.
Everyone else I didn't really care about. No one really ever pays attention to me anyways, besides, who would? I mean, if I were them, I wouldn't talk to a drunk drug addict who lives on the poor side of town. Well, maybe I would, but that's just me being weird again.
Hell, all I am is weird. That's the story of my life. And I hate my life. And I hate most of the people in my life, except for Karen, my little sister. She's the one who keeps me sane most of the time. It's times when she's not around, when she's at a friend's house (thank God she has friends, unlike how I did when I was little), when I get back to being my own bad self.
The thought of Karen brings a shiver down my spine, I lean back in my desk and rest my head on the back of my chair.
Letting out a sigh, my orange hood decides to fall down, revealing my golden messy hair.
Apparently some people noticed this, for a couple kids behind me let out a gasp. Obviously they've never seen me without my hood. I'd consider them lucky, actually.
But now as I become the center of attention, I quickly sit back up and flip my hood back up. I pulled sat the strings tightly, making sure nothing unsightly like that happens again.
The bell rings right after I tightened the strings to my hood.
"You really shouldn't be so protective over that thing, dude," Stan said to me as we walked out of class.
"Fuck you," I mumbled.
Hell, how can I not care about my hood? It's about the only thing that can cover me up since everyone already knows about everything else about me. It's just another thing that keeps me sane. Some may call it an identity crisis, but honestly, it's just the way my messed up mind thinks. I can't explain it any other way.
No one can make me last a day with my hood down, it's too risky for my sanity. I fact, the only person who's ever succeeded in making me take it down was Karen. And even that wasn't easy to do.