A/N: This is based on what high school gave me, and what I wish it could be like. Okay, so this might be a little bit immature, but this is school life, people! So, this mixes bands, Red eye, Batman Begins, Breakfast on Pluto (maybe), and a few other things. This may go up a rating, but you will have to tell me if I need to do it.

And last but not least, this will be slow. I'm really weak against plot bunnies, and this is what one of the hopped up to me and whispered (or, whatever they do). Chocolate bunnies go to everyone that helps me out. If you want something to happen, tell me, and I'll see what I can do. No promises, but, you know… I've got loads of My chemical romance fans out there, so this one's dedicated to all you folks!

What do you do when you're the butt of everyone's jokes? What do you do when your girl breaks up with you because you cheated, only to let the girl that you cheated with find out and dump you at the same time? What would you do if you've just transferred and don't have anyone to help you on your way through the hellhole that so many people call 'high school'? What would you do if… Ah, forget it. You get the idea, right? High school is one tough gig, and if you aren't made of the right stuff, you might not make it through with your sanity, to say the very least. Drive past any one of these at any one time, and you'll find kids hanging outside like they shouldn't be there, like they've tried and failed at something, and can't see that they can start over.

Me? Well, we'll get to that soon enough. All I'll say is that I remember everything; how it started, how it happened, and how it ended. Funny, me being me, you wouldn't think that I would be able to recall these memories, let alone want to.

Okay, so here it is; I'm now driving at a speed which could potentially cost someone their driver's license. Thing is, there's not a cop to be seen for miles. Not now, not back at home, and not where I'm going. Crap, I sound like I'm thinking up a suicide note, don't I? Nah. Right now, it's just me, my new Harley Davison (my baby!), and the open road. And no, before you say something that could cost you your front teeth, no, I'm not some cowboy. Name's Regine Addams. I live on the outskirts of Los Angeles, driving to see one of my various friends. I lead an okay life; I'm pretty damn good at guitar riffs, I'm free and single, I don't live with my parents (no one to answer to), and I'm part of a well-respected gang. Okay, so I'm in high school, okay, so I'm a girl…Who really gives two shits? I've earned my respect from being who I am, what I am. At first, people used to call me weird because I would rather hang around with the guys. Then they found a new word and used it against me ('Lesbo' they used to holler). Then they decided to just grow up and give it a rest. No, I'm not lesbian, you can call me weird, I don't care… I'm happy being who I am, and if anyone has a problem with me leading a life outside of the rut. Then so be it; tomorrow morning, they'd better not have a mirror around (at least, not with the mess I'll make of them).

The black rubber tyres screech to a halt as I pull up to his house. It's the middle of the day on a Saturday; he should be up by now. If he isn't… Well, he will be soon. I turn off the engine, take the keys out of their socket, put the fender down, and get off. The black aluminium exterior shines in the midday sun, as if saying 'You go, girl!' She's my baby. If anything happened to her, well…

I fiddle with my keys. There's one for the bike, one for my apartment, one for his and his brother's place… That's where it is. Setting it in the lock, I turn it and unlock the front door (let's face it; those two are way too protective. Especially since their parents have gone away for the weekend. Something about 'recollection'…). That means that they are free to do as they please (well, whatever they themselves please, not as each other pleases). Those two are of a special breed of people, the type that you see hanging around, doing nothing, then only to find out that they're currently having the time of their lives. Well, not exactly that, but you get the picture. But once you get to know them, they're pretty okay guys. I mean, okay, there was that stunt a few months before I really got to know them with that guy being put into hospital, but so far, nothing too much out of the ordinary has happened. At least, not that I know of. Chances are, they're both part of some criminal mastermind cult who worships a first-prize-at-the-county-fair lemon, who are just inches away from world domination. Crazy? Yeah, Not entirely possible? Nope; those two are the type that would get into that sort of cult. You might as well give them a gang name, something like 'The randomness'.

When I step into the hallway, everything is dark. And when I say dark, I mean dark; the curtains are closed, no lights are on, nothing, nadda. I'm guessing that only one of them is home right now (and I think I can guess which one it is). It is light enough for me to see, but just barely. I look around for the stairs (which is complete randomness coming from me, seeing as this is only the one-bazillionth time I've been here). When I find what I'm looking for, I can see the blue carpet that runs along the middle of each stair. Well, it would be a constant color, but the marks on it are a dead giveaway that something was up. No blood or anything suspicious, but what looks like water. As I tread on the first step, I inhale the strong odour coming from the first patch. It's tequila, I know it; not just from the way it smells, but from past experience where the parents have gone out and left the boys alone. Not the best move, since every time, it's always tequila that gets spilt. Well, there was that time with the vodka, but lets just ignore that. Right now, I've got a job to do, and it's going to get done ASAP.

Up the stairs, down the hallway, into the last room, knock on the door, and silence. Bastard…every bloody time… Except, not today. No, this time, it's personal. If at first you don't succeed, try and try again. Or, what other people say, 'When in doubt, do as the Vikings do'. Not a bad idea, actually…

The door puts up a strong fight as I ram my left side into it. If at first you don't succeed…

Before I can finish, I force my way into the room, big black door swing open with a crash. It startled me, but who it most surprised was who was waiting on the other side of the door. His face! Priceless. It would be something for the yearbook, had it not been for the rest of the scene; there he is, wrapped up in his white bed sheets, with…

'Beccy?' I half-laugh. Startled, yes. Shock, yes (same thing, right?). Why the hell is she here? Then it occurred to me; we weren't the only one in the room, were we?

'Jack…' I sigh. This is so like him. He's a regular Casanova, now that he's with us.

'The door…It opens when you pull it…' He stutters, pointing behind me. When I turn round, the door can now open when you push it, as well.

'I can fix that…' is all that I can say, in a matter-o-fact sort of way (and all in one sharp exhale of breath).

I then turn back.

'Beccy?' I ask, pretty much suggesting that she goes. Right now. Otherwise, it won't be pretty. She takes notice, and jumps from the bed, grabbing her things. I would look away, but we're both girls, right? Besides, if I let my eyes go, she might not be as quick as she should be. Within minutes, she is fully clothed (cheerleader-style), with her bag and pom-poms (must have been from last night's game), kissing Jack good-bye and a 'thank-you-for-the-lovely-evening'. Makes me sick…

I noisily clear my throat, telling her to cut to the chase and go before I add something else to the alcohol-stained floor. She nods, and is on her way out of the broken door. And out of the front one.

'Thank you. Thank you very very much!' He whines, sitting up and relaxing by folding his arms at the back of his head.

'My pleasure…' I smile. I know that if anyone else other than our gang were to say that, it would have been severed heads at dawn tomorrow. He lets me know that with a growl of disapproval. Funny that, he always did seem to do that. And make a pretty damn good job of it.

'So what you here for? I'm willing to bet that you weren't just here to send her on her way…' He smirks. Then something occurred to him;

'You... weren't…, were you?'

'Oh yeah, course I was. Just like I enjoy seeing your naked body every fucking time I come over here, where I find you fucking another fucking slut that you've only just met the night before…' I argue. No, I shout. I'm screaming on the inside, but I can't show him that, can I?

It's not as if I voluntarily stopped mid-sentence, but I did. I couldn't stop it. If I had tried to speak, he still wouldn't have heard it. Why? Because that son-of-a-bitch that had just been sitting up in bed was now inches away from me, all except for his face (which was currently only millimetres away from my own). Lips aside, he was keeping his distance. I called him 'Casanova' a few moments ago, right? Let's just say that it wasn't just his good looks. Ah, what the heck; this guy was a damn good kisser. I'd already known that; this had happened so many times before. He was just testing to see if any of it had softened me up, weakened me. Okay, was this guy using moisturiser on his lips? So soft…his tongue…so nice…my eyes closed…damn good kisser…hands on his face…gonna regret all of this one day…And pry lips away from mine. Easy does it. Don't want to hurt him now, do we?

He still refuses to keep a safe distance away from me. I grin.

'Slut…'

'Is that a bad thing?' He counters, grinning like some Cheshire cat. I can only shake my head in a satisfaction/disapproving way.

Actually…

I look around the room using the corners of my eyes, my main focus still being those crystal-blue eyes of his. What am I saying? We're only in high school! Okay, so we're on the senior end of it, but really…

Bingo! (was his name-o)…

There's only one thing to do now. In one smooth strike, Jack sinks to the floor, swearing and cursing the fact that he was born a boy. I guess he should just be thankful that I used the nearest piece of his underwear as a boxing-glove-type thing.

'Put some clothes on…' I smile, turning my back like a real bitch. His loss; he should've been wearing clothes, he shouldn't have tried his theory out for the millionth time this week. I can still hear him as I close the door. Who knew that he had such a colourful vocabulary?

That's what kind of a girl I am. Rule numero uno about me; keep your family jewels hidden at all costs. I'm a bitch, I'm not a lover, I'm a child, I'm not a mother, I'm a sinner, I'm (sometimes) a saint. And I do not feel ashamed!

Then I turn back to see him still curled up in a ball. Not the best sight in the world…

'Come on! We've gotta go!' I bellow, knocking him awake with the sound of my voice.