A/N: Warning: 90% of the charater's personalities have been tampered with in this twisty story. Thanks for any favs, follows, and reviews, and especially for giving it a shot!

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A Classic Love Story

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Chapter 1: The Classic Beginning

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Duncan sat quietly on the cream stone wall outside the doors of school, his back slouched from his overstuffed backpack. He'd stayed up all the previous night working on his college applications and resumes, the proof of this being the purple circles under his eyes and his choice of boiling black coffee, four sugars, that now stirred in his Starbucks cup.

He yawned and looked down at his chunky silver watch, a present from his parents for getting a 30 on his ACT. He was waiting for his friend, Gwen, as he'd promised to walk her into the building the first day. Herds of chattering students filed past him, some tossing amicable smiles in his direction, others simply spitting at his black wing-tipped loafers.

Duncan was not the most well-liked person at Awkanawaw High, the main reason being he was completely and utterly preppy and studious, right down to his layered Ralph Lauren collared shirts and his neatly pressed, spotless khakis straight from The Gap. Duncan noticed a strand had come loose from his carefully gelled back hair and flattened it against his head. Crunch. Duncan made a mental note to dial back the gel usage.

The clicking of quick heels on the sidewalk caused him to turn, and there was Gwen, typing something on her new iPhone with one hand, and holding an empty coffee cup with the other. Without looking, she tossed her garbage in the trash can below the steps, the one that depicted a picture of a turtle throwing out a wrapper and the caption 'No need to be brash, just throw out your trash'. Gwen reached the top and stopped in front of Duncan, still typing. Gwen was arguably the most beautiful senior girl at their school. She had perfect pale skin that was always powdered with something pink and black hair that never frizzed and always smelled like vanilla. Today she donned a crisp green button down, rolled twice at the cuff, and a sheeny black skirt.

Gwen packed away her phone and snatched Duncan's drink from his hand without a word, swigging down the choking black liquid contently. She handed it back and he noticed a peach lipgloss smudge at the opening. Duncan set the cup down.

"Hey, Duncan," she smiled sheepishly, "Sorry about that. I was up all night and I needed more than a vente to perk up."

He brightened as much as he could muster, "I was up pretty late too. College applications are the worst!"

Gwen sat down next to him and replied, "I started on my campaign, for student body president. Can you believe it?" Duncan noticed she was wearing the diamond stud earrings he had bought her the Christmas of sophomore year.

Their relationship was a complex one, but here's the abridged version: They were dating for a long time, until Gwen got drunk at a party and made out with the high school jock. Duncan found out and tried to win her back, but she claimed there was no passion or romance left to salvage.

Duncan never claimed to be a romantic; he was practical and future-oriented.

But as of late it seemed almost like she was trying to win him back. Then again, he was never good at reading cues.

Still, the sparkle caught his attention.

"Duncan, you aren't listening to me," Gwen insisted, crossing her arms.

He cracked his back, "Sorry Gwen, I'm kinda tired."

She batted her neat black picket fence eyelashes, and smiled, "Well you can make it up to me by taking me to dinner Friday."

Duncan blinked. That was definitely a cue, right?

She leaned into him, "What do you think, Mario's? I love their bread, don't you? We could split the shrimp linguini again. Remember that?"

Duncan just watched her mouth move as she rambled forward, not really waiting for his response.

"So Gwen," he interrupted, "What classes are you taking?"

"AP Calc AB, AP English, AP Biology, AP Physics, Cold War, AP Psychology, Business and Law, and Child Development. You?"

Duncan nodded, "Pretty much the same. AP Chemistry, Cold War, Ceramics, AP Calc BC, we have AP Psychology togeth-"

"Wait, wait, wait," Gwen giggled, "You're taking ceramics?"

"Yeah?"

"Why? That's a valuable slot of time you wasted!"

Duncan rolled his eyes, "Maybe I wanted to have a fun class!"

Gwen said huffily, "Fun? I'll be having tons of fun in Bio when I'm dissecting baby pigs!"

"And I'm not disagreeing with you there, it's just, I don't know... You're right. Maybe I'll switch out," Duncan considered, adjusting his collar. On a whimsy Duncan had hoped that when he'd signed up, he wouldn't have to take a full set of advanced classes for his final year. But as his father always said, 'It's 100 percent or nothing, son.'

Gwen cheerily bobbed her head, "Do it! The arts are pretty useless anyways. Like what's more important: staring at a self portrait of a skeezy old guy, or defending the rights of defenseless corporations from nagging complainers and lazy jerks that take our hard earned money? There's no comparison."

Duncan was already tired, but this conversation was draining him more than he could handle.

"Later, Gwen," Duncan hoisted himself up and walked to the doors.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Gwen smiled tightly, slightly annoyed that he would walk away from her, and picked up his still steaming coffee.

He silently grabbed the cup, aimed, and tossed it into the turtle trash can down the stairs without spilling a drop. Normally he was happy to take care of the environment, but at the moment he wasn't in the mood for Gwen's pestering. He pushed against the glass doors and entered the new school year.

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The day went by horribly slowly, as many first days do. First there was math, always a snore, and then came English, sleep sleep sleep, and after that was Phy Ed, which by senior year was just a bunch of games, and then Psychology with Gwen.

She had saved him a seat in the front, where they both preferred sitting.

"Hey kids, how's it going?" the teacher grinned, passing out the first of many neon colored handouts, "My name is Mr. McLean, and this is AP Psych. Throughout the school year, we'll be studying the human mind, starting with the teenager's, and why you rascals are so obnoxious."

"What's wrong with this guy?" Gwen whispered to Duncan. He shrugged. As long as he taught the subject well, Duncan didn't care if Mr. McLean sprouted wings and sung show tunes.

"And after that," Mr. McLean continued, "We'll be studying media fixations and their effects, starting with musicals."

Perhaps Duncan spoke too soon.

And the hour dragged on as Mr. McLean described their entire year plan, both Gwen and Duncan taking detailed notes and storing those notes away in color coded binders. Class was almost over when Duncan raised his hand.

Mr. McLean pointed to him, "Yes, Jimmy Choo?"

Duncan smirked at the name but continued with his question, "Are we getting our textbooks any time soon?" The pile of books sat against the dusty wall, untouched.

Mr. McLean rolled his shoulders, "Yeah, no. I'm kind of doing a Dead Poets Society thing here, but administration won't let me rip apart the books. I figured we could turn them into an effigy for the last day of school bonfire, or something."

Duncan pictured the books, immolated, sitting in their own ashes surrounded by chanting buffoons with marshmallow skewered sticks, and shuddered. He wasn't an avid book lover, but the ritual seemed like a primitive activity to him. What was next, dodge-rock? Catch the dinosaur? No thanks.

"Now," Mr. McLean smiled devilishly, "Let's talk homework. This is an AP class, people! Anyways, I want you to-"

"Hey McLean, I like your bald spot!" came a female voice from the back of the room.

His eyes widened and he frantically searched his desk for a mirror, muttering, "Bald? I can't be going bald! That's just not possible. My hair is as thick as a rope! It's like there's two hairs in one pore, that's how thick-"

The bell rang.

Everyone rushed from the room in a cluster, squeezing through the doorway one-by-one like sand from an hourglass. Duncan half searched for the source of their homework liberation, but no one was standing out or accepting high fives. He looked at Gwen, who had been staring at him anyway.

"Well that was pretty rude. I mean, I'm psyched that we don't have an assignment, but Mr. McLean is freaking out," he said, looking back.

Gwen rolled her eyes, "Some people are just so immature. Now come on, let's go to lunch! You do have first, right?"

Duncan shook his head, "Sorry, second."

Gwen turned on her heel and wordlessly clicked away, as if he had some sort of control over his schedule. Duncan sighed and massaged the area between his eyes.

His next class, history, was just down the hall so he took his time. Duncan stooped over the bubbler to slake his coffee burnt throat, when he was roughly shoved out of the way onto the floor.

"What's your problem, Noah?" Duncan demanded, picking himself up and dusting off his pants.

"Fish! Needs water!" Noah cried between his heavy panting; he'd obviously been running. In his hands sat a large, flopping yellow fish that was now twitching under the steady stream of water.

"Right," Duncan arched his brow. Noah was always weird, but he might've stepped it up this year. Today he wore a knit ski cap over his shaggy brown hair, and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt.

"So where'd you get the fish?"

"Ganked him from the Bio lab!" Noah spat, "They jail up these fish like they jail up our rights, man."

"You should probably go put that back," Duncan suggested tiredly.

"Forgot I was talking to a corporate gonad," Noah frowned, "Duncan man, you're gonna be a government scrub your whole life if you can't swim against the current, know what I mean?"

"Hey, you! Stop!" the Biology teacher came sprinting down the hall.

Noah turned to Duncan, "Gotta run!" He picked up his fish and took off towards the stairs screaming, "Vive la révolution de poisson!"

Duncan shook his head as the teacher ran past him, leaving a trail of fluttering posters in his wake. He tried not to reflect on Noah's harsh words; Noah was a loser.

...

The rest of the day went by even slower, but it was finally time for his last class: ceramics.

Duncan had already written out his transfer script but wasn't compelled to turn it. He didn't like the prospect of having yet another class with Gwen, and smacking around a piece of clay actually looked like fun. He sat down at a table and waited for class to start, notebook and pen ready in case he needed to take notes. Duncan liked to be prepared.

He looked around the room to see who else was in the class. Several freshmen and sophomores were in the class, and Duncan spotted Scott, a sophomore he liked. He was another scholarly type with strict organizational skills Duncan admired. In the back was Noah, and next to him he recognized Izzy, Lindsay, Heather, Beth, and Trent. Duncan failed to notice the last student sneak in the door.

"Hello class," the teacher singsonged, "I am Miss Blainley." She was wearing wooden jewelry and a t-shirt that read 'earth without art is just eh'. She turned on a projector and wheeled it to the middle of the room.

"Here's a little slide show of projects we've done over the years."

"Oh, this is original," someone complained. Duncan looked to shush them, but the presentation had started.

"Here is a vase one of my advanced students created. -click- Here is another vase one of my other advanced students created. -click- Here is the same vase, but it's in the process of being glazed."

"Like my eyes?" the same person droned, and a few others giggled. Duncan recognized the voice: it was the same voice who'd spoken up in Psychology.

"And here is a picture of a ceramic bowl from the eighteenth century. Notice all the fine details around the edge. It really is a masterpiece."

"It looks like a bong."

That was it. The voice was coming from behind him now. This obnoxious person was getting put in her place. Duncan turned around.

"Um, some of us are trying to learn here," Duncan said sourly.

The girl smirked at him, "Well a studious boner like yourself shouldn't have too much trouble blocking me out, though I don't know why you would."

He'd never seen her before, he would've remembered. She had long differently shaded brunette hair with bleached white tips and a small chunk of pink underneath. Her gaged ears held many more studs and bars, along with having a black nose ring. Her tawny brown eyes were ringed with smudgy black liner. She had on a shirt depicting a band he'd never heard of. Her smile was immaculate. She clicked her short red nails on the desk, waiting for a response.

Duncan's eyes furrowed, "Just be a little more considerate."

She laughed, "Sorry, princess!"

His eyes widened, "Princess? I'm a guy!"

"Tell that to your Britney Spears perfume."

"It's Michael Kors."

"Whatever, prep," she grinned, obviously amused.

"What about you? Little kids could just about learn their colors by studying your face," he retorted, not about to lose.

Her cocky smile widened, "So you're studying my face now? I'm pretty, I know."

"Don't kid yourself," he snarled.

"Hey calm down, alright? Take a joke, prep!" she said defensively.

"You two! Hush!" Miss Blainley called from the front of the room.

Duncan turned around, his face hot from embarrassment. He picked up the class handout and gave it a cursory glance. After a few minutes, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"My name's Courtney, by the way."

He harrumphed and said nothing. She tapped his shoulder again, "Don't be mad, prep!"

Duncan sighed, "Can you not call me that?"

"Give me a name to work with then!"

Groaning, he capitulated, "...Duncan."

"Duncan," she nodded, "I think we're going to be great friends!"

He snorted, "Yeah, I don't think so."

But Courtney just kept on grinning.

...

After school, Duncan returned to his post on the cream colored wall, again to wait for Gwen. His backpack was already heavy with books, so he set it down. He unzipped a pocket and retrieved a granola bar.

"There you are!" Gwen exclaimed, rushing towards him.

"Where I said I'd be?" Duncan asked through a mouthful of his snack.

"Don't be gross, Duncan," she reprimanded.

"Sorry, princess," he replied sarcastically. Extreme shock appeared on Gwen's face, zapping Duncan back to reality. "Oh, Gwen! I'm sorry. It's just been a really long day."

She smiled, "It's fine. My day sucked too. I had to sit with Bridgette at lunch and you know how much I hate her. And I started putting up my posters already!"

Gwen talked about her entire day, and Duncan only half listened. He was wondering what Gwen would look like with a nose ring.

"Hey!" Gwen's shouts brought him back to the present, "That's school property, freak!"

She was shouting at someone down the stairs. Duncan peered around her to see Courtney, marker in hand, making changes to the turtle trash can. She was smirking up at Gwen, "Sorry, I can see why you wouldn't want me drawing on your house!"

"Ugh! You weirdo! I'm getting the principal," Gwen warned.

Courtney was prepared to respond, but then she spotted Duncan.

"Hey Duncan!" Courtney yelled, waving in an over-the-top fashion. Then, flashing her best bratty grin, she picked up her slouchy bag and jogged off.

They walked down the steps and looked at the garbage can. Courtney had crossed out a few of the words and added some of her own. It now said: 'No need to be brash, just kiss Gwen's ass!'

"Duncan?" Gwen asked through gritted teeth, "Why does the freakish new girl know your name?"

Duncan cringed. This was going to be a long year.

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