Author's Note: Hell-o everyone! Welcome to my second chapter story for Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's! I wouold first like to thank everyone that read "Don't" and "The Stardust Effect," very single favorite, follow and review meant the world to me. I had the idea for this fanfiction for a really long time and decided to write it. I guess part of this is just to bitch about the general yuck of high school, but the other half is more a life lesson: you never truly know somebody until you walk around in their shoes. Every single day, I try to see the good in every person I meet, and my life has changed for the better. So, I hope you all enjoy the story, it takes place from Akiza's perspective throughout. Which is weird because I think she's a Mary-Sue, and I don't ship Yusei x Akiza... (I really don't ship unless its canon, I just find it really hard).

*disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's. But I think we already know that*

My alarm blares Flyleaf and I open my bleary eyes. I feel my stomach clench and think- oh God, not yet. I turn my eyes to the iPod docking station on my nightstand and grimly comprehend the red, fuzzy digits smirking back at me. 6:01.

I throw off the heavy blankets and groan, letting my arms fall and my hands cover my face. I don't want to go to school. I don't want to start my life all over again. I'm perfectly content living in my parents' basement as a hermit watching HGTV all day. As my groggy brain realizes that my parents would never allow that, I throw my legs over the side of the bed, annoyed, and roll on to the floor. I let the cold hardwood against me numb my skin and wake me up. I pick myself up and grab the bundle of clothing I had picked out the night before and head to the bathroom to shower.

Its funny, when I was a kid I took baths. My mom would help me into the tub and washed my hair while I laughed and blew bubbles at her. Back then, even bathing was a social event for me. Now, in the dark bathroom, I let the hot water sear away the stress of teenage life. Alone. Not a shiny, floating bubble anywhere in sight.

My parents were still asleep, or at least my mom was. Dad was most likely already at work- he's never around in the day. He has a tough job, I get it, but he comes home every single night in a rage about something. Generally, he's just angry for no reason.

I get dressed and dry my hair. I consider not wearing makeup, but I decide against it. I feel too…exposed when I don't wear makeup. Like I can't fake smiles or nonchalantly pretend that I frankly don't give a damn. Its like my wall- it reminds me that I have to pretend, or at least try to pretend.

I grab my bag and head out the door. I shove my earbuds into my ears and crank up the volume. Music seems to be my only escape- behind the wall of caked-on foundation is raw emotion, and behind black-rimmed eyes was my hurt and pain. Music is the only way I can express those feelings.

I had tried so many times to sing, to write, to play. But every time I sat down, determined to do it, something got in the way. Like writer's block, only I had never even started writing. That, or it sounds like something a teacher would use as an example in a fifth grade poetry unit. So, needless to say, I have no talent in the music world.

The bus came to a screeching halt and let me on. I took my seat and mused that not being able to make music was okay. I had other people, like my favorite bands and solo artists, to do the job for me.

I drown out the screams of freshmen and ignore the crumpled piece of paper that is thrown into my seat. I just stare out the window and feel the beat, trying to understand the meaning behind the words.

The bus stops to pick up another girl, who is texting away. She's the last stop and the only open spot is the one right next to me. She plops herself down, turns to the aisle, and begins talking to her friends, obnoxiously chewing gum and "OMG-ing."

I scowl out the window and grind my teeth. I hate these kinds of girls- the ones who probably don't give a damn about how they make other people feel as long as they get their Starbucks in the morning. These girls, the ones that gossip in class and make fun of the teacher when they're not looking because they have a limp. The ones who don't pay attention in class because they're too busy on their Instagram and then ask you to explain to them how to solve the problems. The ones that seem to think their superior to everyone else because their pretty or sporty or have family money.

They put other people down to make themselves feel good. They have nothing in their meaningless lives, so they have to drag every other person with substance down into the little abyss of failure with them. They think that their insults fall on deaf ears, that the rest of us drown them out with "sticks and stones…"

They're wrong.

Every single word hurts. Every single mutter of how ugly your hair looks today, you wore sweatpants, or, God forbid, you raised your hand in class, is like a searing knife to the heart. It makes you feel like you're not worth anything.

I sigh as the bus pulls into the school drive. I had hoped that life was behind me. But taking a look around this campus, where girls in booty shorts text in mass groups and boys are laughing at stupid YouTube videos in the corner, I know that this school won't be any different. I even see some guy in a black and silver football jersey and long, pale hair shove a nerdy looking kid so he and his buddies can get by.

Looks like today is my first day trying to survive in this new Hell.