"Hey loser" I flinched as I felt the ball of screwed up paper hit me harshly on the head, shit, calm down, don't react. "Hey loser, I was talking to you" I felt another ball hit my head, bouncing of one of my short spikey pigtails, that was it. I turned my body so I faced the ignorant, dim-witted teenager. my own green eyes glaring at him, staring fiery with anger into his. my anger had, once again, gotten the best of me. "if you have any brain cells what-so-ever then I suggest that you stop bugging me before I shove that paper down your bloody throat you idiot". I admit, I have anger issues, but they're not ridiculously bad. Just bad enough to allow most people to easily annoy me to the point that I want to point a wall. in fact, scrap that, I'd rather punch them. Bang on, in the middle of there face. I suppose I better introduce my self. Nina Jones, also known as Nina Elizabeth. Sixteen years of age, British, English accent and living in New Jersey, America. you see my problem? most of the kids here hate me purely because my accent is so different from their own New Jersey twanged voices. Others because I'm apparently an Emo. wow. how original I know, but you've just got to nod and smile at what their small minds come up with. Personally I think they just keep away from me because I can be very intimidating and weird at times. Anyway, back to the story. The bell sounded through the school, signalling the end of a long Friday in high school. Teenagers scurried to the already jammed classroom doors, pushing and shoving, trying to find a route through the chaos. Idiots. I'm surprised none of them have noticed that you can get out through the side door of the class room. I strolled to the music rooms to pick up my guitar, Earphones blasting out the misfits 'American psycho' blocking out the usual surrounding back ground noise. I hauled The Guitar into it's case swinging it over my shoulder. My feet carrying me to the front of hell as I dwelled on several pointless topics for something to do, turned around a corner into the backstreets and then too where I really needed, no, wanted to be. The Engine Rooms. An old dingy recording studio in the backstreets of New Jersey. A one floored simple building covered in 'modern' band graffiti on the outside. It was simple, but a practise place none the less. Did I mention My Chemical Romance used to practice here? No? must have slipped my mind. It may have been my favourite bands rehearsal space but it also helped that it was the only place that didn't charge extortionate prices for a place to rehearse in for an hour. I bounced through the squeaky industrial front door, the guitar bumping slightly on my back, only to be greeted by the sight of Dodgy Joe, the owner raiding the fridge, typical. "Hey Dodgy Joe" He replied with a half hearted wave, eyes still searching the fridge, wow he really was intent on finding something unhealthy to eat. "Yo British Pixie" I scowled in disgust, his favourite pet name for me. "I told you not to call me that!?" he brushed a strand of his brown, overgrown greasy hair out of his face whit his tattooed arm itched his short, slightly wild beard. "Calm your self Pixel the Pixie-nator I was just joking" my nose crinkled in disgust as I rolled my eyes, apparently this was hilarious so I left the room whilst he practically rolled on the floor laughing. I strolled to my usual room, the Black, badly sound proofed walls greeting me once again. I clicked the metal clasps of my case open, plucking the frail wooden body of my acoustic from the protective blanket that was wrapped around it. My fingers started to automatically strum and pick at the steel strings delicately. Singing softly to the tune that was know apparent to be 'I don't love you. Intricate waves of patterns as I got further into the song. So immersed in the music that I hadn't noticed the hooded figure stood watching me intently in the door way. Pouring every ounce of soul I had in me into the music, I rarely sang and when I eventually did, it was typical, I got caught. I bought the song to a halt the presence of the stranger now aware as he had started to slowly clap. but not on his own. four other characters stood around him, well, I'm assuming its a him, were also clapping. My body automatically turned sharply, my face full of shock, I'd left the door open. "w-who are you?" I had abandoned my usual sarcastic defensive tone, still in complete awe that someone had been listening. The shortest figure stepped forward and pulled his hood back revealing none other than frank Iero. holy shit