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Insufferable Prick

Really? Wow. Real mature. You don't have time for that kind of thing.

Try again.

Dave Strider

That's more like it.

Your name is Dave. You are cool. Unreasonably cool. So cool that people have to wear a coat when you're around so they don't freeze from your coolness. It's a warm day in August, which is expected. Your window is open and your fan is cranked up as high as it can possibly be. You can't lose your cool. Ever.

Scattered around your room are photographs. You are an amateur photographer, which you don't consider to be part of your irony. You actually enjoy it, despite everyone's beliefs. You would explain to them you actually do like photography, but you don't want to sound lame.

You're laying in bed half asleep, knowing you have to get up soon or your brother will shove a plush rump in your face again. Or worse, pour a bucket of ice cold water on your head. That was not a fun morning at all.

Your alarm clock starts playing some sick beats you mixed previously during the summer on your turntables. Best alarm ever, hands down. You don't bother to turn it off. You stay under the covers with your pillow on top of your head. Your fan is blowing cool air directly onto you, but you're still freaking hot. You poke one of your legs out from under your red blanket. That definitely makes a difference.

The song is almost over when Bro comes bursting into your room holding Lil Cal. He flashsteps over to you like the ninja he is and replaces your pillow with the stupid puppet. You take the puppet and throw it at him, but he snatches it out of the air and pops in front of your face.

"Wake up Lil Man. You gotta go to school today." He says. You sit up in bed and rub the sleep out of your eyes underneath your sweet shades. You never take those off. Ever. Not even when you're asleep.

You groan and reluctantly get out of bed, still rubbing at your eyes. You stumble into the kitchen and open the refrigerator. Before you know it you're lying on the floor buried in a pile of smuppets. Darn Bro and his antics. You can't believe you used to actually like those nasty plushrumps out of pure irony. Now you understand they aren't ironic at all. They're terrifying and disgusting.

You decide you'll ask Bro where he put the juice later. There's no way you're leaving this house without your signature drink. It's not going to happen.

You go into your bathroom and splash cold water on your face to try and wake up. Your eyes remain tired, but your red t-shirt is now covered in the liquid. Great. You take it off on your way to your room and toss it on your bed.

You pull your broken record shirt over your head. You aren't used to the one with short sleeves, but when it's this hot outside, wearing long sleeves is stupid. You wouldn't even wear long sleeves for the irony in this heat. You comb your hair out of its previous messy state and look at the clock. Good, there are a few minutes to spare.

There's a strange feeling rising in the pit of your stomach. It wasn't so bad the day before, but now it hurts like heck. This doesn't usually happen, but today is different. You flop on your bed and stare up at the ceiling though your shades. The feeling doesn't go away. Luckily it isn't a nauseas feeling. This is an emotion you rarely experience, and you hate it.

You finally admit to yourself that you are nervous. You won't know anybody due to the fact your brother decided to get a serious job last spring, so you had to move into this apartment. You hope you'll make friends soon enough. Who doesn't like a cool guy?

You know you aren't the most social person in the world. You like to keep to yourself and never let your emotions overflow unless the circumstances are extreme. Opening up to others is definitely not your thing. You won't even do it for the irony.

You rub your tired eyes yet another time. You aren't a morning person. Never have been and never will be.

"Dave."

Suddenly your brother is there in front of you. He is such a ninja.

"Sup." You nod at him casually.

"The bus is here, that's what's up. Come on, you don't want to be late." Bro flashsteps again, placing a smuppet in your lap and leaving just as quickly. You push the smuppet aside and leave your room with your bulging backpack. You leave the fan on to save you the two seconds it would take to turn it on when you get home.

You pause before you walk out the door of your apartment. You consider taking the stairs to drag out the time, but you were warned. Besides, you don't plan on busting your skull open yet another time on those things. That wasn't a good experience. At least, that's what you heard. You got a pretty bad concussion, so you only remember waking up in a hospital bed multiple times in extreme pain.

That would explain why you get terrible headaches sometimes from the weirdest things. You hate it when Bro makes toast because the sound of the toaster makes your skin crawl and your head throb. Stupid concussion. Stupid stairs. Yeah, you're definitely going to take the elevator.

"Dave?"

You return to reality and realize you're still staring at the door with your hand on the knob. You can feel the presence of your brother standing behind you, and it makes you uneasy. You close your eyes and inhale deeply.

"What." You respond.

You detect the hesitation before your brother speaks. You can tell he's worried about you. You hate it when he does that.

"You forgot your apple juice." He holds out the bottle of deliciousness in your direction. You turn around and take it from him, nodding your thanks. You don't say it very often, but you really do love your bro. You wouldn't want anyone else to have raised you.

You start to open the door a just a crack, but stop. Something doesn't feel right. Did you forget something? No, you put everything in your backpack yesterday, and you have your apple juice. Why does something feel amiss?

You feel something on your shoulder and you flinch. You spin around, and your brother is still there, his hand extended. You can't see his eyes, but you bet they are full of sadness and worry.

"What." You ask, your voice monotone as usual

"Do you want me to come down with you?" The tall blond says.

"Uh…"

You definitely did not expect that. Bro hasn't walked you to your bus since you were in third grade. Of course the first day you were on your own you decided to take the stairs for an ironic twist and you ended up in the ER. You can't say you weren't warned.

"I can stay here if you want, that's chill too." Bro shrugs, but you can tell he's a little hurt by your response.

Your stomach clenches in those stupid nervous knots. You suddenly realize you do want Dirk to come down to the lobby with you. You need some support, but you don't want to admit it. Slight problem. You don't want to look like a little kid in front of the people already on the bus. That would completely destroy your cool kid reputation.

"Uh… I… Um…" You stumble over your words unironically. Shoot.

"I get it. It's okay lil' man. I'll stay in the elevator." He flashes one of his prize winning grins at you. He really wants to come, doesn't he? You have no objections.

"Okay." You push the door open all the way and walk in the direction of the elevator.

Tape. Yellow construction tape restricts you from entering through the sliding doors.

"What the heck." You mumble.

"Oh that's right, I forgot to tell you. The elevator's broken so we have to take the stairs. Think you can handle it?" Your brother smirks at you.

"Dude are you serious? That was years ago. I think I can handle it." You smirk right back at him.

"Prove it."

"You got it."

Your name is Dave Strider, and this is the beginning of your first day of high school.