Hey, look!
It's a new story =O

So, I'm gonna say this now. This might not be updated very quickly, because I can only do so in my spare time, and I'll probably need notes from some classes for the whole tutoring bit. Also, it's probably going to be a little boring until about... *checks outline* Chapter three, about, or even chapter five, when the tutoring actually starts.

So here we go :)

Extra: It took me so long to figure out who to put in here from each anime! Bradley is not in here. I couldn't choose... and I ended up taking Wrath from FMA and Pride from FMAB. And there are like two OCs, simply because I put them in every single story I write, and this is no different. They will not be main at all.

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA. I mean, hello, why would I be sitting here?

Warning (story overall): Yaoi. Hello. Duh.
Warning (chapter): Er, nothing, except ranting. :)

I frown down at my U.S. History binder as I sit down for first hour and open the binder to copy down the notes from the board. I'm running out of paper. I'll probably forget to refill it later, too. I sigh and start copying down the notes anyway (despite the fact that first hour hasn't even started yet). As I do so, the room slowly starts to fill up.

The reason why I go straight into first hour instead of wandering the halls like a normal person is mainly because I don't know anyone to wander the halls with. There are a few people I have considered hanging out with in the morning, but they are mainly acquaintances. Especially this one girl; she's in almost all of my classes and I talk to her quite a lot and we partner up if we need to, but I would never actually hang out with her.

And her friends are kind of weird.

Almost as if summoned by my mental thoughts, she plops into the seat beside me and immediately starts to rummage through her bag, looking for her supplies. She groans after a second and looks over at me. "Envy, can I copy your notes when you're done? I forgot my glasses."

I shrug. "Sure."

"Thanks! You're a lifesaver."

By the time the first bell has rung, I have finished copying down the notes and have handed them to her. When the teacher starts talking, going over the notes, I zone him out. He doesn't care; as long as I do well in his class and copy down the notes he doesn't mind if I pay attention or not.

I take my sketchbook out of my bag as quietly as I can as not to disturb the people copying down the notes and paying attention. I open to a fresh page and start sketching something random. I love to draw and I love art. I want to get into an Art School and become a professional artist. However, that won't happen unless I graduate. And I won't be able to graduate without passing Geometry, which I am taking for the second year in a row. And I'm still failing. My counselor has suggested a tutor, and I grudgingly accepted (after a lecture from my two older and only sisters when I said I didn't want one).

I have a lot of siblings. Three of them are out of high school, but are still living at home and two of them go to the college that is forty-five minutes away. The oldest, Gluttony, is the one that doesn't go to college. Then there is Greed, Sloth, and Lust, who is a Senior. Then there's me, a Junior, and the twins, Wrath and Pride, who are Freshmen. Greed and Sloth are content with going to the local county college, but Lust and I are not. Lust wants to go to Julliard with her flute and I want to go somewhere in New York City. I've been looking at colleges, but I haven't found the correct one yet.

I glance up at the clock, and deadpan. It's frozen again. This room is notorious for it's freezing clocks, behind clocks, and speeding up clocks. I also notice that my notes have been returned to me, and these I clip quietly into my binder. I carefully slip my phone out of my pocket and check the time. 8:37. The bell is going to ring in a few minutes. I regretfully put away my half-finished sketch and my phone. I look up again at the clock to see that it is speeding up to catch up the time. A worksheet lands on my desk that I assume to be homework and I tuck it into my bag.

The bell rings and I get up and head towards the door, going to my locker and grabbing the binders for my next two classes: English and Art History. In English we were simply doing a partner project for the last piece of literature we had read, so I actually didn't really need my binder. However, I brought it anyways, just in case. The period is spent with the girl from History, Ada, rambling on and on about her girlfriend, Ivy (whom I've never met), instead of doing any work. Which is usually how it is. Occasionally I'll put in my opinions on her relationship, what she should do, where she should go, etc., but I mainly tune her out and try to get the work done.

Today, she is trying to figure out where she should take Ivy for her birthday.
I suggest Friendly's.
She shoots that idea down.

Ada continues to chatter on through the rest of English and during the passing period. She only falls silent when we reach the Art History room. Don't let the name fool you; it is still an art room. There is still the smell of paint, there is still smudges on the desks from ebony pencil and pastels. It's one of the reasons that I love this class. While learning about a certain art movement and the prominent artists, we do a unit using that movement to create our own art. Right now we are making stained glass windows. I like to add details, causing for a lot of falling behind, so I'm actually still in the drawing and planning phase. The teacher doesn't mind, but this might be because I come in during my half periods and take it home on the weekends (if I can; this unit I won't be able to).

I'm putting the finishing details on my window plan, which is based on the story of Little Red Riding Hood and the history of the Blood Moon, when Mrs. Williams, the teacher, comes over to look at how I'm doing.

She points to the moon. "You might have some trouble filing down the glass for all of the small bits you chose for the moon."

I smile slightly. "I'll find a way."

"I know you will." She smiles back. "You're staying here for your half periods, yes?"

"Of course."

"You might want to snag a spot now, then. Come on, I'll show you how to use the filer."

I engulf myself in the work once she is done explaining, ignoring everyone cleaning up, the bell ringing, and a new class coming in and setting up. Halfway through my work, I decide that I need one of these for my own (not that it will ever happen). Although my mother is quite rich (her recent inheritance adding to that greatly), I still have to save up all of my money for whatever I need for my art or for piano, which I play in my spare time. We have a pretty big house that has enough room for all eight of us to spread out comfortably. The basement has pretty much been taken over as my own personal Studio; however, I don't nearly have enough supplies, which is why I like to go down to the local art gallery on the weekends. I've been going there on the weekends for years, and the lady that works the souvenir counters on those days allows me to use one of their workplaces for free. But only if there is one open and there is no show. I could never have my artwork hung up there, though, unless I'm able to pay them and I don't have the money, and my mother won't supply it. She doesn't really think that I'll be able to make it in the art world.

I suppose if I'm being honest, I don't really blame her. Unless you're really good, you won't get far.

I shake my head and pick up another piece of glass, glancing up at the clock to see that I have half an hour more and I've done half of my pile of glass. I glance back down and resume my filing.

After noticing that four of her seven children were musically inclined, my mother turned the attic into a soundproof music studio. Which is great, really, especially for Lust, but it also kind of sucks because the four of us that play can't play when we want to all the time. If Lust isn't playing, then Pride is, and when I think the room is empty, Greed is usually in there. So I prefer to just stick with my art, then, and leave the music as just a hobby.

I jump when someone taps my shoulder (thankfully I wasn't filing any glass) and turn, almost dropping the bit of glass I was holding. It's Mrs. Williams. "The hour is almost up. You should probably start cleaning up. I'll give you a hall pass if you need one."

I nod. "All right. Thank you."

I sweep all of the filed glass into a bag and place that and my window plan onto my shelf. I grab the mini broom that is under the station and sweep all of the little pieces of glass that will go unused into a pile and then up into the garbage. I grab my stuff just as the bell rings and I wave goodbye to Mrs. Williams as I leave her classroom and head to my locker to switch binders. I sigh as I pick up my Geometry binder (with my Chemistry binder) and shut my locker. I can't stand being in that class. It's mainly filled up with sophomores who actually understand what the hell they're doing whereas I can only stare at the paper or the board and hope to understand what the hell I'm doing.

As soon as I step into the classroom and take a look at the board, I know that this is going to be a torturous class. We've been doing proofs for about a week or so now, and most of the class has gotten the hang of it, except for me. And now, our warm-up is to write a twenty-step proof. I stare blankly at the board as I sit in my seat with a blank piece of paper in front of me, the Given the only thing written on it.

"All right," the teacher exclaims, making me jump. "We already have the Given, now who can tell me what the second step is?" He glances around the class, looking for a victim (also known as a student) to answer his question. I do not move or make eye contact. It usually does the trick.

And victim number one is... "Envy! How about you? What did you get?" I glance up at him. He's smiling, waiting. "Do you have an answer?" he asks patiently. I shake my head and he moves right on, like it's no big deal that I don't have an answer (and that I'm failing his class). He doesn't bother asking me any more questions after that.

I try to follow along and fill in my proof, but I get confused from all of the different postulates and theorems. Eventually, I give up. As soon as we're done with that, he passes out a homework sheet with more ridiculously long proofs on it (that I most likely will not be able to do). The rest of the hour passes by in a blur, as does Chemistry. I honestly don't even know what we talked about, which can't be food. It seems like I blinked, and I was closing my locker and heading to my Studio class.

I feel myself relax as I enter the art room (different then the one my Art History class is in), inhaling the familiar smell. I set down my bag on the floor by my desk and go over to my shelf to get my project. We were doing self-portraits, and amidst the various complaints at first, my class was doing pretty well with it. Some people didn't really look like themselves, but that's to be expected. I know that I'll probably finish today, as I only had the shirt to finish up. As I set to my work, I keep half of my focus on the class, like I usually do. My class is a very odd one, to say the least. I finish up quickly and turn it in, turning my attention to my homework for the rest of class.

The class goes by pretty uneventfully, except for the one kid who kept bursting out into song randomly, and there is the usual rush for the door when the final bell of the day rings. I slowly pack up my homework and then pull a sketchbook out of my bag and approach the teachers desk. "Um, Mrs. Shay, I just wanted to drop off another finished sketchbook." I've had Mrs. Shay as my Studio teacher every year since eighth grade and ever since she looked over what I was drawing in my sketchbook once in eighth grade, I've been letting her look through them when I fill them up.

She beams. "Great! I'll look through it tonight. Are you free tomorrow after school to discuss them?"

"Yup. I'll see you tomorrow."
To get home from school, I have to walk twenty minutes. It's a pretty easy walk, no hills and relatively straight. Technically, I'm supposed to walk with the twins, and Lust is supposed to walk with us too, but I usually end up staying after school and they all get home before me. We don't use the front door, instead having to go in the door that opens at the mid-level between the basement and the kitchen. Sometimes I go straight down to the basement, but not usually. Today, I go up into the kitchen and head to the staircase that will bring me to my room on the second floor, grabbing a granola bar on the way and skirting around Gluttony (who is probably attempting to prepare a dinner that no one will eat). I go up the stairs, down the hall, and into my room, closing the door before I slide down and lean against it, closing my eyes.

Barely focusing, I can hear everything: a pan falling to the floor in the kitchen, Pride and Wrath yelling at each other while playing a video game, Lust talking on the phone, Sloth watching TV. I can't hear Greed, but that doesn't me that he isn't home. He's probably up in the attic, playing guitar.

I drag myself up the ladder to my bed (my bed is like a bunk bed, but instead of having another bed underneath, there's a desk) and lay flat, groaning when I notice something digging into my back. I pull out a sketchbook from underneath me, and stare at it, knowing I didn't leave it there. I open it and see a yellow post-it note stuck to the inside cover. I scowl as I read it ('These are good, why don't you show anyone these? -Pride'). I hate it when people invade my privacy, and he knows it.

There are sketchbooks that I have that I don't show anyone, mainly because there probably happens to be a drawing of them in there. I draw crushes that I've had, my family when they're not paying attention, things like that. Private things.

I flip through a bit. A crush from seventh grade. Pride and Wrath watching a movie (not arguing for once). Sloth reading a book. Lust playing her flute (that was tricky; I had to sneak into the attic). I close it and sigh. Stupid Pride and his invading ways. I swear he has no sense of privacy. I lay back down and pull my iPod out of my pocket, drowning away the sounds of my family with music, and drifting off to sleep along with it.

Yeah, that was pretty boring, wasn't it? Ah, well... it'll get interesting eventually.

I know! I can write a oneshot to make up for it! I will get right on that! Let's see if I'll finish it before I post the next chapter :P