Sixth Grade

He wouldn't stop looking at me. I watched him nervously from my peripheral vision in the middle row of my social studies classroom.

I hate my new school, and mentally cursed my father (for I surely wasn't allowed to swear out loud) for making me live with him. Divorce sucks balls, especially when your parents decide to finalize it in the middle of the school year. Unlike normal students, my first day was on a January morning, rather an autumn-filled September one.

An abnormally tall boy with short brown hair gazed at me the minute I walked into room twenty-eight. My teacher, a rather rotund woman by the name of Mrs. Gillespie looked at me kindly as I gave her a pink slip I was supposed to give to every one of my new teachers, not that they weren't already informed that a new student was to be occupying one of their empty desks, but it was protocol all the same.

"Thank you, Sarah," she said warmly.

But before she guided the nervous pupil to my designated seat for the rest of the school year, she cleared her throat, and my heart rate quickened. She was going to announce me to the rest of the class. This was done only once before- in Mr. Phillips' Math class, where most of the kids stared at me with blank faces, which caused me to blush considerably.

"Class, We have a new student joining us for the rest of the school year. And I hope, until Eighth grade," she put her hand on me shoulder, as if to tell me that everything would be okay and none of her students would bite me, "This is Sarah Brown, and I hope you all welcome her with open arms."

A group of boys snickered in the back. I distinctly heard one of them whisper loudly, "Open arms," in a mocking tone to his buddy before stretching out his arms and moving them in an "up and down" motion, as if making out with an invisible person. His friends laughed at his juvenile joke, which only mortified me.

Mrs. Gillespie failed to notice this, for she simply guided me to an empty seat in the middle of the second row, "This is your seat for the rest of the year. I hope you've read some parts of the text from the syllabus I sent you?"

I nodded. Mrs. Gillespie smiled at me one last time before beginning her usual roll call.

I opened my notebook, taking out the syllabus the teacher sent me a few days ago. Luckily, my middle school back home was on the same page as Beacon Hills Middle School, which made me slightly relieved that I wasn't going to look like a retard to the rest of my class.

I noticed the brown-haired boy still glancing at me every so often, and it made me extremely uncomfortable.

But once I started paying attention to the teacher and taking notes on the history of the Islamic religion, my uneasiness about the boy's attention disappeared as I became interested in the subject being taught. Until I felt something light hit me on the side of my face.

I turned to my right to see who was the culprit, and saw the brown- haired boy looking at me, smiling. Idiot. I was about to ignore him and return to my note-taking when I heard a "Psst" coming from my right.

I looked towards the boy again and he smiled at me, pointing to the wad of paper on the floor near my foot.

I leaned over to pick it up and opened the crinkled thing and nearly died at the scribble that was barely legible inside.

U R ugly.

I felt rather than knew a deep crimson was spreading across my cheeks. I felt my hands begin to shake and my eyes just on the brink of watering.

Muffled laughter came from where my tormentor sat, and I could see from my peripheral vision several of his buddies nearby high five him.

I then felt a light tap on my shoulder from behind. I didn't want to turn around, for I was afraid if I did, worse things would befall me than the mortification of being called ugly.

But I turned around anyway, and was met with a warm smile from a cute, long black-haired girl.

"Don't listen to Stiles," she whispered, glancing in the boy's direction and scowling at him as he still glanced in our direction, "he's an idiot." The nightmare of a boy stuck his tongue out at the tiny girl and proceeded to laugh with his buddies.

"Mr. Stilinski, Mr. McCall, and Mr. Whitmore, can you three please refrain from laughing during class. Or do I have to separate you three like I did last week?" Mrs. Gillespie lowered her chin, eyeing the three wide eyed boys who feigned complete innocence.

"We're sorry, Mrs. Gillespie," the brown-haired demon known as Stiles replied, his voice dripping with sweetness.

"Consider this a warning." And with that, Mrs. Gillespie continued a lesson she has taught so many times that it could be done in her sleep.

"He makes fun of all of the girls," the petite girl whispered to me.

"Has he made fun of you?" I hoped he had, just so I wouldn't be the only one.

"Yeah, in fourth grade. They found out that I was older than them because I was always moving around a lot so I had to repeat a year. He said I was a retard. But I don't care," she ran a hand through the tips of her glossy hair; "He'll get bored and make fun of someone else. You'll see. Oh, I'm Allison, by the way. "

"Sarah Brown."

"I know."

I admired the girl's confidence. I only wished I could say the same for myself. As I stole a glance at my new tormentor, Stiles Stilinski, I wondered if I really were ugly. The idea that someone out there thought I was hideous was hurtful, and if it wasn't for Allison, I seriously would've cried that day.

As Stiles returned my gaze and made a gagging gesture at me, I knew that I would hate him for the rest of my middle school life.

Oh My God. Okay um I should probably explain myself huh? Okay well. Everyone knows Stiles to be this happy-go-lucky kid and is always the person being picked on and never the bully. So I kind of picked at his personality and just brought that 'douche bag persona'. But don't worry you'll see glimpses of the Stiles that we all know and love throughout the story.

TTDH