Author's Note: Hey guys, it's my first time writing something non-fictional, so please be gentle. I watched Struck by Lightning and it was one of the most inspiring movies that I ever saw. The plot was amazing. I wish there were more movies like that which revolves in the reality of life and life in high school.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for the plot and my original character.

Please enjoy and review! :D

The morning I had woken up on was, as usual, calm and bleary, my room still dim. Slivers of sunlight peeked through the green curtains and brightened the start of my day just a little bit. I got out of bed and got ready for school, just like any other normal day. I'm Raewyn Evans, seventeen years old, a senior in high school and an only daughter to a widowed man.

In my seventeen years of existence here in the humble town of Clover, there's three things that I've learned to believe in. One is normality. Of all the blessings that have been given to me, I'd like to think that I'm grateful for normality the most. Normality meant peace and order and routine. It meant going to school ten hours a day, five times a week; it meant spending Saturday evenings at some junior's house that I'm tutoring and Sundays staying inside the house with my father the whole day. See? I like routines, too.

The second thing I believe in is the power of hard work. Hard work equates to a successful future. Hence, the straight A's, the determination and the patience that I show in my stressful extracurricular activities after school. My third belief sounds a little cliché, especially given my first two and I've yet to experience it first-hand. Love. Yeah, I believe in love. I believe that two people, any two people, could meet someday and just fall in love. There's no need for reasons, no need for the phrase 'I love him/her because of this and that'. It would be simple and clear and just plain love for each other. It's what my late mother taught me.

Before my mom died and left me and my dad alone, I saw how my parents would interact everyday. My mom would wake up exactly ten minutes before Dad does and she'd go downstairs to fix breakfast. While the coffee was brewing, she'd wake me and Dad up with a kiss; me on the forehead and Dad with a loving peck on the lips.

Dad would smile at her and kiss her again before getting ready for work and head downstairs to gobble down his toast and eggs. After breakfast, he'd usher me to the car with a grin and throw Mom a teasing wink, saying goodbye by kissing her yet again and then proceeding to drive me to school and then himself to work.

It was always, always like that. Our mornings were made of the three things I believe in. The hard work of Mom and Dad, the evident love between them and of course, the normality of everything. Oh, and speaking of normality, I needed to get going for school. It's 5:45 already and despite Clover High being only a five-minute drive away, I like arriving there ten minutes early.

Marching downstairs and heading for the kitchen table to write Dad a short 'Good morning!' greeting with a smiley face at the end on a piece of Post-it, I placed it beside his coffee and his plate of eggs, jogging afterwards to the front door. As usual, I took out my keys from my left jeans pocket and threw my bag on the passenger's seat. The drive to school was fast and quiet.

The hallways made my head ache again, the one thing I'd rather not have in my every day routine. It was crowded and stifling, people shoving people away, locker doors banging noisily and mouths chattering non-stop. The hallways were like the epitome of utter chaos, a miniature warzone of sorts.

And it smelled so bad; imagine fifty different colognes and perfumes spraying into the air at the same time, then add in the scent of sweat and body odor. Yes, it was that horrible. I held my breath for as long as I could as I desperately dodged and pushed past other students. I had Algebra 2 as homeroom and we were supposed to have a quiz today. I can't afford to lose my brain cells to the stench.

"Cattle! Cattle, cattle! Slow cattle. Fat cattle."

The sharp, snarky voice echoed amidst the noise of the student body and it caught my attention. I turned my head, stopping just for a minute to look at the person biting out the insults. A small smile reached my face once I saw who it was that was pushing people aside without a care: Carson Phillips, possibly the only person in Clover High that still made sense.

I know what they say about him: Loser, perfectionist, sarcastic, overachiever, weird. But honestly, I couldn't care less. I still think he's perfectly sane, despite all the people who hated him.

We were classmates back then in middle school (Clover is a really, really small town) but somehow we never talked to each other. I knew him, in a way. He was ambitious, a good writer, he knew what he wanted and he worked hard to get it. He's smart too, and determined. For those qualities, I respect him. Sure he was sarcastic and a tad bit cynical. So what? We were teenagers and all of us had those sides. The only difference was that he had the guts to actually show that side of himself to the rest of the world.

"Shoo! Get the hell out of my way. Cattle, cattle!"

I saw him approaching in my direction and immediately, I rushed off. I may think he's alright, but I'm definitely not okay with getting shoved off to the side by him. When I found myself in a safe position to stand still—in the small gap in between lockers, if you're curious—I scanned the crowd again and saw him already ahead of me. I sighed a little sadly. Carson was too headstrong, too busy to even stop and take a minute to relax. Ah well, I guess he was just that eager to get away from this town. He probably doesn't even remember me anymore. Middle school seemed so far away from where we were now…

The quiz we had was followed shortly by another discussion about a new lesson. Mr. Coughs-a-lot (don't worry, it's a nickname, not his real name), our Math teacher, coughed into his hand (get the point of the nickname now?) before launching into an introduction about imaginary numbers. He asked us to turn our books to a designated page number and jotted down an equation on the board. The room was silent as we copied the equation in our notebooks, my fingers keeping a firm grip on my pen as I wrote the numbers in my clean, round handwriting.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa."

For the second time that day, I found myself craning my neck to look back and see who it was. The only difference was, this time I wasn't the only one who was intrigued. The whole class turned its attention to Carson who sat on the fourth chair at the back, his face tainted with obvious disbelief and irritation. "What's the i?" He asked the teacher with his eyebrows furrowed and his hands open in a confused gesture.

"The i signifies an imaginary number." Came the brief explanation and it came with a cough. I bit my lower lip down to prevent the laughter from bubbling up. I couldn't help it. Don't get me wrong, he was a nice guy and I wasn't a bad student. It's just that, why did he have to cough every single time?

Carson, though, didn't look amused. He was still disapproving of the whole turn of events.

"There are imaginary numbers now?" He asked rhetorically, looking a lot angrier now. "Are there unicorns the next lesson?" He snapped again and the teacher frowned. As if on cue, half of the class rolled their eyes and muttered comments under their breaths. The other half decided to ignore him. The minority—and by that, I mean, me—raised both eyebrows in genuine surprise. I didn't know he disliked Math. Maybe it was the lesson. Or maybe it was the teacher?

"Mr. Phillips, please. Refrain from making unnecessary remarks during class." Our teacher scolded in a nasal tone, sniffing in annoyance. "Let's go back to our topic." Carson threw him a glare and snorted begrudgingly and it was the end of the argument. The class went back into silence and Mr. Coughs-a-lot continued to write down equations for us to copy. After a few more minutes of writing and explaining and coughing (seriously), our teacher glanced back at the clock that hung on the wall at the back and checked his own wrist watch, just to make sure.

"Alright. Class dismissed."

As soon as he had said that, the classroom cleared out faster than someone could say 'Imaginary numbers'. I guess it was obvious what subject students hated the most. It was a shame they did; Math wasn't complicated, it was just…um, challenging, at times. Closing my notebook and capping my pen, I unzipped my bag and stuffed in my things carefully. Closing it, I got up and walked to the door, only to be stopped by Mr. Coughs-a-lot on the way.

"Ms. Evans, a word with you."

Frowning, I turned back and walked toward his desk in confusion. "Sir?" I voiced out from his side, watching him as he cleared up the scattered papers at his table and wondering what he could possibly want from me. I'm sure it wasn't detention…was it? As far as I could recall, I'd done nothing wrong. I listened and kept quiet, I did my homework. I'm pretty sure I aced the quiz earlier as well. So what was the problem?

The sound of his throat clearing cut me off from my thoughts. I blinked rapidly and focused at his face, hesitantly returning the polite smile he offered me. "Please, sit down." He gestured at the chair on the front row with his hand. Swallowing back down my nervousness, I trudged towards the chair and sat, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. I still didn't have the slightest clue where this conversation was heading. Sighing inwardly, I decided to be straightforward about it. "So!" I prompted with forced cheerfulness, smiling awkwardly when my teacher chuckled.

"Do you still tutor, Evans?"

Oh.

Oh….

I relaxed immediately once I realized what he was asking. "Yes." I answered with a nod, smiling and this time, meaning it. "I still do, Mr. Grace." I said. I didn't join any of the clubs in Clover High when I first started off as a freshman here and I never did. None of the clubs felt right for me.

The cheerleading club was too intimidating, Drama club was too extravagant and dramatic, Yearbook club was boring, the Celibacy club took too much time, and I don't sing or play musical instruments, so no way I'm joining Clover High Choir. The Writer's Club…Well, let's just say writing is a sore topic for me.

It's not that I'm bad at writing; it's actually a passion of mine. Nothing ever makes me feel so good than when I'm with a pen and a piece of blank paper, just writing my heart out and letting the ideas flow. But, like I said, I just don't do it anymore. Incidents happen and things change. I'd rather not reminisce again. So instead, I got stuck with part-time tutoring as my extracurricular, taking advantage of my high grades. I'm particularly content with my situation.

"That's good." Mr. Grace said cautiously, coughing into his hand (gee, what a surprise!) and looking down at his lap for a quick moment before glancing up at me. "Could I, perhaps," he began again, picking up a pen and fiddling with it, "ask you to tutor one of your own classmates?"

"Sure." I replied without a second thought, grinning and reaching for my bag. "I'll just check my schedule so I can work it out. Is it an after-class session or could we do it on weekends? 'Cause, you see, I'm kind of busy during—"

"Great!" Looking utterly relieved, Mr. Grace interrupted me and smiled in a way that had me questioning my decision to agree with it. He seemed so…pleased with himself. That can't be good. "You can start right away! As for the schedule, you'll have to meet your classmate to work it out between yourselves, alright? Tell you what", he coughed shortly and grinned once more, and I'll admit, it was getting creepier by the second, "you teach this guy and if he gets a score of above 75 in our next exam, I'll give you an additional grade for it. Sound good?"

"Um…"

He coughed. "Well?"

"O-Okay." I answered uncertainly, frowning. I bit my lip and reached for my bag, standing up with it instead of opening it and looking for my schedule. It was Tuesday today and I'd be meeting him tomorrow after class, if he's available. That seemed fair enough. Perhaps I could go meet that person now, just to work out our schedules properly and settle the awkwardness that may arise between us.

"Who am I supposed to tutor again?" I asked, already dreading the answer. There came that smile again. He said it was a guy. There were a lot of guys who were having trouble in Algebra 2.

Oh god, what if it was George, the guy with the crazy piercings all over his face?

What if it was Walter, that jerk who threw paper airplanes during Physics class?

Or, or Justin Walker, the quarterback?

Or Emilio, El Salvadoran exchange student? Shit, I can't speak Spanish!

"Congratulations," Mr. Coughs-a-lot drawled out with that stupid, stupid grin of his and propped both his elbows onto the desk, "you'll be tutoring Carson Phillips."

"Hey, Raewyn, over here!"

At the sound of my name being called, I searched the crowd present in the cafeteria and found Remy waving her hand in the air. A grin appeared in my face at the sight of the enthusiastic blonde girl. Remy Baker, vice-president of the Student Council, editor of the school's yearbook, is my friend.

Yes, believe it or not, I'm friends with her. I have friends too; I'm not some kind of loner. Remy's an interesting girl. She's sensible and funny and she talks a lot. She's a little bit self-righteous at times, but that's alright with me. She tolerates my boringness and lack of fun in return.

"Hi, Remy."

I sat on the chair beside hers and placed my tray on the table and bag on the free seat next to me. Remy smiled widely, leaned in and began to chatter about her day before I could even pick up the sandwich that I bought.

"Guess what's coming up!" She squealed out after the daily report of how her morning went. I bit into my sandwich and chewed thoughtfully, looking straight into her expectant stare.

"Um…" I started, swallowing, "I don't know."

She rolled her eyes at me and pulled away, slumping into her chair. "Homecoming, Wyn!" She said and glared at me. I could only shrug in reply. "Seriously, do you even call yourself a student? Aren't you just a tiny bit excited about this?"

"No."

She pouted. "But why not? Homecoming's fun! Live a little!"

I sighed loudly, dropping my sandwich back to the tray in favor of my bottled water. "Look, as much fun as Homecoming could get, I can't find myself caring. I still won't go." I told her, ignoring the look of disbelief on her face. "I'm busy. I have students to tutor and after that, someone needs to fix dinner at the house." Remy scowled at me, crossing her arms.

"You sound like a stressed out housewife." She spat, clearly upset about what I just told her.

"Yeah, well…" I gave her a lopsided smile. "I'll make it up to you some other time."

"You always say that."

"Fine." Pausing to take a mouthful of water, I gulped it down and leaned in. "I won't be coming to Homecoming but", I said, smiling at the way she looked up hopefully, "I'll make sure to join you guys in this year's Sadie Hawkins Dance. 'Kay?" She let herself grin brightly again. "Okay. You promise?"

"I promise."

"Okay!" She clapped excitedly, earning us a few looks from other tables. I fought back a smile of my own. She was always easy to please. I heard her sigh in content and opened a notebook that was placed on her right. Remy kept a lot of notebooks in her bag, so many that I found myself giving up counting them.

She said she needed them for planning the yearbook themes and for taking notes during Student council meetings but we both knew she bought them because she found the covers cute. "So", she said, cheerful tone back in place, "how's your day so far? Anything new? Anything…interesting?"

By interesting, I think she meant 'anything non-academic related'. I took in a deep breath and shrugged simply. "Mr. Grace asked me for a favor this morning." I said, keeping my voice light. She wouldn't be pleased with this piece of information, no matter how interesting it may seem.

"Mr. Grace? The Math teacher who coughs a lot?"

I snickered under my breath and nodded. "Yeah. That one. He asked me if I could tutor this guy." One of her thin eyebrows rose up and she looked positively evil. Her lips curled up into a devious smile, one which I knew would fade away as soon as I tell her who it was.

"This guy? Well?" She pressed on giddily. "Who is it?"

"It's…a classmate."

"What's his name?"

"It's a secret."

"But why?"

"I'd rather not tell you."

"Come on! I won't judge!" She insisted, desperate to know. Her eyes widened just then. "Is he cute? I bet he is, or else you wouldn't hesitate telling me. Is he popular?" She said in a stage-whisper, giggling in excitement. Nervously, I smiled, thinking back. Well, I do find him cute, handsome even, with the air of seriousness around him. And he is popular…in a twisted, infamous sort of way.

"Um…yeah, I guess?" I supplied hesitantly and she frowned at the obvious way I looked lost. Rolling her eyes, she dragged her chair closer to mine, invading my personal space. I tried not to flinch at the noise the chair made as its legs scratched against the tiles. "Raewyn, come on." Remy urged again, looking up from underneath her eyelashes and giving me her best puppy stare yet. "We're friends. You can trust me with this. Please?"

"Fine." I sighed, turning my head away to look down at the floor. I took in a breath and counted to three. "It's Carson Phillips."

"WHAT?!"

Our neighboring tables shushed her and both of us shrank back in our seats, her biting her lip to prevent herself from screaming again and me groaning and hiding my face behind my hands.

This was a disaster.

I shouldn't have told her. Remy hated Carson more than she hated ugly pictures in her yearbook. They clashed like oil and water and they could never get along. Perhaps one reason is that they were so much alike. Both were driven, both had big dreams for the future and they had no qualms whatsoever on getting their hands dirty. The only visible difference I see is that Carson is a tall guy and Remy is half his height and is a girl.

"Carson freaking Phillips?" I heard Remy hiss out angrily after everyone lost interest in us and went back to minding their businesses. "Of all the—Of all the people in this freaking school, you have to tutor that arrogant asshole?" She ranted, throwing her hands up and threatening to tear out her hair.

Glancing up, I narrowed my eyes and scowled. "You said you wouldn't judge." I snapped, feeling hurt that she reacted so badly.

It's not like I had a choice on who I tutored. She knew that.

"I know what I said." Remy grumbled, pouting. "But I—" She stopped in mid-sentence, eyes widening again. I rolled my eyes and let out a heavy sigh.

"Now what?" I whined, already tired of her complaints.

I think I've heard every possible insult she could throw at Carson. It was becoming exhausting. She looked at me, expression half accusing and half horrified as she said, "You said he was cute." She said coldly, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

I paled and fidgeted in my seat. "No. You said he was cute." I corrected. "I merely agreed." Her mouth dropped open in shock and I resisted the urge to grab my things and run for it.

To hell with saving this friendship; this was the most awkward and unwelcome conversation I ever had.

"You think he's cute!" Remy hissed in accusation, glaring at me.

"No, I—"

"You do!"

"Fine!" I relented, huffing out indignantly. "Yes, I do. So what? What does it matter if I find him cute?" Her eyes widened for the third time around and I mentally wondered if it was physically possible that eyeballs would pop out of their sockets. Hers seemed to be in the borderline of jumping out.

"Omygod." She whispered in realization, her hands gripping the edge of the table. I stared her down, unimpressed. I could feel a head ache coming around and it was the last thing I needed. I was still supposed to meet Carson after class. Damn it.

"Oh my god." She said clearer this time, a smile breaking out of her face. I gave her a skeptical glance. Was she going insane? She squealed so suddenly that I winced for real and scooted away from her.

"Oh. My. God." Remy laughed out, chuckling and giving me a look that said 'I just found out something you don't know'.

"I know what this is. You have a crush on Carson Phillips." She blurted out and I froze in my seat.

What?

W-Wait, what?

"What?" I snapped out incredulously, unable to process how things escalated to this. "How did you get to that conclusion?" I asked her, looking scarred for life. Remy merely grinned at my reaction. "It's true. See? You're blushing."

"I'm blushing because I'm appalled." I shot back, feeling queasy. So I found him cute. So I respected him. So what? It doesn't mean I have a crush on him! I sighed, forcing myself to get back the control I had. I shook my head and looked at Remy again, rolling my eyes at the way she was still giggling uncontrollably. "Okay, you had your fun. Can we stop now? This is getting ridiculous."

"Ridiculous but true."

I scowled. "I don't have a crush on him."

"You do." She said, sounding so sure of herself. "And because I'm such a great friend, I'm willing to push aside my hate for him in order for your love to bloom."

"Your words make me sick."

"Acceptance is the first stage to love, Raewyn."

"I do not have a crush on Carson, Remy." I told her, emphasizing everything word for word. She gasped, putting a hand on her chest and looking offended. I wondered what I did wrong this time around. "You did not just use my name and his name in the same sentence!"

Oh. That.

I cleared my throat, sparing her a tentative gaze. "I'm sorry?" I tried, no longer putting effort in apologizing. This was tiresome. Remember how I said she was sensible? I take it back. Why am I friends with her again? I looked up at the wall clock of the cafeteria and sighed, grabbing my bag and standing up.

"Look, Remy, I gotta go. I'm going to be late for Chemistry."

"Oh, sure." She said, blinking and turning to check the time as well. She stood up with me and piled her notebooks on top of each other before lifting them up and shoving them inside her shoulder bag. "I need to get going too. I have English."

I nodded once, pleased that she finally dropped the topic. "So, I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" She asked. "Aren't you available after class?"

"I have to meet Carson to work on our schedule."

Remy grinned again and I began walking away. "Right." She said, snickering. "Have fun with your date, Raewyn!"

I have never felt more embarrassed in my entire life. Where was the normality in this day?