What's the point of High School, anyway? Being a teenager just in general automatically means that you spend a grossly huge amount of time trying to be not so fat, not so skinny, not so flat, not so big chested, not so freckled, not so dorky, not so ugly, not so plain, not so tall, not so short, and not so boring. I'm sure there are the rare ones; the ones that are happy with how they look and who they are. Cudos to you. But, I'm willing to bet that there are MUCH more of you out there who look in the mirror every day and say, "C'mon God, is this IT?!" And I understand where you're coming from. And I hate it. If that's not bad enough, the idea that for the rest of your pathetic little existance, you're going to look like THAT, you have to drag yourself out of bed, into the shower, and the 2 miles to the school where you're going to spend 7 or 8 hours staring at the people who look exactly like you WANT to. And you have to listen to them talk about how they KNOW they're perfect. But are they really perfect? No. They're really not. Everybody's got some sort of problem. Some monster that they are constantly hiding; paranoid that someday it will reveal itself. And it will... Eventually. That's why I think High School should be banned. It's doing more harm than good, anyway.

### CHAPTER 1 ###

"Oh fuck… Still alive…" Chelsea muttered as she shut off her alarm clock. She fell back into bed, her long blonde hair hitting the black silk like white paint on tar. She lied still for a little longer, then sat back up.