Waking for school in the morning, I feel as if I'm sleepwalking. My eyes are open, but my mind is still lost in a distant dream which I feel safe in during my slumber, yet can never remember. In my groggy haze, I steal a glance at my beaten alarm clock as I tugged on the same hoodie I have worn for years, and made sure the crumple cigarette package was still safely in my pocket. My clock read fifteen minutes earlier than I needed to leave. Plenty of time to get ready for school. I could brush down the tangled black and burgundy waves of hair, that seemed as wild as the crashing waves of the ocean, however I won't even bother, as brushing it has never been successful before. Trudging through my room, over mountains of dirty clothes, kicking garbage out of my path, I make my way to my smoke hazed mirror, and peer at the array of flawed freckles that nipped at my skin like the cold of winter, and the sickening green orbs for eyes that did not give me clear vision without the assistance of contacts. I squinted and prayed my contact case had somehow returned to my room instead of going missing. Taking a tired sigh, I accepted appearance won't get much better than the mess of my room. It never does. Accepting this as usual, I swipe my books from my dresser, careful not to knock over my lavender ashtray, and look for my school bag. As it falls into my blurry sight, I grab my bulky red school bag, tucked my cigarette pack into the front pocket, and trudge downstairs, and out the busted wooden front door. I then made my way through the snow to the bus stop, without haste.
As usual, I was the last student there, and scrambled onto the daunting yellow bus, finding my seat next to my best friend, saved by his black coat. I waved hi to him, with my crooked smile. Seeing Michael was always the first good thing on long days, and usually the last. Ethan was the kind of boy I aspired to be. Neat and organized, with a feminine, appealing way of writing in cursive, that kept his school notes easily read. As the bus drove us to our destination, I watched him, and took in his appearance. With his flawless fair skin, and pale pink lips, he looked so mature. It was as if he was 22, instead of his true age of 17. His tall, thin stature and soft black curls suited him as well as a crown suited a prince. With soft brown eyes and a gentle smile, Michael was the kind of boy that girls fell in love with.
I am his opposite, much to my dismay. Short and stocky, with caramel skin, blemished by freckles and the effects of horrid teenage years. Ethan never seemed to mind though, that his image may be brought down by his friendship with actually took me under his wing when he introduced me to the Gothic culture, at only the price of my healthy lungs. The only thing I would ever have over Ethan, is my intelligence. I recently received a full paid scholarship to the college of my dreams. That's something no one can ever take away from me. Ethan could be just as well off, if he wasn't so set on being a procrastinator. He's sure that his dangerous game of procrastination won't hurt him since this is our senior year. I hope he doesn't have to learn the hard way. Though I guess he'd never have to. Unlike me, he can afford college without a scholarship.