Here's to new word documents and slacking on responsibilities

and Bailey. 'cause she's the cheddar to my cheese.

is it still me that makes you sweat, am I who you think about in bed

grope: to search blindly or uncertainly.

Squeezing, panting, feeling was going on in the back seat of Kemp Hurley's vintage '72 Camaro.

"Dylan," -pant- "we need to stop. This is going too far,"

Dylan's firey red hair shielded her bright pink cheeks. She wasn't turning a Hubba Bubba pink because of embarrassment. Dylan Marie Marvil didn't get embarrassed. Not when she fell off the chair when doing a reading of her story in the third grade, not when a sex tape of her accidentally got around to the school, and most definitely not when her boyfriend of a year forgot it was Valentines Day in front of the whole student body.

"Dylan, I hate Chris just as much as you do right now, but that's no reason to cheat on him with me."

when the lights are dim and your hands are shaking as you're sliding off your dress

"Chris pissed me the hell off today. I have to get back at him somehow." Dylan said, slipping out of her baby blue, Betsey Johnson sheath dress.

"I would agree, Dyll, but I am not, and won't ever be the guy that you use to get back at him. I'm just not that guy."

Kemp was right, of course. He was right about everything under the sun. Taking five AP classes, Kemp was a smarty pants, yet with his long black hair that flapped over one brown eye and the distressed leather jacket that was now a part of his skin, he was known as a bad boy. The Ducatti just added to that image.

"Please, Kemp. I need this." Dylan Marvil, reduced to begging? Who would have though it.

"I'm sorry, Dylan, but I'm not compromising myself for you. I'll drive you home."

after dropping ms. marvil at marvil estates, twenty minutes later

well she's not bleeding on the ballroom floor just for the attention

Kemp Hurley, giving up the chance for some bumping and grinding for maybe two hours? Who would have thought it.

You must have really loved this girl, Kemp, the conflicted boy in the driver's seat thought to himself.

have some composure, where is your posture

oh no no

you're pulling the trigger, pulling the trigger

all wrong.

So, that was awful. A random pile of sentences strung together. Review this random pile of sentences strung together.