Another new story? - you're thinking. But this was stuck in my journal for a few days and I got it out.

It's a high school fic. I thought I'd never do another one (haha).

Well, here it is!

I hated fringes.

Tearing them off the fifteen pieces of journal paper? No easy task. Uh hello? Perforated edges don't work out really that well.

Even occasionally ripping off the jounal paper itself. Which was going to be my makeshift notebook, on account I've used all my other ones. Plus I can't take this anymore. Need to vent.

The journal was a special one, one I bought in a store because it looked interesting. (The inside was very, very colorful.)

But I hated the perforated edges. Thus leading to said action of ripping the papers off.

At last I managed to squeeze those papers into a blue folder.

And turned to the first page. The layout was different from any other notebook.

XxxxxXxxxxxX

Name:

Things I Love:

Things I Hate:

Motto:

XxxxxXxxxxxX

I quickly flipped to all the other pages. They had the similar style, just not with the same topics. I even saw one labeled "Preferred Ways to Kill a Rival".

XxxxxXxxxxxX

Name: Hinata Hyuuga

Things I Love: My pet dog who - yes, who - I've had for ten years. He was just a wee baby when got him. I was five then. My sister, Hanabi. She's not a 'thing'. And sometimes I'd like to rip her guts out. But yes. I love her. My computer. Can't live without it.

Things I Hate: People (things) that criticize me for how I act and who I am. Namely my father.

Motto: Don't let people get the satsfaction of hurting you.

XxxxxXxxxxxX

"Naruto!" I heard Sakura scold. I looked up. "Give me my pen back!" She literally lay on the seat of the bus, trying to snatch her pen back (to no avail). "Give it!" Her cheeks were rosy with anger.

The bus wheezed to the school parking lot where it braked. Sakura slid out of the seat and practically into the aisle. She shrieked. The hem of her underwear was showing.

"Hinata - "

I looked up, cheeks flushed. I was always categorized as the "weird girl" who "sits in her chair writing things".

Or categorized as "is that a girl or a boy?" who "sits in his/her/its chair writing things".

Naruto threw me the pen. It landed between the page of my journal. I turned evenredder.

"Don't let Sakura get it, 'kay?" he said, smiling. He stood up with a lopsided backpack and was one of the first to get off the bus.

With an untied sneaker.

Untucked jacket.

(On the first day of school, too.)

But he was perfe -

"Hinata!" I heard the second voice call out my name. Sakura stood there, seething mad. Her hair was disheveled just from the bus ride and her white blouse was crumpled. "Give it back!"

"I - I'm sorry," I stammered, words failing me. Rapidly I gave the pen to her, shutting my journal.

Her eyes softened. "No, it's all right. It's not your fault. Naruto - "

My mouth tightened, my heart thudded.

" - is a jackass. He's a failure. And annoying, at that."

I couldn't let her badmouth him. Through nearly seven years I'd seen him work hard at everything he did. "That's not tr - "

But it was too late; she'd flounced off the bus. Through the window I saw Naruto tossing her pen to a fellow classmate.

"Little girl," snapped the bus driver. "Do I have to drag you off the bus?"

"N-no." I crammed the journal into my book bag, blushing again. "No."

As I stepped off I added - to my disgust - timidly, "H-have a g-good day."

"Yeah, right," he snorted. "You can shove that right up your - "

I fled.

:Recollection:

Yes, my name is Hinata Hyuuga. And I'm considered a failure.

Maybe it's because of my stammering. (S-s-stammering). It's something I hate myself, but can't express to anyone else. Why? (W-w-why?) Because I can't get a word out without stammering, stuttering, tripping over my own feet.

Which have grown a lot, by the way.

Embarrassing.

I've gotten taller since tenth grade. (And I was always considered the shortest in my class. Huh.) Taller, maybe. But still not with much personality. Which sucks. (S-s-sucks.)

One date, one single sad date, and that's it for my romantice career. A boy named Jiro. And even then my father had to bribe him.

Seventy dollars.

This is too embarrassing to continue.

Story of my life, I guess.

XxxxxXxxxxxX

Homeroom was a blur of noise and confusion. Old buddies discovered their friendship, girls lusted after the guys, bunches of paper airplanes and wadded up notes at the bottom of my feet.

Since it was

a. a Monday

b. too loud

c. only 8:10,

I chose the only possible way out. I wrote.

XxxxxXxxxxxX

Crush: Let's just say I hope I will be Mrs. Hinata Hyuuga Uzumaki i hopefully, hm, near future?

Aspiration: I want to be a writer.

Hobbies: Writing, drawing. I actually manage to pay attention in class when I do these things. I can't play sports, and I am hopelessly addicted to music.

Preferred Ways to Die:

XxxxxXxxxxxX

"Preferred Ways to Die?" I wondered aloud. Just as the bell rang.

I looked at my schedule and tried not to scream when people pushed me in the hallways. Many times.

:Recollection:

Status:

a. single

b. stable

c. safely made it to first period, a.k.a Health with Maito Gai, a.k.a that Freaky Commando Bimbo.

(Let's not be so harsh on the new teachers, shall we? Or should I say, shall me?)

XxxxxXxxxxxX

I grabbed the first row, middle seat on a whim. I wanted people to notice me this year. I wanted to be heard. To be included.

He opened his mouth, and as the words left it, everyone grew still, and stunned. very, very, rather stunnned.

This guy...

...he was a spitter.

And since he stood right up close and personal (not that way - wait, yes, that way) near the front row and the middle seat, well, let's just say, aah...

Spit.

Spittle.

Spit.

Suffice it to say, by the gratutious toll of the bell, my hair is literally moist with, uh, saliva. And the fact I hadn't listened to a word he said, or what anyone else snickered - just stared glassy-eyed at the board?

Yay. I loved eleventh grade already.

:Recollection:

I could run for track. Really. I totally could. Despite the fact that

a. I can't run track

b. I weighed more than yesterday

c. I hardly exercise,

I could definitely. Because most boys (Naruto) are on the track team, I would have loved it.

And the fact that I motored as fast as I could out of first period and into the hallways where I frantically tried not to scream as people pushed me this way and that - (deja vu, anyone?)

By lunch, I'm soaked with perspiration. Of the homework that we receive on the very first day of eleveenth grade. Uh, three pages of math homework, an essay of English, and a project in science.

Valiantly I was the first one there. I chose the table nearest to the window and took out a sandwich from my brown bag. I took a bite. I swallowed. I kept glancing at the clock.

Where was TenTen?

The cafeteria was filling up 50sps (students per second, that is) and I still hadn't seen her. She was the girl who suffered through my parent's divorce, complained on school papers, etc, etc, bff for eva, besties.

I looked around - most tables were nnearly filled - except mine. All of a sudden I felt tears prickling my eyelids. The bread felt rough and dry in my mouth.

Where was she?

A noise. The dropping of a glass bottle.

I looked up.

Into, basically, the blackest blackest black, black, onyx, moonless, dark, cheerless, depressing, black, black,

eyes.

Somewhere in all the adjectives my throat made a noise. "Uh - " and I made an effort to blink, look away, oh nothing's wrong, totally cool, sitting here eating my lunch-mode. (It didn't work).

The owner of the black, black eyes sat down without a word and bit into his rice cake. He had spiky black hair (black, black need I add a further comment?) that trailed in dark locks arond his face.

He wore the traditional black boys uniform (it was, well, good on him) and had a slim build. But tall. Rather tall.

Once again my eyes met his black, black (need I specify?) eyes.

He ignored me.

A shout came from the farthest lunch table. Everyone heard.

"Oi, Sasuke, is she your new girlfriend?"

I just died and went to heaven.

Not.

Very gently I stood up, dumped my lunch into the garbage can, and grabbed my journal (I bring it everywhere, insert a rather hurried smiley face here). I nearly ran into the girls bathroom, feeling like I might puke.

:Recollection:

Uh, Sasuke Uchiha, basically the untouchable guy in our school?

It doesn't matter if

a. He's untouchable (why, that makes him hard-to-get, honey)

b. He lives (rumor has it) by himself

c. He stares at people codly,

most every girl likes him.

But not me (not because I'm special, I'm just deranged).

Naruto?

Yes, Naruto.

(More about that later.)

XxxxxXxxxxxX

I stood in front of the mirror, trying not to breathe very hard. Difficult, seeing my cheeks were blushing (again) and my palms were sweaty.

Sasuke Uchiha most likely hated me now. Due to that I'm the most unpopular girl (it's true, it's true, sadly, but it's true) and that I got to be (unluckily) declared his girlfriend on the (first day of school) lunchroom where everyone (could hear) was there and that oh why, oh why,

Did I have to choose that lunch table?

I hated high school. I hated it with a passssssion. Enrolling at a school in the first place was a mistake. Make it summer, make it a military school, a cyber school, a jail, just not a private school.

I just couldn't fit with the crowd. With the "popular" people. With anybody.

I heard the doorknob turn. In stepped a blond girl with beautiful curly (blond, of course) hair and the most fashionable wardrobe since buttered bread.

She sniffed daintily (sniffed, I did say sniffed) and bent over the sink to reapply her makeup.

Giving me, as people always do, a once-over. Then, "Are you seriously Sasuke's girlfriend? Because you're really not the type - "

I bit down hard on my lip and stared blazingly ahead. I muttered some incoherent excuse or the other - that would have to suffice as an answer - tears were literally starting to roll down my cheeks - and turned around, stepping into the first bathroom stall I saw.

XxxxxXxxxxxX

Preferred death: Anything but embarrassment. Like now. Also, I want to die a quick death. I hate school, well, not hate, school itself, sort of kind of.

Just the people in the school. I really don't think I can take this anymore...

A quick death includes: heart attack, stabbed in the back, decapitation (head chopped off), driven over by a car, shot at with many bullets.

Unappealing deaths iclude: Chinese water torture (in which the victim has water dripped on his/her head. The things is, the water droplets are random), choked, strangled, drowned, ripping off by limb, hitting the ground from a very high place, dying of embarrassement

(which I think I've done; maybe I've come back to life, sadly).

Please let me die right now. Please? Please? Pretty please?

XxxxxXxxxxxX

I shut the journal and stepped out the bathroom stall. Outside, the bell rang, announcing the arrival of seventh period.

I rearranged my hair - not much to arrange -, trying to smile, trying to be strong. Ready as I'd ever be, I supposed.

My shaking hands found the doorknob and I pushed out quickly. It slammed, considerably loud for a freaking bathroom door, into someone.

My mouth opened in horror and I dared to peek beyond the Evil Bathroom Door.

He glared at me through a bloody nose and a lip that was swelling.

Sasuke...Uchiha.

Well, at least his blood is red and not black, I thought unceremoniously, as the ground rushed up to me.

Oh, one more thing.

I couldn't stand blood. One look and I would pass out.

I'm not sure whether to continue or not. If the first few chapters don't have enough motivation then I won't.

Please review!