O1. Apply Yourself

The blackboard was a jumble of foreign symbols to Rocco as he stared clueless at it, his brain giving up on trying to make sense of what it all meant. Math had never been his strong subject, nor had science or English or history. He was good at sports, and physical education was really the only good mark he had.

He sighed and placed his jaw in his palm, his fingers grazing the tip of it. He was bored. He didn't understand the lesson and was craving some blood. He longed to get out of the painfully dull room and run around in the grass field next to the gym, kick a ball around, feel the breeze through his shaggy, untamable black hair. Instead, he was being forced to study some form of equations with letters instead of numbers. If one plus one equaled two, did that mean A plus A equaled B? He didn't get it at all.

He glanced at the clock, which was ticking by ever so slowly, taunting him as it slowed. Soon, to him, the second hand seemed to stop. His thick eyebrows rose, his eyes widening in fear.

He tore his eyes from the clock. Watching it wouldn't make the class go by any faster. Instead, he looked around. Everyone else was jotting down the notes on the board, completing the sample equations that were written for practice. He felt lost and alone. Everybody else obviously understood what the lesson was, so why couldn't he? Rocco turned to his right and noticed Tripp, one of his best friends, with his head ducked, furiously scribbling down the answers to the problems on the board. His earphones were plugged into his ears, blasting his techno punk music, but with his advanced hearing, he could still tune in to what Mrs. Petrov was explaining. Tripp was smart, so it didn't surprise Rocco that he understood the lesson. His thin frame was compressed into a pair of black slacks, his stick-thin waist wrapped with numerous studded belts, and a white button-down shirt, a black tie with a spider-webbed pattern wrapped tightly around his neck. His thick-rimmed rectangular glasses were perched on the edge of his nose as wispy blonde hair hugged the nape of his neck and framed his face, turning out near his ears.

Rocco turned to his left and noticed Kat, another one of his best friends, also scribbling away, cracking her gum and blowing bubbles with it as she did her work. Kat was the sole female in Rocco's clique of four, and she was the feistiest. She was petite with a ballerina figure, but those who knew her knew not to be deceived by her appearance. Her usual deadpan expression gave this away to people, silently telling them to not cross her path. Her curvy figure was pressed into a corset dress with a tutu skirt, her legs encased in fishnet leggings. She sported a vinyl black jacket and a pair of chunky combat boots to complete her look, along with a string of black beads, a leather choker, and her trademark headband with little black devil horns that poked out of her jaw-length brunette hair, stripes of black streaking it. Rocco knew Kat was also smart, so it was also no surprise to him that she was doing the problems with ease as well.

In fact, Rocco felt like the least smart one of their little clique, as Claude Sterling was pretty smart too. At least he understood calculus. Rocco looked over to Kat's other side and noticed Claude with his jaw resting on his fist, his pencil gliding over the paper. He absentmindedly ran his ringed fingers through his shaggy locks of dyed blonde, the black roots of his natural hair color apparent and streaking the strands, as Claude pressed his lips together, his silver lip ring hugging his bottom lip. Claude's slim athletic figure was donned in a metal band t-shirt, the neck hazardously torn, underneath his favorite motorcycle jacket with the spikes on the shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to display the flame tattoos that circled both of his wrists and traveled up his forearms. His legs were encased in a pair of torn black skinny jeans stuffed in combat boots, his waist adorned in chains, studded and missile belts. Claude was the most popular one out of their clique, but that was because he was known for being so rich, however nobody other than Rocco, Kat, and Tripp knew why he was really so rich. His family were the royal vampires, the Sterlings, but if anyone knew they were vampires, well, things wouldn't be the way they are.

He began to doodle in the margins of his notebook until the period was over, which took such a painfully long time. He slumped in his chair and wondered how come he wasn't so smart. He was a vampire too, at least half of one, like his friends. It was also the reason why he was rejected so greatly by his parents. They couldn't understand how Rocco had become a half-vampire when they themselves were full-blooded vampires. Rocco was a disappointment to his parents, and if hadn't been for being so well in sports, he figured they'd probably disown him. He wasn't worth keeping if he couldn't do anything. It was actually the reason why he stayed in school. He would drop out in a heartbeat if he didn't have to prove to his parents that he was not a disappointment.

He began to think about how much his friends meant to him. They were always there for him and supported him. They also knew exactly how he felt, as they were half-vampires too and were rejected in their own ways.

Rocco was thrilled to hear the obnoxious shrill of the school bell, signifying that class was over. He stuffed his notebook into a faded black backpack that was adorned with patches of metal bands and safety pins before slinging it over one shoulder. He stood with his friends and they made their way to the exit until Mrs. Petrov called for him.

"Rocco! Could I speak to you for a minute?" she asked. Rocco exchanged looks with Claude, Kat, and Tripp.

"We'll meet you after school," Tripp assured and they left the classroom. Rocco reluctantly trudged towards her desk where she sat behind. One of his hands was stuffed into the pocket of his slightly sagging skinny jeans, his waist draped with spiked and bullet belts, and the other clutched the shoulder strap of his backpack, his wrist sporting a matching spiked bracelet as his belt.

"Yes?" he asked, slightly irritated.

"Rocco, I know you're struggling in my class," she said flatly. He narrowed his eyebrows. "Your test scores are extremely low, you never turn in any homework … I can only think of one solution that doesn't involve holding you back a year in math."

"Oh yeah? And what's that?" he snapped. She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyebrows, crossing her arms over her chest. He didn't like the idea of being held behind in math, because, truth was, it wasn't just math he'd have to worry about flunking. It was all of his subjects. He might as well flunk the eleventh grade. He couldn't do that, though. He couldn't disappoint his parents any further than he already did. He had to pass the eleventh grade. He had to graduate from high school.

He mentally cursed himself, his parents, and the vampire gods for being a half-vampire. If he'd been a full-blooded vampire, then he wouldn't have to come to high school. He could stay at home, be homeschooled like normal vampires. He wouldn't be a disappointment to his parents because he'd be a normal vampire.

"A tutor," Mrs. Petrov said. "I will assign a tutor to you. If the tutor doesn't help, then I'll have no choice but to flunk you, and, trust me, that's the last thing I want to do. I think one year is enough time to have you in my classroom." She said this in a teasing tone, but Rocco knew she wasn't joking. He was a bit of a troublemaker.

"A tutor? Are you serious?" Rocco asked in disbelief.

"Completely. Oh, and in order to prevent anything from keeping you from your studies, I'm telling your coach to suspend from the extracurricular sports teams. You need to get at least a C in my class if you're going to pass and move on to twelfth grade math," said Mrs. Petrov firmly. Rocco's eyes widened in fury. He was going to be suspended from the sports teams? How unfair was that?

Rocco stared at her with narrowed eyes and groaned. "Well, I'm sorry for being so stupid," he muttered.

"You're not stupid," she said sincerely. "You just don't apply yourself. I'll find you the best tutor, okay? Like I said, I don't want you to flunk." Rocco rolled his eyes. He got that "you don't apply yourself" crap every year from every teacher. It was really getting old.

"Whatever. Mr. Gruel is going to hate you for making him suspend me," Rocco warned.

"I think I'll live," she joked, but that only made Rocco glare even harder. "Now, get going to your next class. You can't afford to flunk any more of your classes."

Rocco scoffed as he turned on the heel of his battered Converse. "Too late," he said over his shoulder, and left for his next class.

Rocco leaned against his locker with disappointment. He'd reached enough stupidity to earn himself a personal tutor to help him with all of his subjects. What was worse was the fact that he had to be suspended from sports so he could concentrate on his studies. He couldn't believe it! Sports! The very reason he wanted to come to school—so he could play—and now it was taken away from him.

He growled and glared, then suddenly turned and threw a fist into the metal door of his locker, creating a large dent in it. He hated Mrs. Petrov. As he opened his locker to take the dent out of the door, he thought of how parched he was. Nobody would suspect him of any relation to Mrs. Petrov's disappearance, right?

"Hey," a familiar female voice chimed from behind. Rocco turned, his narrowed eyes meeting Kat's dulled expression as she cracked her bubblegum before blowing a bubble. It popped and she continued to chew it. "Beating up your locker again? What did it do this time?"

Rocco rolled his eyes. "Let's just go already," he said to Claude, who stood beside Kat, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket. He nodded and the quartet of half-vampires walked out of the school.