"Here's to the class of 2307!" everyone around me cheered, tossing their traditional white caps into the air. It was pretty funny to look at, all of them wearing itty-bitty tops and skirts, or short-shorts, throwing white caps up into the air. I snorted upon seeing one of the caps fall squarely onto head. When he started to pout about it, the Queen of Flakes, chirped that everything would be okay, James and then kissed his forehead to "make the booboo better".

"Gag me." I wrinkled my nose.

Graduating should have made me happy. Virtual High was like an old-fashioned prison, before the whole concept of brain-sucking became so popular, that is. Before the Seven Seas of Rhye, people were incarcerated, in itty-bitty, 5' by 8' cells without access to any technology whatsoever. Imagine. Our school – minus the no technology rule - was just like that, with the teachers as the taunting guards, and the other students as pouty fellow in-mates. Keeping with the prison metaphor, if they were in the slammer for nonsense, like illegally downloading a candy bar, I was a hardcore criminal sentenced to solitary confinement. Graduation meant that my sentence was over. I would never have to put up with the catty in-mates or the domineering guards again. I might never have to see these people again at all! I should have been jumping for joy…but I wasn't.

The moment that I imported my diploma onto my laptop should have been one of the most triumphant of my life thus far. Instead, all I felt was anxiety, frustration, and – though I hated to admit it – fear. What was I going to do now? Where did I go from here? Going home wasn't an option anymore. My father would be furious and I did not want to witness the aftermath of our fight that morning. I'd had enough of him He was petty, rude and insensitive to the world around him. When I'd called him an asshole, you can bet your bottom eDollar that I'd meant it…and he was a stubborn one too!

"Stubborn as a mule, he is," Mam used to say when I was little. Then, as she brushed a strand of hair away from my face, she'd add, "Just like you."

When I was younger, I'd smile at that proudly; the thought that I was like him made me proud. My father seemed to me to be an amazing man: strong, handsome, smart, and confident. If I could be just a bit like him, then I was lucky. Then, as I got older, I started realizing that he wasn't as perfect as I'd once believed. I noticed how he yelled at my mother when she didn't do what he wanted, how he yelled at me, how everything always had to be by the book, the way he liked it. I grew to hate it, and him. When my mother told me I was stubborn, just like him, I would wrinkle my nose and shake my head. Funny thing was, so would my father.

"No, not like me," he'd announce. "Just like her mother." The look he'd give my mother then was chilling. His eyes would be on fire, and if looks could kill, she'd have been dead. That was the exact look he'd given me at breakfast. There was no way I could go back home after that look. As much as I hated our sorry excuse for a society, I didn't exactly feel like dying quite yet, thanks. But…where would I go then?

I heard one of our teachers cry out, disrupting my thoughts, "But you live in a perfect world! What more could you want?"

A stuttering voice answered, "I…I want to break free!"

Just then, something very unusual happened. That scared voice suddenly started to sing. When it did, it became strong, clear and confident…the kind of voice that sends shivers up your spine. Okay, maybe not…but it sent them up mine, anyway. "I want to break free. I want to break free. I want to break free from your lies you're so self-satisfied, I don't need you. I've got to break free. God knows, God knows I've got to break free."

"My thoughts exactly," I whispered, my heart thumping in my chest. I turned around to see who the voice belonged to.

"That kid with the rubber bands?" I wrinkled my brow. I found it pretty hard to believe that the anxious, wimpy guy who did weird things, like twang elastic bands around boxes was the one singing like that. There he was though, singing his weird little heart out…and not just singing either, but dancing too! Granted, he looked slightly demented…but hey, so did everyone else these days. At least this guy looked…passionate. No, that wasn't the right word for him. He looked alive! It made me feel alive just watching him! I almost felt like joining in with him. This bizarre dancer boy was almost magical. Bizarre and magical. Never thought those two words would go together…

There was something strange though, a peculiar quality about his song that made me feel giddy. I'd never quite felt this way before. I smiled and twirled around a little. I actually giggled (Me? Giggling? Wow.) at how silly I must have looked. To my surprise, I even started to hum a little.

I was so caught up in my own little tune that I didn't even realize that the boy had disappeared, along with the teacher he'd been talking to.

"Weird," I scrunched up my nose.

Having not got my fill of the music, I looked around to see if anyone else was around. Nope, nobody was watching. The coast was clear. I smiled to myself and started to sing, just like rubber-band boy, "Oh, how I want to break free!"

For some reason, I was expecting applause when I finished my little solo (I know, weird), but I got something quite different instead: the squealing and giggling of a group of Gaga Girls. Wouldn't you know it? They just so happened to be the Teen Queens, also known as the peppiest, perkiest, and pinkest of the Gaga's.

"Look, it's the loser!" one of them, who happened to be particularly pink, crowed. In response, the other girls cackled in unison.

"Jaysus, sounds like I've been joined by the Barn Yard Gang," I rolled my eyes, and prepared for what was sure to be a lovely confrontation, "Just my luck."