Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Thanks for just reading it too. I don't think that it's really fair of me to ask for reviews when I'm not a great reviewer myself. All things aside, here's the (shorter) second chapter.

Why School Sucks

Talise is the only one up when I leave for the first day of school. The younger kids don't start school until next Monday so everyone else is sleeping until they have to get up.

"Don't call me while I'm in a class unless its an emergency. If I get in trouble, I'll gut you with a saber. I do have a period of nothingness from 2:45 to 3:45 so if your car doesn't work or something call. Otherwise, I'll be typing up my essay." Her eyes are soft with concern. She knows how much I hate the start of the school year.

"The car hasn't even been driven before. I doubt it will spontaneously combust."

"Yes, but because this is the first time there might be something wrong that we don't know."

"Since when were you a car expert?"

"Since never. It's called common sense."

"If the car does spontaneously combust, I'll give you my inheritance."

"Deal." Then, I leave.

There's something exhilarating about being able to drive to school. It must have something to do with the knowledge that you are in control. You could have decided to take a left and come around another way, but you didn't. Despite my euphoria, first day of school jitters still crash over me.

I park the car my Dad got me for my sixteenth birthday two years ago somewhere near the back of the parking lot in slip out unnoticed. My new locker is by the art room. Last night, Talise and I went over my schedule with a map of King to make sure I knew where I was going and what to bring with me when. After the disastrous first week back I had last year, I was more than willing to sacrifice my pride for this.

It isn't until I'm on my way to my first class when the first catastrophe occurs.

"Hey, sped. Why are you in such a rush? Class doesn't start for another 20 minutes," someone jeers. They know exactly why I'm heading to class already. Like vultures, if there's one circling, I can guarantee more within minutes. With more urgency, I set off for my first class which is all the way on the other side of the building. Stupid, really, because predators love a good chase. Next thing I know, a foot sends me flying through the air. I force myself to keep it together as I collect my scattered belongs amidst the taunting laughter. It's all free entertainment for them.

I hate school.

Remarkably, I do make it to my first class, despite the pack of kids that have loyally hounded me since elementary school. Madison and Sherry have always been good at turning people against me. According to them, I'm lazy and spoiled. Everyone is willing to make concessions for me because I'm Raife Davies daughter. I stayed behind two years in school after I threw a temper tantrum and refused to go. No private school would take me, no matter how much my parents offered to pay, and I'm too arrogant to talk to anyone. Add to that the fact that I am too proud to take pity offers, and you've got a recipe for loner-ship.

There are new additions to the pack this year. A freshman girl who looks like a puppy trying to please is calling me the least creative names I've ever heard, and there's a big guy with blond hair and blue eyes using his "manly" laugh to catch Madison's attention. I hate blue eyes. When I had to read The Giver in seventh grade (I'm not a book person, but that was even more horrible than usual), the character went on and on about how blue eyes have depth. They don't. Blues eyes are either... diluted, I think, like Joe's or very intense, cold, hard and cruel. Under no circumstances do they have any depth.

Lunch is a disaster. You'd think that in high school bullies would have more sophisticated forms of torture than stealing your lunch. But, nope, bullies don't seem to learn much. Currently, the blond guy from earlier is waving my pizza in the air and threatening to eat it if I don't tell him what 2 plus 2 is. By now, I know better than to play these games. Even saying something is dangerous. Too much time cooped in an attic with Talise has improved my vocabulary, but in a verbal sparring match, I'll just make a fool of myself.

I try to walk out of the cafeteria, but this blond guy out-maneuvers me.

"Nuh-uh," he says in a baby's voice. "You can't leave until you tell me what two plus two is." My patience is wearing thin, but I keep my face stony. Instead, I change this into a waiting game. I pretend I'm refusing to talk to Talise or just listening to Joe or my mother lecture me on my shortcomings like they do once every few months. "Come on, don't tell me you don't know? You can't be that stupid." Yes, blockhead, I know what two plus two is. You're the one that needs to ask.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Madison and Sherry watching. I would risk a smart remark back if it were just this guy who doesn't seem so bright, but I know that if it turns into a verbal war, I won't be able to confront three people. Never pick a fight you can't win. The boy takes a bite out of my pizza. Clearly, he doesn't care about the fact that I've already bitten into it. "Mmm. Why don't you just tell me what two plus two is and you can enjoy your pizza?" As more time passes, he becomes uneasy and a little self-conscious of the fact that he looks like an idiot standing around with a piece of pizza above his head.

Just when I think he might shuffle awkwardly away, something cold soaks into my scalp and down my neck. Whirling around, I find Madison, Sherry, and the gaggle of cheerleaders laughing with a chocolate milk carton. Didn't even have the decency to use water. The heat of anger and shame in my cheeks only doubles when the blond jerk drops the pizza down the back my shirt.

Off to the bathroom.

Spanish, which I have after lunch this year, is my favorite subject. I'm actually good at it. When I was in eighth grade it hit me that I was stuck in a rut. Even if I did well in my class, more advanced classes would still learn more than me, and I'd still be behind no matter how hard I tried. On the other hand, Spanish was different. Almost everybody would start a foreign language next year. If I started out strong, I could end up in advanced foreign language classes at least. The summer between eighth and ninth grade was spent wildly drilling in Spanish with Talise. Reading and writing were what worried me most, but to my surprise, written Spanish was actually easier than written English. Spanish is a very phonetic language. Once I learned words aurally it was a lot easier to spell them than it was in English. (Spelling and reading have always been my pitfalls.) As long as I didn't panic and rush, my Spanish was very accurate. Additionally, Mr. Ellis, our Spanish teacher, is tough, but good. Most kids hated having him, but I was overly prepared for Spanish to be lethal that I was pleasantly surprised that I survived. I even had the pleasure of showing up Madison who claims to know the language already. I'm thinking about majoring in it although I don't know what I'll do after.

Being in Spanish soothed my frayed nerves enough for me to get through the rest of the day. The first few weeks of school are always hard. The vultures are hungry, having been deprived of victims all summer, and I'm soft after a peaceful 2 months. Still, I make it until the bell rings at 2:30. The sun glares at me with all its leftover summer heat. Weaving my way through cars, I keep catching hushed whispers and giggles. It isn't until I get to my car that I find out why.

Of course, this day isn't over yet though because when get outside my windshield is covered in a thick layer of lotion. Yeah, lotion. I tested it. There's laughter all around. For a moment, I'm too stunned to do anything. Apparently bullies do learn new tricks. All around the lot there are taunts flying about how I thought that my car needed sun lotion. This is moisturizing lotion, but there's no point in telling them that.

At first, I frantically attempt to wipe it off with my sleeves to the hoots of students who usually would already have left. Nobody considers helping. They've grown too used to it. Eventually, I decide to try the windshield wipers, but when I spray water on it, the lotion smears on my window. Unwilling to leave my car to face the sneers again, I call Talise.

"Hello?" Talise sounds bored.

"Can you bring some towels to the King parking lot?"

"Why?" How do I explain this?

"My car is uh... covered in lotion."

"Okay... sure." Then, she hangs up.

With the LA traffic, most of the people have gone before Talise arrives, armed with towels. Only a few cars are left in the student parking lot. Waiting alone, I glance up to a tap on the window to see the blond kid from earlier grinning at me.

"Gonna wait here until the sun dries off the lotion?" he mocks. "You should have seen yourself trying wipe off the windshield." I'm angry and really shouldn't say anything so I keep my mouth shut. "What? Can't you even talk? Retard." Yesterday, I was so excited about being able to drive and step towards independence, but they couldn't take that could they? They couldn't let me be happy about anything. They can't stand to have me not in misery. I'm crying, I know it. He's still saying something, but I'm too furious to notice.

I push past him out of the car, determined to walk home if I have to. Luckily, Talise chooses to pull up then. The creep, whatever his name is, doesn't connect Talise with me and keeps spewing junk out of his mouth, and I'm trying not to let her see that I'm crying. Stupid really, because Talise, the girl who hates scenes, drama, and conflicts of any kind, is walking over with a growing frown. When what's-his-name pauses to take a breath, Talise interjects frostily.

"Are you quite done?"

He jerks around shocked to see anyone there. Now, he's nervous because Talise is pulling off the full Dennison haughty glare. Aiden uses it on me all the time. Eyebrows both arched and lowered at the same time with lips curled; nose upturned; and eyes judging contemptuously down at him, even though the jerk is much taller. I don't like you, and if you don't think that matters you're dead wrong because your life is over. The last time Talise employed it on me was when we were both nine, and she was in no way pleased to be saddled with a useless kid. Now, however, the guy is shifting from foot to foot, unsure of just what Talise could and might do. Uncomfortably, he leaves.

Talise tosses me a towel, and we wipe all the lotion off the car. I focus on getting everything off so that I don't have to look at her.

"You want to drive back?"

I shake my head wordlessly. Silence blares at us on the drive home. Once we're safe in our attic, I curl up on my bed and sob. Talise clumsily pats my back.

I fumbled with the buttons on my shirt. My mind seemed separated from my fingers by a wall, and my actions grew more separate as the seconds ticked by. Shoving my fingers out of the way Talise impatiently pushes them into their holes.

"I showed this to you four times already," she snarled angrily. "It's not that hard to button a shirt. Will you stop being so stupid?"

I broke into tears. Why couldn't I do this stupid thing? Why wouldn't my fingers just push the button through the hole? Talise's glare smoldered, burning an image of two furious eyes deep into my memory.

I guess I can't blame Talise for that day years ago. She was only nine, with no understanding of understanding. Sometimes, I can't help but be bitter about it though.

It has been nine years since I came home on the first day of school and didn't cry.