Hey guys!
Firstly, I'd like to thank all of those who read, followed, favourited and reviewed this story so far, even though the only had I had uploaded was a short, 600 word prologue.
I want everybody to know that the chapter names are based off of some of my favourite songs. This chapter's song is Beauty Queen by Foxes.
Enjoy!
- M
Annabeth was pretty much the queen of the school.
She was the High School Student Body President, despite only being in her junior year. She was the current valedictorian of her year, and people were sure that she would continue to be so in her senior year. She was tall, with the figure of a supermodel, and her outfits were crisp and clean and fitted her perfectly in all the right places. Her name was on the tip of everyone's tongue and her blinding smile could cause grown men to go weak in the knees.
She was born to rule.
Despite her pretty much perfect demeanour, she fucking hated high school.
Annabeth hated the way people would talk about those low on the high school food chain. Vicious rumours and lies spread throughout the school like a flood. This flood of course only affected those who couldn't afford to get out of it. Children of teachers, cleaners, uneducated "entrepreneurs" who tried to pass off as something special.
Her mother used to say that it's not about where you're born, it's about what you do with your life. But face it. If you were born poor, chances are, it's going to be difficult to get out of where you are. Those born with misfortune stay with it their whole lives.
So it was just her luck that she was born into power and wealth and just had to be diagnosed with fucking depression.
Her father thought that the way she was was caused by her mother, which Annabeth mentally denied but agreeably shrugged when he said it. She didn't want him to be worried. He didn't have time to be worried. His billion dollar enterprise was calling him every seven seconds, and she wasn't interested in less-than-seven-second conversations. So she took her antidepressants (to no avail) and was the same happy little fake she always was to protect both her father's sanity and his business.
Depression? More like a ticket to reality.
She took out her Chemistry textbook and shut her locker, turning to smile at Drew, her supposed best friend, who was touching up her eyeliner for the umpteenth time today. Drew was the cheerleading squad captain, and, if Annabeth might add, a complete whore by modern day standards. In addition to her fishnet leggings and bralets, she had a small pouty mouth which never managed to spout a compliment (towards anyone but Annabeth, of course), and dark, almond shaped eyes which would stare at you blankly at pretty much all times (whether it was due to the massive effort she put into not giving a shit or because she actually had no idea what you were saying, Annabeth didn't know).
As they shared petty gossip on the way to their next class, Annabeth wondered once again as to why she was friends with such a girl. For one, it was nice to have a gorgeous friend who wore less clothes than her dog since it took the attention away from her. It was also nice to have a friend who was a total bitch, since it made Annabeth feel as though she was a lovely human being (regardless of the fact that no, she wasn't).
The best thing, Annabeth decided, is that Drew knew every little bit of gossip there was in the school as soon as it came out. This way, Annabeth knew exactly when, where and why someone would try to soil her name, and she would be able to shut them down just in time to save herself.
Her biggest fear was the words of others. She couldn't let her life be ruined by some jealous little bitch.
So she made sure that no matter what she did, Drew was on her side. And Drew herself knew, that without Annabeth, she wouldn't be able to get away with even half of what she did now (starting with the bralets).
And so a wonderfully dysfunctional yet extremely functional friendship bloomed.
Annabeth slowed down her pace as she got near the Chemistry classroom, kissing Drew on the cheek twice out of routine ('mwah, mwah!') and shooting her a pleasant 'see ya, babes!' before heading towards her seat. There were still a couple of minutes before the class started, but majority of the class was present and bustling with teenage hormones and coffee driven energy. A scrawny boy in a faded navy blue hoodie stood in front of the class and attempted to act like their chemistry teacher, Mrs. Van As. He held his nose up high in the air and spoke in a disturbingly thick accent, pretending to tell some of the jocks off. Everybody snickered, except for Annabeth, who simply sighed and twirled her pencil around with her fingers.
He tries so hard, she thought, watching him with distaste. She knew who he was. Prissy - no, Percy Jackson, one of Maynard's biggest targets; poor, with uneducated parents, low level of intelligence, and even lower levels of self respect. Sure, his mom worked at Google, but she was simply a cook. Not even a chef, but a cook. Word about him got around fast, and being the idiot that he was, he attempted to pretend he knew nothing of the rumours. He then decided to get another target stapled onto his back as he became the class clown.
The bell rang, and the boy looked around as everybody settled into their seat at the lab desks. By the time the teacher walked in, it seemed that the only seat that was available was that next to Annabeth's. She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath as he stumbled towards the seat and wearily climbed on.
'Well class,' Mrs. Van As started, her thick Dutch accent dripping off of every word, 'today I will return your test papers.'
A groan. The woman glared.
'I have already marked them,' she hissed. 'We will look over the answers together, as it seems many of you had problems with this unit.'
Another groan. This time, the woman didn't even bother reacting. She took the papers and started to pass them out.
Annabeth sighed and tapped her pencil on the table. The boy next to her froze; he didn't even seem to be breathing. She suppressed a smirk, and weighed the idea of starting up a conversation. Just when she decided that no, that wasn't the best idea for her rep, a low voice caught her attention.
'You worried?'
She turned to the boy. 'Not particularly. You?'
'...Yeah.'
She had no idea what he meant by that but didn't bother continuing. He licked his lips and looked down at his hands, which were now a tangled mess. She guessed he was worried.
Mrs. Van As got to their table and slapped the test papers upside down so that their marks were covered. Annabeth picked up the paper and raised an eyebrow.
Ninety one percent. Not bad. She flipped through to look for her mistakes. Small points taken off for key terms. She didn't particularly study, so this was pretty good. Still an A+. She shrugged and carefully placed her paper on the table, ready to mark the mistakes, even though she knew the answers already.
She heard her neighbour pick up his test. She tried to see what he got from the corner of her eye, but he had curved the paper in such a way that he was the only person who could see the mark. He immediately slapped the paper back on the desk and scowled.
'Not what you expected?' she asked without thinking.
'I'm not very good with moles. Too many formulae to remember.'
She nodded and looked back down at the paper.
'Honestly, it's as if all of you had cheated from each other,' the older woman started, folding her arms. 'I've never had so many C's and D's in one class throughout my whole career!'
'And we know just how longs that is!' one of the students remarked. The class burst into laughter and the woman cleared her throat.
'This isn't a laughing matter. All but two of you barely passed and-or failed. I don't even know how to deal with such low marks.'
As the chemistry teacher walked them through the test, Annabeth noticed that her neighbour wasn't taking the notes on his test paper and next to the question, as most people did. He took all of the notes in a small journalist's notepad. She also noticed that he seemed to be taking notes on almost every question.
Is his mark that bad?
He glanced at her quickly, catching her eyes, and she immediately turned away. He soon followed.
Yeah. This wasn't going to become a friendship anytime soon.
When the bell rang to signify the end of class, everybody rushed to get out of the dreary classroom. The boy attempted to do the same thing, but struggled with putting the paper into his ratty backpack. When he finally managed to accomplish his task, he ran off, quickly saying goodbye to the teacher,
and forgetting to zip up his backpack.
The flap of the front pocket was drooping lazily downwards as he stormed out of the room, but her question had been answered.
But why in hell was he trying so hard to hide his mark?
She pulled the strap of her messenger bag over her shoulder and briskly walked in the opposite direction. She didn't need any involvement with someone as unpredictable as him. Where there's controversy, there's potential danger to her reputation.
