(AN: those of yall who know BMW real well will notice my titles are now episode titles or variations on them.again, sorry, I don't own them, but I think they work)

Day 2: New Friends and Old

I picked up Ditty on the way to school the next morning, honking in front of her house 'til she ran out looking suspiciously tousled and clutching half a bagel. She tossed her bag in the backseat before clambering into the front.
"Marissa," she yawned, throwing ugly looks at my car interior. "When are you going to wheedle mommy and daddy into buying you a new car? Or at least, a sanitary upgrade?"
I laughed. Ditty- Dorothy by birth, but who wants a name like that after Baum? Might as well name your kid Ozzie- is the freakiest neat freak ever. She doesn't give a monkey's uncle about her own room or possessions, but heaven forbid anything else around her be messed up. She's continuously tidying up everywhere she goes, from her friends' cars to unknown classmates' binders. While strangers often give her odd looks, we've decided that imposing our quirks on each other is fair trade.
"I mean, if it weren't for me you'd never get anyone inside this dump. No one can even fit into the backseat!"
A glance into the rearview mirror proved her right. The back was strewn with dirty clothes, broken sticks, and loose worksheets from school. "Keep your hair on, Ditty. You know I love my baby."
"Baby," she snorted. "This old thing shakes so much I swear it's gonna come apart right in the middle of Manitou."
"Ah, give it a rest already. You're hurting Barnacle Bob's feelings!"
Ditty sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes. Leaning forward, she snapped on the radio and flipped to KISS.
"Oh TURN THAT OFF!" I yelled, punching at the controls. The one thing Ditty and I don't agree on is music. She likes pop, while I rarely listen to anything other than alternative or rock. Unfortunately, South Carolina as a whole isn't too fond of my tastes, and I'm often hard pressed to find any good music on the radio. So after buying my old clunker, I saved up money to buy a better sound system with CD player and usually don't play anything else.
Today was no exception. After playfully wrestling Ditty away from the buttons and display, I slid in a CD and the sounds of Dave Matthews filled the car.
"Aw, Mar, we never listen to my music! Give it a chance."
"You want a ride anymore, lady?" I joshed her, turning into the school parking lot. Sophomore spots were way out in the boonies, so we had to walk across the lot to get to the entrance.
Our school is- how shall I put it- stuffy. It's a pretty cool campus, no doubt, however disturbingly it looks like the one from the movie Clueless. Abraham Lincoln High is officially a math/science/technology Magnet, which unfortunately does not explain the vast numbers of idiots wandering the hallways. And yet it's probably better than most schools in that sense.
We were joined in the quad by Tessa Curtis, whom I've known since 4th grade. At first a shy brunette, Tessa quickly gained friends in all circles. An avid gymnast, she recently made the varsity cheer team- to the amusement of those of us not quite as "well connected."
"So when's the Showcase gonna start up again?" she burbled, swinging her hand bag.
Ditty and I glanced amusedly at each other. Tessa's frivolity was infectious, making her a favorite at parties and shindigs. She was also the lead singer for my band, The * Showcase. (A/N: named after my friend's band, pronounced the asterisk showcase)
"Summer as usual, T. We're thinking the second Saturday after graduation will be first rehearsal." We only met during the summer, since all of the members were busy during the school year. As a band, our music was rather unremarkable. Our "act" was the fact that every member was proficient on all the instruments and could sing as well, so we commonly switched parts during gigs.
"We need to write some new songs, Mar. Covering The Beatles is getting old."
Ditty sighed, bored. "Honestly, you two can't get together without mentioning your precious band, can you? May we PLEASE speak of something else?" Ditty hasn't a musical bone in her body, which only makes teasing her that much more fun.
Laughing, we made our way to the sophomore wing. As Chow, Curtis, and Drayden, the three of us had always had lockers in the same vicinity.
"Chem test today."
"Oh, damn! I forgot." Ditty muttered, digging through her backpack for her notes.

"Ten bucks says White's not here for class- again."
"Yeah, I know. It's so friggin' annoying how she's always out the day of a test."
We sat at the foot of Ditty's locker, chatting about everyday items. Soon Tessa wandered off to members of her cheer squad, and I was left with a Ditty frantically flipping through pages of disordered notes. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, sleep deprived as was the norm.
"Hey, Marissa." A guy's voice interrupted my downtime. My lids flew open and I grinned widely.
Before me stood a black haired, blue eyed genius with a mildly sardonic look on his face. "Mikey-boy! Skipping again, were we?"
He shrugged carelessly. "Avoiding the ennui of secondary education." Nodding in greeting, "'Lo, Dit."
"Don't talk to me- busy- " she managed, covering her ears while mouthing facts and figures in an attempt to cram.
"Chemistry." I replied to his quizzical look.
"Ah." One side of his mouth lifted slightly. "Old White's still at it, eh?"
Before I could answer, the second bell rang signaling 2 minutes to the start of class. Ditty moaned, scooping her papers up. "I'll see ya'll at lunch- if I haven't dropped dead from testing, that is." With that, she hurried off in the direction of the science wing.
"Allow me, madam." Michael gallantly held a hand out to pull me up.
"Why, thank you kind sir." Smiling at our usual banter, we started towards Mr. Courtney's math class.
Along the way Michael received not a few admiring looks. He's handsome, in a nerdy, aloof way. Always disregarding rules of fashion, he invariably dresses in somewhat baggy jeans and checked button down shirts. But more alluring to some is his endowment of brains or status of being Mr. Richie Rich.
Although Michael was a senior, we had the same first period math class. He was in the multivariable level, which was not technically offered at our school. Thus, the multivariable calculus class of three took independent math studies during my pre-calculus class.
Of course, that's not to say they actually DID anything. While the juniors and few seniors and sophomores in my class pored over trig functions, radians, logarithms, and derivatives, Michael, Trey, and Sarah played chess or finished homework for other classes.
Mr. Stewart was out at a math workshop. The sub, an apathetic man in his early 30's, gave us a free day in deference to fond memories of his own high school. He then promptly swiveled around and ignored us for the rest of the period.
"Hey, so," Michael said, walking up my desk and interrupting my own bout of chemistry crammage. "is the group doing a movie Saturday?"
"Can't. I've got this screening thing on set all day. But ya'll can go without me." 'The group' consisted of Michael, Ditty and her boyfriend Sam, my band mates Sarah, Tim, and John, me, and occasionally Tessa and her current squeeze.
"Oh, right, Mar. Like it'll ever get organized without you, Ms. Social Director."
I laughed. He's called me that ever since after one of his more traumatic breakups, when I made it a priority to find him a new interest and set him up with every girl I knew. Although there is some truth to the nickname when it comes to my aptitude at getting parties and movie groups together.
"Fine, then. Saturday night's always-"
Michael's words were cut off by the entrance of one of the vice principles- so help me, there are about 20, and I've yet to learn their names- with a new student in tow.
I shifted my gaze to the AP in preparation for the introductory spiel. And froze.
This was impossible. There was no way that he was here, now!
"Adam?" I whispered.