"Peter?" the teacher begins in her normal conceding voice, "Will you give us the honor of knowing your last name, peter?" The class laughs. I hate the way she speaks to Peter, but what choice do I have? I'm not exactly going to go against the crowd of people, right?

"Last n-I. . .er. . . Landon!" He almost screams the last part. I expect him to look embarrassed, but he just seems to be relieved. Whatever. He brings whatever happens to him upon himself, I tell myself.

"Peter Landon . . ." the teacher has abandoned poking fun at the new kid, to my relief, and to everyone else's disappointment. "Yes, here you are. Take a seat, if you will. Britland will begin shortly."

Britland is our version of a cool, student created show. Except, the only people who would DARE join something as geeky as that are bloody dorks. Surprise, surprise.

We all groaned, as we are supposed to whenever Britland is ever mentioned. It is expected of us to hate it, of coarse.

Peter looks over the room with his soft brown eyes. His eyes seem to stop when they reached me. I take it as my overactive imagination and look away. He heads towards the back of the room ,stepping over bags on his way. He doesn't get very far before John Paren sticks out his leg.

Peter did not know what hit him. He tumbls to the floor, his books flying out of his arms. No one get out of their seats to pick them up. Laughter begins in waves. The whole class laughs, including me. What, was I supposed to stand up for him? A kid I don't even know? Dream on, dreamer. It's all men [or women] for themselves in secondary school.

When Peter finally does get to the back, he realizes the seats are full.

-.-.-

It doesn't seem to faze him, these obvious attempts to make him show weakness. All he seems to show was confusion. This reminds me of Padriac. I don't want to relate this new kid to my knight in shining armor, though, so I try to lose that thought.

I didn't describe him, did I? Peter is thin, but not too thin. He has brown hair and soft, shy brown eyes. He had a bright green shirt on [no wonder people make fun of him. What kind of idiot is he to WEAR that shit?] and dark green trousers. I only use the word trousers because they look like pants that could only be described as TROUSERS.

Another thing that is so irritating about him was the fact that he doesn't fight back. He doesn't glare, he doesn't curse. He barely speaks at all, in fact. It is soddin' annoying. He should just yell out in outrage just to get everyone to stop trying.

But even though I know that he deserves every little thing done to him, I can't help but feel as though I want to be his friend. The day he arrived, when I see him enter the lunchroom, I raise my hand to beckon him over.

Ashley, seeing my hand raise, gasps. "Omg, what do you think your doing?!" she cries in her little voice. She is my least, er, how to say this. . .favorite friend, I suppose. If I can even consider her a friend.

"Calling him over. I want to be nice and welcome him to school." I speak as if I had planned this. I hadn't.

"Are you CRAZY?!" screams Holly. They all look slightly deranged with their faces all scared. They, as in, the PEs and some GP. I almost laugh out loud. "He's a nerd! I thought you HATED nerds, Pix. You're always going on and on about how they're worse than Punks and them people. What happened to your principles?!"

"Whoa, whoa. Holly, he's NOT a nerd. He's. . .something else." I' never told them about my theory regarding everyone being put in groups. They won't like it. It's totally not normal.

"He is SUCH a nerd. He is so-o stupid and he's annoying. God, he is childish and EVERYTHING! And YOU wanted to bring him to sit HERE. Ew!" Hannah ends her speech [that was a speech for her] with a sharp squeak.

"Hello. " I look up to meet the bright eyes of Peter.

"Hi," I begin, but I am interrupted by Georgina.

"Get away, your twit. God, go back to where you came from. Under a rock. Ha ha ha!" She cackles and Peter recoils in fear. Or what seems like fear.

"I'm sorry. I thought I was called here." He meets my eye again. This time I look away and roll my eyes so that everyone but Peter could see.

"I called," I say. "I wanted to welcome you to London's best school. St. Joseph secondary school welcomes you. Retard." My friends and I crack up. But even while I am laughing, I sneak a look at Peter. He has on that annoying confused look in his eyes. But there is something in there as well. Sadness. And I can't help feeling guilt for causing it.

I squash my guilt by just reminding myself of my ethics: that innocent souls like him never make it through secondary school.

That's what home schooling is for.