Chapter Two

Imagine

Lemme' clarify something;

I was not expecting to run into Andrew Clark's arms on monday morning. I most certainly WAS NOT expecting dazzling fire works and Shermer High to burst into song and dance.

No. NO. NO!

I wasn't even expecting to exchange a look of familiarity with Andrew Clark, John Bender, Claire Standish, or even Brian Johnson in passing from English to Science.

I honestly thought that when all of Shermer high comes together from their weekend everybody would return to their cliques and even the slightest memory of "The Breakfast Club" would be pushed aside... Like it never happened.

Well, you probably know it. Just picture the typical high-school Monday morning scene. No?

That's alright. I'll just paint a little picture for ya of what being a "Basket Case" in 'Shermer High' is like.

Lining the walls like two rows of obedient soldiers are the shiny red lockers. Always the same annoying couple that the whole school knows are together would very often be fornicating without shame against the lockers. Of course not giving a shit about how awkward the poor freshman s may feel as they awkwardly look towards the floor and shuffle away.

Yuck! Making out at 6:45 AM on a Monday?

...Ah, young love.

Very ironically shouting down the hallway in her beige high heels is the sex-ed teacher, Mrs. Greene. Click-Clop, Click-Clop

Now, we speed down the hallway. More people will be filing in through the doors with pink cheeks from the cold morning air. Round' the corner is a huge bulletin board. Upon this heap of cork, pinned - are masses upon masses of fliers scrawled with information for sporting activities. Hockey - football- soccer- basketball- wresting - the works.

In big bold sparkly letters, "Vote for prom Queen" smack in the center of the wall. Pushed out to the side of the board would be the activities that only a few care for.. For example, "Debate Club" with the last weeks topic of debate scribbled on the paper, these fliers were usually plain in colour and crumpled up.

Well, I think my little flier metaphor pretty much sums up the social hierarchy of highschool.

I read a subtitle on one of the debate club fliers. Apparently, Shermer High has a problem with computer hacking. I don't know what "Hacking" is, but I'm pretty sure brainy Brian knows all about it. Perhaps I'll ask him about it.. I mean. That's if we're still friends.

Let us shuffle along the corridor that leads down into the activities hall.

In the girl's bathrooms, my god the smell. I mean, don't get me wrong. Perfume is great! But eight different brands. Polluting the stagnant air. Is. Not. Great. Rather an asthma sufferer's worst nightmare.

Have you ever noticed that every girl has their own signature way of applying perfume? I mean, we've got the ones that delicately spritz themselves, in their pretentious lady like manner. While we got the others that shimmy their way loudly through a cloud of fragrance. Usually wearing outrageously large bangles on their wrists, that jingle and jangle.

When Alison Reynolds, me. Enters the bathroom, the girly chatter falls to a low hushed murmur. They are no doubt exchanging bitchy looks about my odd appearance. When the freak show is over, the clattering off cosmetics in a makeup bag will rattle the air. In the mirrors, reflected would be a cluster of "Princesses" carefully applying pink lipstick to pouted lips, or smoothing their perfectly tamed locks.

Just brushin' up before first lesson.

"Ugh, we've got gym first!" a princess whines as she looks at the lessons she has for Monday morning. As if time has been stopped, the girls stop and stare at one another.

The Princesses usually devised a plan to cut P.E and go shopping, just like Claire did.

6:55 Am, Oh! Five minutes to first period. More students file in through the hallway now. A pissed off looking student - usually a girl with average grades, pretty eyes, and enjoys cracking her knuckles. Will power walk through the hallway beholding the:

"I Woke Up Late, Had To Bolt Out The Door - Left My English Assignment, Forgot To Put On Deodorant, I Don't Give A Flying Fuck If I Bump Into You In My Dramatic Walk Of Burning Rage, As I No Longer Give A Rat's Ass About The Social Etiquette Of Murmuring 'Sorry' To This Jack-Ass, Fuck you, Fuck this, Fuck that, Fuck it all, WALK FASTER! ALSO I Refuse To Look On The Bright Side Of Life At This Current Point Of My Existance...Because I Am The Middle Child . NOW GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY" Face.

It's a hell of a face.

I have noticed that these kinds of people simply cannot be defined. As there is not a class, or stereotype they fall under. This is usually because he or she is a senior student with better things to worry about than their social status on the high school ladder. Or they have developed a better understanding off themselves, and know who they are. They have confidence. It's amazing.

Andrew and his rowdy group of friends clad in their Letterman jackets, laughing and passing a ball back and forth. A towering group of immature boys, with overly large egos, and a healthy blood pumping glow in their cheeks. Of course an attractive bunch.

Depending on the weather; determines where the "Sports" or "Jocks" will be. If the sun is shining gold, it's mildly warm, and not flurrying down snow. Then the "Sport" cliché will have positioned themselves out on the football field. If it's pissing it down, or dangerously icy - the "Sports" will obviously be inside.

Can't be slipping and breaking bones, when they've got fathers to reap praise from can they?

Regardless of where this group are, they are always causing havoc. Last week, Stubby whipped a ball so hard at Andrew that he had no choice but to dodge it than catch it. The football smashed into Bender's locker denting the metal like a crater. The death weapon ricocheted off Bender's locker, hitting a girl who was carrying one of those pretend babies for Health and Social Care class.

Of course, the robot baby let out a howling set of sobs as it hit the ground. The "Sports" roared with unkind laughter. Let's just say the girl looked utterly pissed off, running down the hallway to retrieve the doll's decapitated head.

"Ah! Whadda throw!" roaring laughter erupted from the Sport's and stupid high-fiving followed.

In the library Brian and his geeky group of smarty arty friends will be pouring over pages of extra extension physics homework. Only revealing their freckled cheeks and glinting braces when they had to discuss their answers with each other.

Ten minutes into first period, along comes Bender. Strolling calmly through the field - odd matching socks - a lit cigarette in his mouth - and late as usual.

Then there is me.

Just me - teetering along, head down. To put it into perspective: I'm that lone tumbleweed in your dad's favorite western film. I'm that bit of the film where you scrunch up your nose and say: "What. the fuck. was. that?"

Got an idea of what Shermer High is like? You better, cause I'm gonna get on with my story now.

I guess I'll just begin with, the cafeteria's sticky disaster regarding the chocolate cakes.. a recipe now nicknamed 'Mud Hearts'

Author's Note:

Another chapter, done and dusted! Tank-you for reading :)

Forbidden Basket Case and Sporto Romance is on the way.. xoxo