This chapter was probably one of the best yet. I just like it.

"Gosh!"

Harold took an intake of his in haler, his chest puffing out for a second, then shriveling back down to his skinny body. "He doesn't sound very nice."

"He isn't." Frowning, my eyes glanced up to see a strand of hair waving in front of my face. Much more violently then needed or expected, I blew up in frustration. When it wouldn't go up even with my incredible force of air power, I clutch the piece of hair off my forehead, placing it behind my ear carefully. Duncan wasn't going to make me take out all my anger on my hair. "Just plain rude."

I didn't like being one to complain. Complaining was childish, and unacceptable at my home. But irritation was up to the brim and about to tip over in my mind, so I needed someone to talk to. Someone I could trust. Someone who wouldn't talk about me and my nagging ways and make fun of me behind my back.

This person happened to be the uber-nerd Harold, who, if you asked me, wasn't a half-bad guy in my book. It wasn't like Harold had ever done anything to make the cool kids dislike him. He was just… well, Harold. The perfect target for rude and crude comments, and depending on the bully, actions.

I didn't feel that this was right in any way at all. Just wrong.

It was terrible to pick on someone just for something that they could not control. Especially Harold; the kid had allergies, was allergic to gummy slugs, and probably had some of the most weird and strange hobbies ever heard of on this planet. Worse: he was a possum scout- a.k.a: one of the most nerdish troops in the world.

So I found it horrible that someone should pick on him for this long list of unavoidable things, and not notice the great things about Harold. He was sweet, a nice guy, good at school, and a great listener for all of my problems. Which might explain why every once in a while, I chose to spill my guts to him, even if they are boring and pointless and unwilling to change. It was such a good outlet: right now, Harold's listening skills were the only thing standing between Duncan and a face full of fist. So my complaining and nagging to Harold was completely necessary. It was for the good of my permanent record, my social life, and Duncan's face, though that last one really didn't matter much to me.

"Well, I wouldn't say that." He reached up and pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose. The green glass of his spectacles shined in the hallway light, leaving a glare that made me have to blink a few times. He sniffed a bit, rolling his shoulders awkwardly. "He's just… a bit troublesome." Count on Harold to see the optimistic side of the situation. He could still find the sunny side to an egg even if it wasn't done yet or if it was burnt and smashed at all the wrong angles. That was what I always said about Harold and his happy life. I could see how his life was so perfect and happy in his eyes: it wasn't mine.

My nagging voice was insistently growing in the back of my head, so the next thing I said didn't completely surprise me when I burst out with a hefty, very loud and whiny yell. It was just in the moment.

"You didn't have to spend two periods sitting right next to the little mongrel either!" My arms, shooting up in defense to my point caused Harold to back down low, away from my angry figure. I rolled my eyes at him. "He is rude. You can't just suspect that I'm over-reacting. Because this time- I swear to you- I'm not making this sound way worse than it is. Really, I'm must not even be getting the half of it to you. If you knew him, you would understand. Have you ever seen him before?" Possibly, Harold might be a victim of Duncan's huge ego and bad boy record too, and may only be defending his case because he doesn't recognize him.

Harold sighed. "Yes. His looks don't help my opinion that he may not be as bad as he seems though." He looked down at his feet, biting his tongue. "It looks like he walked into a pile of metal and got a few pieces stuck in him with all the piercings." He chuckled silently.

I couldn't help but giggle. "And the hair-"

"Hey." Harold wagged his finger at me. "Don't try to get me away from my point. You seem to be very good at that." He faked a mad posture, his hands forming a folded pose, eyes glaring with a laugh in them.

I laughed at Harold. That was another thing that people didn't notice about Harold: his great sense of humor.

He put his hands back into his pockets as we started walking again. "Really though, I don't think he could be that bad."

I huffed, exasperated. "Well, Harold- he's something. And that something he is, well, it definitely isn't good. So what do you like to call it?" I smirked, closing my eyes to let it sink into him. My point was finally recognized as I realize he was completely silent for a few moments.

However, his voice appeared as quickly as it had left. "Misunderstood, maybe. Not rude."

I snorted, my eyelids fluttering open at his comment. "Misunderstood? Misunderstood people don't try to bug the crap out of you each day." My thoughts glided towards Duncan's ridicule directed at me, and immediately came right back from it. Apparently, my mind would not allow me to think of the bad memories in the back of my mind.

"Courtney, you've only known him for a day." He reached his locker, which was only two down from mine, and began turning the combination. Though his face looked completely absorbed into his lock, he still found a way to put his concentration on me too. "Can't judge a book by its cover? You're saying? First chapter in 'Total Triumph for Teens'? If you are going to criticize him, learn more about him first."

"Listen-"

"Listening." Harold laughed a bit at his own private joke, though it only made me scowl. Noticing my foul mood, he stopped his laughter, a smile still plastered on his face. "Continue."

"Thank you." I pouted a bit, sticking my lip out as far as possible. "I skimmed through this book, and most of the pages are pretty splattered and torn, filled with sarcasm and juvenile records." I pursed my lips together, whispering now. "Makes me wonder who the writers were, and what the hell they thought they were doing right with this book." I nodded my head a bit, as if to tell him what was completely obvious. This wasn't really a book, as these weren't really writers.

He gasped loudly, flinging away from his locker and closer to me, speaking in a loud whisper. "Gosh Courtney! You don't talk about peoples parents like that." Eyes narrowing, he frowned. "Now you listen. Skimming isn't the same as actually reading- you're only glancing at the main parts. But sometimes-" Harold went back to his lock, straining with it now. "You have to look a little bit… well, deeper into the passage. For all you know, you might find a little paragraph or chapter that was hiding, because it didn't want to be revealed. I mean read." Exhausted, he hung over a little, wearing himself out trying to open the locker. "Do you understand my point?"

I tilted my head to the side in annoyance. "But…"

"Courtney." He said sternly, pulling the lock under his finger nails, his feet up against the wall in forceful power, which really wasn't all that forceful considering it was Harold. "Do you understand?"

I sighed in defeat. "I guess." I opened my own locker easily and swiftly, looking for my gym clothes. "What's your next class?"

Ignoring my question, Harold stared at my open locker in amazement. "How did you do that?" He looked all around the edges of my locker carefully, as if doing so would make him knowledgeable of my ways.

Rolling my eyes with a playful smile on my face, I twisted the lock, turning open Harold's locker in seconds. "Like that." I threw my hands up and gave him a tiny ta-da, walking back to my locker.

"Wow." Harold grabbed his stuffed, randomly throwing books and papers inside. "Gym."

"What?" I threw him a confused glance as a few books dropped out of my locker absently. Leaning down to pick them up, I asked again, as if he hadn't heard me before. "What do you mean?"

"That's-" He began to speak, but not before being cut off by a tall figure who was down at my height as I kneeled on the floor.

A tall figure with a green Mohawk.

"Hey Princess." Winking, he glanced down at my books scattered on the floor. "Need some help?" His eyebrows went up and down seductively, a smirk forming on his lips miraculously.

I scowled, hissing. "Not from you." I took a book up from the floor, eyes still on his.

His blue eyes rolled around, as if to say, 'Whatever, I'm just going to pretend like you didn't say that.' He then picked up a book, much to my distaste, and held it out to me, a flat look on his face but a smile in his eyes. His pierced eyebrow lifted, only heightening the rage inside me at his stare.

Snatching the book away, he held his hands up in defense, snickering at my anger. As I stood up, so did he, which only made my scowl grow. "Why do you keep showing up in my life?"

"Why do you keep showing up in mine?" He glanced down curiously, as if the question he asked was not meant to be rhetorical. It reminded of the way librarians would look at you, when their glasses went down to the rim of their nose. Except usually those librarians weren't smirking at you ridiculously.

I started to smell the smell I always smelled these days- the scent of cologne and smoke. Wrinkling my nose, I grimaced in disgust. "Yeah, blame it on me."

He smiled. "I will." Harold's face tried to peek over his shoulder, which was physically impossible for a small boy like himself. Duncan, pushing Harold out of the way with his foot, as if it took no effort in the least, continued with his discussion as if the nerd was not standing behind him. "So, what's your next class?" He leaned against the lockers in an attempt to flirt.

"Hopefully not with you." I shut my locker; more like slammed it, and gathered my things. Moving around Duncan, I ushered Harold to come with me.

Of course I should have known a certain someone would be following close behind.

"Oh come on, don't be like that babe."

I felt the anger rush inside me. I turned towards him, my finger going directly in his face. "Don't be what? Sane? Good? Non-Psychotic?"

Duncan stepped back a bit, looking taken aback at my anger. However, he regained his cool in a matter of seconds. It was his turn to get in my face, with me backing up this time. "I meant loosen up, Miss Goody-two-shoes."

I opened my mouth to shout again, but stopped when I saw a teacher walking down the hall. "Pig." I said through grinded teeth.

He folded his arms angrily. "Princess."

Harold, who had really been ignored for the past three minutes, asked a question that I really wished he hadn't. "Why do you call her 'Princess'? And why do you use it as an insult?" His curious eyes shown through his green glasses, and right now I wanted to rip them out of their sockets.

Duncan's smirk widened so high his eyes were barely open. "Well, the reason for my nickname is just that it suits her so well." He waved his hand in front of me, as if to say, 'Don't you see it?' "One: She's beautiful, just like a Princess." Duncan made his eyelids flutter, placing his hands up to his cheeks.

Harold cut in. "See Court? Hear that? Beautiful. The words of a good book." Emphasizing the word book by a mile, it was a wonder Duncan didn't notice the hard edge to his tone as he tried to prove his point to me. And his use of the word book, which didn't fit into the conversation at all.

"And second:" Duncan smirk grew even more, if that was really possible at the moment. "She's got this huge poll up her ass. And as we all know, Princesses have their fair share of stubbornness."

I scowled, ready to lunge at him. But then I heard something that made me stop.

"You got that right."

I turned to Harold, my face full of shock. It was absurd that he would ever say such a thing, as if to help him in his quest to antagonize me. "What?!" A small portion of my brain just snapped right there. It took all my strength to not them kill them both on the spot. "Get away. Just go away. Both of you. Please." The please wasn't really a plea, but I didn't care. I didn't care about anything at the moment.

Not even waiting for them to respond, I simply ran into gym, only to be terribly surprised when they followed. "What-"

Harold's red hair bounced as he formed a stance, with his hands raised up in a defensive manner. "I told you gym was my next class. Good thing: now I can test out my mad ninja skills."

Rolling his eyes, Duncan snorted at the nerd's strange and humorous position. "Whatever. I got a class list, and it said 'gym: 3rd period.' It's not my fault I have to spend every moment of the day with Miss Nag." He glanced in my direction, shrugging at the angry expression that scarred my face. "Bite me."

Scoffing, I ignored his comment. "I'm going to change. You can be late if you want, but Courtney Meeks is always prompt." Sticking my nose in the air, I began walking until I heard a sudden shout.

"Hey Princess!"

I turned around, instantly regretting not just walking on.

Looking around, as if to make sure that everyone in class was listening, he continued on with his fool-proof plot to embarrass me. "Mind if I join you?"

Cheeks going red with chagrin, I heard a few laughs, a few giggles, and then someone say, "Why not Court?"

No matter what I did, the heat flushed on my cheeks wouldn't go away.

For a second, as I shot him a pouty glance, I almost thought I saw sympathy in those deep teal eyes.

But it disappeared within milliseconds, only to be replaced with pure cockiness that went all the way through his pupils, seizing his corneas.

Clenching my teeth together to hold back a scream, I busted into the girls locker room. Then I screamed in my head, as if that would ease the anger. And then, it was no longer just a scream in my head. It was a terribly loud shout that shook the ground with all the anger forced through it.

While I was stomping and storming my way into a stall, I made myself a promise, a pact. One that clarified I would never let any type of emotion except pure hatred show on my face to him. Never. Not even if he didn't steal my calculator, and helped me pick up my books. Because he knew ways that no one understood, to get under my skin, to make me want to kill him. He knew how to twist my emotions to use to his own damn advantage.

OoooO chillz!

Yeah, so now Courtney is horribly pissed. Good job Duncan.

Harold and Courtney being friends- I didn't like making that. But don't worry… they won't be friends for long… MWA-HA-HA!... I'm sorry you had to hear that.