Hello! Here is Chapter Two! I have quite a bit of this story written already, so until I get to the part I'm still working on, I'll just be posting a new chapter every couple of days or so. (: Thanks to Molly and Christie for the nice reviews last time-I'm glad you guys are liking it. (And even if you didn't, I'd probably keep writing it anyways, because I really like where it's going, haha.)

Anyways, here is the second chapter. Enjoy! (:

After another month of essentially the same routine, I walk out of Government class, both arms full with a textbook, a notebook, papers, my pencil case, and a stack of notecards that I'm using to study with for my test tomorrow. As I walk past a set of lockers, I spot Annabelle, Katie, and the same other girls that are normally with them. I had managed to avoid them for three weeks, but I guess I was bound to run into them again. I mean, it's a big school, but it's not that big.

"Hey, brace-face," Katie calls out.

Oh, really creative. Never heard that one before.

It's probably a good thing I don't say all my thoughts out loud, because I probably would've gotten punched for a few of them. I simply close my mouth and stride past as Katie and the other three girls laugh. Annabelle expels a nervous fake laugh, but the other girls don't seem to notice. I feel her eyes follow me down the hall, but I quicken my pace and disappear around the next corner. As much as I try to ignore their comments and laughter, they still sting.

I reluctantly walk to lunch, grab my tray, and sit at my normal spot at a table in the corner of the room—by myself. As I've done for the past month, I eat my lunch quickly, return my tray, and then head to the library. Sometimes I read there, but most of the time I just sit in one of the bean bag chairs and think. The librarian is very nice; sometimes we exchange idle chatter, but she isn't always there. Today is one of the days she is absent, and excluding the hum of the computers, the library is quiet. I have too many thoughts to process, and I don't want to try; so I wander to a shelf, pick out a book, and start reading. When the dismissal bell from lunch rings, I stick a post-it note inside the page and return it to the shelf; people rarely check books out, so I usually just come back another time to continue.

I somehow manage to make it through fourth and fifth hour without falling asleep, and soon enough, it's AP Physics time. I had passed the prerequisite tests with flying colors—how, I'm not sure—and I had gotten it approved to skip Physical Science and go straight to AP Physics.

In that class, I had come to "know" a boy named Drew. He's a junior, and he's a douche bag. He rotates between making fun of me and copying my answers. No matter how hard I try to shield my paper, he always somehow manages to get answers; if not from me, then from someone around him.

"All right, AP students," Mrs. Roberts calls, gaining our attention. "I have your last tests graded, and I'm quite displeased to say that the majority of you did not do very well. The average percentage for this class was a seventy-four."

Everyone winces. She begins to walk around the room and hand back the tests. Drew, who sits kiddy-corner in front of me, groans when he sees his. Fifty-nine percent. People all around the room expel groans and other derogatory phrases as they receive their tests back. Mal, who sits kiddy-corner in front of me on the other side, glances at the sixty-six percent circled in red at the top, winces, and silently turns the paper over on his desk. I quickly look away, as I have a feeling I wasn't supposed to see that.

The only ones left without a test are the girl who sits next to me, a guy on the other side of the room, and myself. Mrs. Roberts walks up to the girl and me with a smile on her face. "Wonderful job, girls," she beams as she hands us both our papers, face down. I flip mine over and can't help but smile in relief at the ninety-six circled at the top. The girl beside me, Emma, breathes a sigh of relief, and I glance over at her. She looks at me at the same time, and I see the ninety-eight on her paper.

"Good job," I say with a smile.

"Thanks," she replies as she glances at mine. "You too, that's awesome."

"Thanks," I smile.

Hey, today isn't so bad.

Just then, Drew turns around and looks at my paper before I can put it away. "Nerd," he murmurs with a smirk.

Never mind.

I roll my eyes and turn away to catch Mal glancing at my paper. He realizes I saw him looking, and awkwardly glances up at me.

"Geez," is all he says before abruptly turning back around and slumping down in his seat. It doesn't really sound mean; it almost sounded... Well, I'm not sure, really. I can't place it.

"A few of you did well," Mrs. Roberts announces once she approvingly hands the other boy his test. "But for those of you who did not, you will need to re-write the essay portion. It must be typed, double-spaced, and at least four pages."

Emma and I smile at each other again before turning back to the front. Everyone else, save the boy in the back who I assume did well, groans.

"I'll give you the rest of the hour to work on them. For those of you who don't need the revisions, you may do what you'd like for the remaining half hour." I nod and pull out a book, drowning the rest of the classroom out as I dive back into the world of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.

Half an hour later, the dismissal bell rings, startling me out of the pages. I gather up my stuff and am about to leave, when Mrs. Roberts tells Emma, the boy—Aaron, apparently—and I to meet her at her desk.

"Unlike the rest of the class, you three did very well," she commends with a smile. "Very impressive, considering you two haven't had Physical Science since freshman year," she says, looking at Emma and Aaron, "and you haven't taken it at all," she finishes, indicating me. Emma looks surprised.

"Wow, you haven't taken it at all?" she asks. I shake my head. "Dang, you're really smart."

I smile in response.

"I just wanted to let you two know that you three consistently score higher than the entire class, and I'm very proud of you."

"Thank you," we all say at the same time, flashing a smile as she dismisses us to our last hour.

I hurry to the locker room to change for P.E., not wanting to be late and having to explain. Most of the girls are done changing by the time I get in there, but I quickly hustle and manage to emerge before Ms. Woods makes it to the front of the gym. I'm still pulling my hair up into a ponytail when she begins talking.

"All right," she says, "Today we're going to play some volleyball games. It's nothing super competitive, volleyball players, so don't get overly-aggressive, please." Some of the girls groan. "Just because of the numbers we have, I'm splitting guys and girls up. Guys, go to the far net, and girls, stay here. Now I believe we have an even number of girls, so this should work. Stacy and Leah," she continues, pointing to the two captains of the actual varsity volleyball team, "You're each captains of opposing teams. Take turns choosing girls, but please don't just choose your friends."

Oh, great. Like hell they won't choose their friends.

Stacy starts. "Trish," she calls, pointing to another girl that's on the varsity team.

"Lindsey," Leah calls as yet another volleyball player stands.

They continue to call off names, and soon enough, each team has an even number, and I'm still standing in the middle.

"Oh, shoot," Ms. Woods exclaims. "I'm sorry, I thought we had an even number."

I look down as I feel my cheeks heat up and embarrassed tears prick my eyes. I hear snickering around me.

"Natara," Ms. Woods calls, "Please go with Leah's team."

Leah and a couple others groan, and Ms. Woods glares at them. "Hey now, girls! Our goal here is not to exclude anybody; I'm picking teams next time." Everyone quiets down, and I reluctantly join Leah's group. The two teams divide on each side of the net, and Stacy's team starts serving. I'm not on first, so I watch for several volleys as it's played back and forth over the net, hitting the ground when Stacy, Leah, or another of the "real" players hit it effectively. I'm soon told to rotate in, and I inwardly groan as I'm shifted to right back. Thankfully, the other team has the ball, so I don't have to serve right away. Stacy is serving from the other team now, and before I can even get ready, the ball is sailing over the net and towards Leah. She expertly passes it to the girl who's setting, and the setter sets it to a girl I don't know in the middle front position. The girl skillfully hits the ball over the net and drives it to the ground. Leah cheers, and even Stacy comments on it being a "nice hit."

We keep playing and rotate, and soon enough, the ball comes sailing at my head. Without time to think, I try to set it up, but the only thing I do successfully is jam my finger. Leah manages to get under the crappily-set ball and return it decently, but she still glares at me when the play is over. A couple other people snicker lightly, and I do my best to ignore them.

"You alright, Mansingh?" Ms. Woods calls from the sidelines.

I nod. "Yeah, I'm fine," I say, even though my finger is throbbing.

"Stop the gigling," she warns. "Everyone has different fortes."

"Obviously," Stacy murmurs.

"I heard that," Ms. Woods snaps, turning cold eyes to Stacy. Stacy immediately shuts up. "Now unless you girls want some killers, be nice to each other."

The next thing I know, we've rotated several times, and the ball is now mine to serve.

Dammit.

I awkwardly toss the ball up and try to hit it over like Leah and Stacy, but the ball goes about ten feet before dropping to the floor, still on our side of the net.

"Try again," Ms. Woods calls. She'd been giving extra tries to those who didn't play.

I try again and end with the same result, so she tells me to try underhand. I try, but the only thing I manage to do is completely miss the court all together and bounce it off the wall ten feet to my right. The other players roll their eyes and laugh lightly, too soft for Ms. Woods to hear.

We soon move on and Jenna is serving for the other team. She jump serves the ball and it flies over the net towards me. I don't have time to do anything other than throw my arms out, but the ball just bounces off my arms and whacks me in the face, just as the bell rings. I stumble backwards as several people start laughing at me before heading back to the locker room. I think I hear one girl mutter "idiot" as she walks off the court. Ms. Woods leaves, too, and when I think I'm the only one in the gym, I pick the ball up and chuck it across the room with a choked, frustrated exhale. The ball ricochets off the opposite wall and rolls off somewhere. As I'm heading towards the locker room, Ms. Woods meets me at the door; from her position, she probably saw my angry outburst. I quickly wipe away the few tears that have formed from a combination of humiliation and getting hit in the face with a ball rather hard.

"Natara, are you okay?" she asks gently, worry in her voice. I sniff and look down, still nursing my injured finger and pride. I swallow hard to steady my voice.

"Yeah," I say quietly, even though it's a total lie. "I'm fine."

"If they're bothering you, you can let me know," she continues.

I shake my head. "No, they're... I'm fine." She looks at my doubtfully, but chooses to let it go.

"Okay," she says like she doesn't quite believe me. "Let me know, though, okay? You don't have to take that from them."

I nod and force a polite smile. I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't like asking for help. I'm about to enter the locker room to change, when Ms. Woods stops me once more.

"And Natara?"

"Yes?" I answer, turning around.

"Try to ignore them. You're doing fine," she smiles, giving my shoulder a light, reassuring squeeze.

"Thanks," I manage weakly, flashing her a genuinely grateful smile.

I hear the other girls about to exit, so I quickly wipe my eyes, look down, and hurry past them to get changed so I can meet my mother outside. As I'm scurrying through the halls, eyes still blurry from holding back tears, I turn a corner too fast and run into someone, hard.

"Whoa!" the other person exclaims in surprise. I just about fall over, but a hand gruffly grabs me, catching me right before I'm about to embarrass myself further. I look up and Mal is standing there. He's still holding onto my arm when I glance up. He stares into my eyes for a moment before quickly letting go and looking down.

"I'm sorry," I apologize shakily.

"No problem," he dismisses, again looking down. He then looks at me, makes eye contact, and asks, "Uh, are you okay?"

I'm not sure if he was asking if I was okay because I look like I'm about to burst into tears, or simply because we just full-on ran into each other.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say, choosing the latter interpretation to answer.

"Well..." he starts awkwardly. "See ya' later."

"Yeah," I mumble as he walks the opposite way. I hurry out to the parking lot and find my mother's car idling in front of the school.

My mother greets me with her customary, "How was school?"

"Pretty good," I lie. I really hope that one day soon, I won't have to lie when my mother asks me a question as simple as how my day was. The lump in the back of my throat grows bigger, and I have to swallow several times before adding, "I'm really tired, though."

"Understandable," she says. "If you don't have much homework, you can rest in your room a while before dinner. I have to run out with Neha, and your father won't be home for a few hours."

My mother drops me off at home, and I immediately rush to my room. I hate crying, but I let some of the tears I'd been holding in for the past hour, finally come out. Just then, I hear my phone vibrate; I panic when I see my mother's name lit up on the screen.

I breathe in and out several times and wipe at my eyes, even though she can't see me. "Hello?" I answer more confidently than I feel.

"Hi, sweetie," she answers. "I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No, you're fine," I reply.

"I was just wondering if you needed anything from the store," she says. "I'm at Costco."

I think for a brief moment. "No," I conclude. "I'm good. Thanks."

"Okay. Call me if you think of anything. I love you," she adds before hanging up.

My father comes home later. After dinner, as we're sitting in the living room, he asks me how my day was. It turns out the tears weren't done, because I quickly said, "Good, but I'm really tired. I think I might go to bed early," before excusing myself to my room.

The events of the past few weeks play back in my head, and it's all I can do not to make too much noise as I try to stifle my sobs. Suddenly, the sound of gentle knocks at my door startle me.

Shoot!

I don't have time to wipe my eyes and erase signs of crying, so I pretend I'm asleep and bury my face in my pillow. When I don't answer, I hear the door slowly ease open. Someone turns the light off, then closes the door. When I'm sure they're gone, I sit up and dry my eyes, forcing down the rest of the tears that want to come out. I suddenly realize I'm exhausted, so change into more comfortable clothes and fall asleep for real.