I don't really have anything planned for much of this chapter. That, and I have a full-time job now so I won't be able to update as much as I want. I hope you can be patient with me.

Chapter Five – Judging Everything

Pete's POV

It's really hard to come up with stuff to do when you're forced to go to boarding school and you're anti-social. Sure, you can hang outside, smoke, and recite dark poetry, but it's not the same when you're not skipping class to do it. It was really telling when a stupid dorm meeting was the most exciting thing that's happening in your life.

Already, Seymour liked to follow us around a lot, saying stereo-typical nerdy things. I don't think he had said every word in the human language in one week, but I had the feeling that he was trying to. He followed us up to the roof of our dorm and bored us all silly listing all of the ingredients in cigarettes, and all of the health hazards that came with smoking. We had to stop Firkle from shoving him off the roof.

Henrietta and Karen's two roommates weren't much better. Mimi wouldn't shut the fuck up, much like our roommate, but her topics were much worse because they were mostly the stereotypical ditzy blonde topics. And she always wore pink. Always.

I know Henrietta seemed to like her, but I hated Chris. She was a wannabe anti-conformist, plain and simple. I didn't like the way she talked, how she was always somehow chewing gum, I didn't like her piercings, her stupid leather outfits, or her trying-to-be-edgy tattoos. I hated how she blasted her obnoxious music, claiming it was just like our goth music. And I really couldn't stand the way she would just stare at Henrietta with that stupid scowl on her face.

I had already gotten into an argument with her when I told her that her stupid ass music was not goth (because it wasn't). Just because her shitty music was all "anti-authority" did not automatically make it goth, and I told her as much. She had just scoffed and said that she was a bigger anti-conformist than me, and possibly a better goth just because all of her outfits were all black. I barely held myself back from slapping her, the bitch.

I was not in the best mood when that stupid dorm meeting was finally called and we all had to gather in the lounge of the building. While we were walking down the hall towards the lounge, we were joined by a group of guys that included the jock stereotype, the bad boy stereotype and two others we had not seen before. One of them seemed to be the popular, pretty boy stereotype, with the flowing blonde hair that was constantly billowing in the non-existent wind, and the annoyingly blue eyes and perfect smile and everything.

The moment the four guys stepped out of their room and spotted us, Bruce quickly caught up to Michael just so he could rudely shove him out of the way. Firkle made sure to kick both Rider and Bruce in the shin as he passed them, and we all hung back slightly so we wouldn't have to be seen walking with these people.

We managed to make our way down to the first floor without any further incident. Then, with no warning whatsoever, Henrietta suddenly turned and socked the obvious pretty boy stereotype right in the face. Michael, Karen, Firkle and I stared in amazement as she angrily stormed ahead after he fell to the floor, giving us no explanation as to why she just randomly punched the guy's lights out. We exchanged shocked glances before hurrying to catch up with our suddenly angry friend, just leaving the pretty boy unconscious on the floor.

The lounge was rather large and very plush, with a lot of brightly colored furniture. It was one of the most horrendous rooms I had ever seen in my life. And it was full of people, which made it even worse.

The five of us stood near the entrance, trying to find seats that weren't brightly colored, and found some in the back of the room near the jock stereotype. Michael led the way across the crowded room, and as soon as we sat down, he began kicking the back of Bruce's seat, much to the football player's annoyance.

"You gonna tell us why you just punched that guy's lights out, Henrietta?" Karen asked once we were marginally comfortable. Henrietta blinked at her and didn't reply right away.

"I didn't like the way he was looking at me," she muttered eventually.

"How was he looking at you?" I wondered. Before she could answer, however, Chris came up to us, dragging a chair with her, and sat down in between Henrietta and me. She ignored the glare I gave her and instead turned towards Henrietta.

"I tried sitting in the other corner, but our other roommate wouldn't shut up," she explained, rolling her eyes at the memory. "Hope you don't mind."

"I don't care," Henrietta replied. A smile tugged slightly at the punk chick's lips.

"I found some black spray paint, by the way," she said. "We can start redecorating our room when we get out of this stupid meeting." Henrietta didn't smile, but a smirk did tug at her mouth as well.

"Excellent," she stated. I narrowed my eyes at the punk chick, but I didn't get to say anything as the dorm advisor came into the room and started talking our ears off about curfews and loud noises and shit like that. It wasn't really like we were listening.

The jock Bruce at some point turned around in his seat to glare at Michael, who didn't seem to notice and just continued to kick the back of his seat, a bored expression plastered on his face. The guy in front of us seemed to go on for hours. Henrietta and Chris kept whispering to each other next to me, while Firkle had fallen asleep and was leaning heavily on Michael.

Finally, after what seemed hours later, the dorm advisor finally shut up and we were allowed to leave. He kept cheerfully calling out that now would be the perfect time to get to know the people in our building, but none of my friends and I really wanted to do that. Instead, we struggled towards the entrance to the hall so we could get the hell out of there.

I have this thing about crowds. I hated them. I couldn't stand the multiple people swarming around me, or the pushing and shoving and loud noises that came with them. If there were too many people in that crowd, I felt myself struggling to breathe, and that has once or twice led me into having a panic attack. I didn't tell my friends about this, because really it was none of their business, but even as we tried to make our way back to our room I could feel the familiar pang of nervousness rise inside me.

We were almost back out into the hall when I found my path suddenly blocked by the pretty boy stereotype Henrietta had knocked out earlier. He had a winning smile on his face that managed show every single one of his perfect, white teeth. I heard Henrietta snarl and felt her press herself against my side. I tried not to shudder.

"Hi there!" he said, sounding friendly despite standing in front of the person who had just randomly punched him in the face. "I don't think we were properly introduced. I'm Trent!"

I gave him a confused look, unable to understand why this guy was talking to me. "That's nice," I replied eventually. I tried to walk around him to get the hell out of there, but he moved slightly to block my path. Henrietta snarled at him again.

"I was just thinking since we'll all be living under the same roof, we could try being friendly towards each other," this guy, Trent, said. "So, what are your names?"

"None of your business," Henrietta snapped, grabbing my arm. "Now, get the fuck out of our way!" Trent looked over at her, as if he had just realized she was there. Before he could speak, however, Henrietta pushed past him, dragging me with her. I heard footsteps behind me as our friends hurried after us.

"What was that all about?" Michael asked when he caught up with us. "You'd think he'd be angrier at the person who randomly punched him in the face."

"He must really have a thing for you, Henrietta, if he was willing to forgive you that easily," Firkle pointed out thoughtfully. I wasn't so sure. He hadn't looked at Henrietta once during that brief conversation.

We were all silent as we made our way up to the third floor. I felt myself begin to breathe easier as we got further away from the blather of the crowd still back on the first floor. Henrietta pressed against my side until we finally reached our rooms. She immediately broke away from the rest of us and stormed into her room, a very confused Karen following slowly after her.

Seymour hadn't returned when the three of us stepped into our room. Michael and Firkle immediately started muttering about how they needed to go smoke, but I hung back. I wanted to take advantage of the fact that everyone else on the floor was gone to take a shower.

That was one of the main problems with this stupid school. There was absolutely no privacy anywhere. You had to share your bedroom, the restrooms, and even the shower rooms weren't private. I thought you were supposed to only endure this sort of thing in college. We had to go looking for solitude in unusual places because of how everything here was public.

The only thing that separated the showers were walls on either side, and two curtains. That was all that separated you from humiliation. It didn't help that the water took forever to heat up, something I was very unfortunate to find out. I guess I really shouldn't have expected much from a boarding school that was tuition free, but still…

When I finally came back into the room, Michael, Firkle and Seymour were still not there. I figured my two friends were still on the roof, and I didn't really care where our other roommate was. With a sigh, I sat down on my bed and pulled out my iPod and headphones.

Despite all of us still liking dark, depressing, angst music, my friends and I had all developed our own tastes in different music. For example, Firkle, being the pretentious little twat that we always knew he was, had become obsessed with opera music. I don't know why it had to be opera, it annoyed the fuck out of the rest of us whenever he decided to play his music loudly while we were doing something.

As I sat there, listening to music and thinking of maybe doing something productive, I saw Michael enter the room out of the corner of my eye. Michael mostly stuck to industrial music, but he also liked obnoxiously screaming metal death bands. Thankfully, unlike Firkle, he didn't torture the rest of us with his poor taste in music.

Henrietta preferred dark wave and post punk music (which is totally different from punk rock, I swear). Karen gravitated towards dark wave as well, and I liked gothic rock, as well as bands like Evanescence, Nirvana and Breaking Benjamin.

I was listening to Breaking Benjamin when I suddenly realized that Michael had been standing in front of me for about five minutes. I looked up to see that his mouth was moving and he looked kind of embarrassed about something. My music completely drowned him out, so I had no idea what he was saying. Had he been talking at me this entire time?

Confused, I slowly reached up and took the headphones out of my ears.

"Did you say something, Michael?" I asked him. He stared at me in complete shock.

"Wh-But I…I didn't…" he stuttered, his eyes widening. I continued to stare in confusion at him, wondering what the hell he was stuttering for. Eventually, he managed to work out a cohesive sentence. "Why is your hair all wet?" he finally asked. I narrowed my eyes.

"Because I just washed it," I pointed out slowly. He blinked at me for several long moments. Then he turned his head away and I could see his face turning red.

"Oh," he mumbled. Then, before I could ask any questions of my own, he quickly turned and raced out of the room, slamming the door behind him. I couldn't help but stare after him.

What the hell had that been about? Had Michael always been that weird and awkward and I just never noticed? Or had I just been imagining things?

Just then, Firkle came back into the room, looking at something in the hall with confusion on his face. He turned to me after a moment.

"What's up with Michael?" he asked me, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.

"I have no idea," I told him with a long sigh. "I was just sitting here, listening to music, and he came in and started talking at me. When I took out my headphones and asked him what he had said, he just kind of blustered something and bolted from the room."

Firkle's look of confusion was immediately replaced with one of annoyance.

"That idiot," he muttered, mostly under his breath. He shuffled over to his bed and flopped down onto it. "I'm going to bed now," he announced. I looked over at him.

"It's not even dinner time yet," I pointed out to him. His only reply was to grunt angrily, then the next sound that came out of him was a loud, muffled snore. I let out a sigh and rose to drape his blankets over him before returning to my own bed.

I thought about going to find Michael, but something told me he wouldn't be any better if I found him. I'm sure whatever was bugging him, he would tell me eventually. Sure, I desperately wanted to know what he seemed so embarrassed about and why he had just bolted like that, but I knew he wasn't going to give me an answer.

With another sigh, I put my headphones back in and opened my laptop (which was black, of course). Henrietta, Karen and I went to dinner a few hours later, but I didn't see Michael again until after the rest of us had already gone to bed.

I hadn't fallen asleep yet, so I saw a beam of light from the hall as he tiptoed into the room, keeping the lights off. He slowly limped over to his own bed after quietly closing the door, and I could hear him standing in between our two beds. He let out a sigh, so soft that I barely heard it, then I heard him scramble into his own bed. I carefully sat up and squinted through the darkness at him, but he had his back turned to me and had already apparently fallen asleep.

Neither of us mentioned his strange behavior the next day, or for the rest of the week.

I'm gonna end this chapter here, because I want to. I wanted to get another chapter out to you guys, and I didn't really know how else to end this chapter. Again, sorry it took so long, but like I said, I have a full-time job now, and inspiration only comes to me when it feels like it, not on a fixed schedule.

Anyway, what the hell was up with Michael? Why did Firkle seem to know what was going on? And what's up with this Trent guy, and why did he seem so friendly, despite Henrietta punching him in the face? And why did she punch him in the face? Well, you're not going to find out the answers to any of the questions in the next few chapters! Yay!