My hand hurts within minutes of writing the silly assignment. It's dumb, I guess, but I can't remember the last time I wrote anything longhand. Plus I'm using my right hand, which never feels natural no matter how many years I've done it. My father insisted I learn to write right-handed in first grade after he first saw me pitch. "Your left arm's pure gold," he told me. "Don't waste it on stuff that don't matter." Which is anything but pitching as far as my father was concerned.

Even my name is inspired by baseball pros Charlie Sands and Charlie Moore. Nothing like putting a little pressure on an unborn child, huh?

Sammy reaches for his backpack and roots around, unzipping every section. He hoists it onto his lap and peers inside. "Where the hell's my water bottle?"

"No talking, Mr. Klarks!" Mr. Issac informs without looking up.

"I know, but...my water bottle's missing. And I'm thirsty!"

Mr. Issac points toward the sink at the end of the room, its counter crowded with dishes and old textbooks on America. "Get yourself a drink. And quietly."

Sammy shrugs his slumped shoulders gets up and grabs a cup from a stack on the counter, filling it with water from the tap. He heads back to his seat and puts the cup on his desk, but seems distracted by Noah's writing. "Dude," he says, kicking his shoe against the leg of Noah's desk, making Noah's pen scribble on accident due to the impact. "Seriously. Did you put those phones in our backpacks to mess with us?"

Now Mr. Issac looks up, frowning. "I said quietly. "

Noah leans back, a smirk spread across his face. "Why would I do that?"

Sammy shrugs. "Why do you do anything?"

"One more word out of either of you and it's detention tomorrow," Mr. Issac warns.

Sammy begins to open his mouth anyway, but before he can speak there's the sound of tires squeaking like a crushed mouse and then the crash of two cars hitting each other. Addison gasps and I brace myself against my desk like somebody just rear-ended me. Noah, who looks glad for the interruption, is the first on his feet toward the window. "Who gets into a fender bender in the school parking lot?" he asks, sticking his head out of the window.

Stacey looks at Mr. Issac like she's asking for permission, and when he gets up from his desk she heads for the window as well. Addison follows her, and I finally unfold myself from my seat. Might as well see what's going on. I lean against the ledge to look outside, and Sammy comes up beside me with a disparaging laugh as he surveys the scene below.

Two cars, an old red one and a nondescript gray one, are smashed into each other at a right angle. We all stare at them in silence until Mr. Issac lets out an exasperated sigh. "I'd better make sure no one was hurt." He runs his eyes over all of us and zeroes in on Stacey as the most responsible of the bunch. "Miss Rojas, keep this room contained until I get back."

"Okay," Stacey says, casting a nervous glance toward Noah. We stay at the window, watching the scene below, a chaotic moment for all of us, but before Mr. Issac or another teacher appears outside, both cars start their engines and drive out of the parking lot.

"Well, that was anticlimactic," Simon says, rolling his eyes. He heads back to his desk and picks up his cup, but instead of sitting he wanders to the front of the room and scans a timeline of the American Revolution instead. He leans out into the hallway like he's about to leave, but then he turns and raises his cup like he's toasting us. "Anyone else want some water?"

"I do," Addison pipes in, slipping into her chair.

"Get it yourself, princess." Sammy smirks. Addison rolls her big eyes and stays put while Sammy leans against Mr. Issac's desk. "Literally, huh? What'cha gonna do now that homecoming is over?"

Addison looks at me without answering. I don't blame her. ­Sammy's train of thought almost never goes anywhere good when it comes to...well. Anybody! He acts like he's above caring whether he's popular or not, but he was pretty smug when he wound up on the junior prom court last spring. I'm still not sure how he pulled that off, unless he traded keeping secrets hidden for votes.

Sammy was nowhere to be found on homecoming court last week, though. I was voted king, so maybe I'm next on his list to bust wide open, or whatever the hell he's doing. Bastard.

"What's your point, Samuel?" I ask, knowing he hates it when I say tha, taking a seat next to Addison. Her and I aren't close, exactly, but I kind of feel protective of her. She's been dating my best friend since freshman year, and she's a sweet girl. Also not the kind of person who knows how to stand up to a guy like Sammy who just won't quit.

"She's a princess and you're a jock," he says. He points his chin toward Stacey, then to Noah. "And you're a geek. Your a bad boy. You're all walking movie stereotypes! How funny!"

"What about you?" Stacey asks. She's been hovering near the window, but now goes to her desk and perches on top of it. She crosses her legs and pulls her dark ponytail over one shoulder. Something about her is cuter this year. New glasses, maybe? Longer hair? All of a sudden, she's kind of working this sexy-nerd thing.

"I'm the omniscient narrator," Sammy says, placing a hand over his chest.

Stacey's brows rise above her black frames. "There's no such thing in teen movies!"

"Ah, but Stacey," Simon winks and drinks his water in a swift sip. "There is such a thing in life."

He says it like a threat, and I wonder if he's got something for Stacey too. The guy could have anything on The Update! I hate that thing. Almost all my friends have been on it at one point or another, and sometimes it causes real problems. My buddy Luis and his girlfriend broke up because of something the rat wrote. Though it was a true story about Luis hooking up with his girlfriend's cousin. But still. That stuff doesn't have to be published. Hallway gossip is bad enough.

And if I'm being honest, I'm pretty freaked at what Sammy could write about me if he put his mind to it.

Sammy holds his cup up, grimacing. "This tastes like bull crap." He drops the cup onto the ground, and I roll my eyes at his attempt at even making drama. Even when he falls to the floor, I still think he's messing around. 

But then the wheezing starts.