"Brand new month, brand new assignment!" Mrs. Chung exclaimed, as she wrote down something at the front of the class. I squinted at the board in a futile attempt to read her small and messy handwriting, but it was hopeless.

The class collectively groaned. At this point, most people were still failing the class, but that didn't stop Mrs. Chung from trying to teach them.

"Since it is a brand new month, I'd like to dig up an old assignment. Quite frankly, I really don't have anything new for you to do, so what we're going to do today is an assignment quite similar to the one that we did on the first day." Mrs. Chung walked back to her desk and shifted a few of the papers placed on top of it.

"The rules are simple. Write a story about anything that you want, but just keep it clean. You have until tomorrow to hand this in. At this point, you know my rules, so hand it in on time to avoid any issues. You can begin."

Opening my notebook, I decided to spend some time brainstorming before I began to write my story down. Mrs. Chung had recommended that when I went in for extra help. What could I write a story about? My mind raced trying to figure out the possibilities for this story.

I considered a story about a boy who finds out he's a person who possesses magical powers, and then goes to a boarding school with other people who also have magical powers. Nah, too similar to Harry Potter.

I also considered a story about a boy who discovers that his dad is a Greek god, maybe Poseidon or Zeus, and goes to a summer camp full of other demigods called – nope, too similar to Percy Jackson.

I was stumped. Time began to slow down, as the sound of the clock began to tick at an agonizing pace. Tick tock, tick tock.

Looking beside me, Mike seemed to be writing down furiously, his pencil moving at a rate that was disparate from the rest of my surroundings. His pencil moved smoothly amongst the paper, gliding amongst the surface as seamlessly as skates on a rink of ice. I had no idea what he was writing about, but it looked like he just wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

He had his best poker face on, showing no emotion as he powered through the paper, writing lines and lines of what I assumed was total nonsense.

It was clear that he didn't care about this entire thing, and mulling it over, I started to think that I shouldn't as well. This teacher seemed to be incarnated from hell, created to ruthlessly terrorize students for generations on end. Even if I tried and took her advice, would that ever be good enough?

Looking at the window next to Mike, it was clear that if Poseidon was real, he was in charge of the weather that day. The sky was completely gray; the prominent sun of yesterday being overshadowed by a mob of clouds. A flurry of rain droplets fell out of these clouds at an electric pace, creating rapid tapping sounds as they hit the grass below.

It was easy to get lost in these surroundings, so lost that one could begin to lose track of time. Before I knew it, the bell rang. Looking at the blank notebook in front of me, I sighed and stuffed it in my bag.

"That was easy. You know, I'm actually looking forward to failing again, aren't you?" Mike said while smiling at me.

"I'm not sure if you're being sarcastic or serious at this point," I replied, shrugging my shoulders.

As you'll begin to find out, your Uncle Mike is an interesting character. He's definitely someone to watch out for whenever April Fools Day comes along.

Mike ran his fingers through his hair and laughed nervously. "Neither do I man, neither do I."

Walking towards the front foyer of the school, the collective background noise of other people's conversations got louder, forming into an overwhelming sound of confusion and clutter.

"It's a bit loud here, let's go to that corner near Mr. Ferraro's room," Mike said, pointing to a room northwest of the school's main entrance. As we walked there, the deafening sounds of the conversations around us faded back into a quieter lull that was much more pleasing to the ears.

In a few minutes, the rest of the gang found us. "It's still raining outside, how's everyone getting home?" Zoey asked. Her leather boots created a slight squeak as she took her place next to Allison.

"I'll just walk home. It's really not that bad," Jason said as he held up his brown umbrella. When he pulled it back down towards the ground, the wooden handle rested nicely under his hand.

"Don't be stupid, my mom can drive you home," Allison replied while she twirled her dark hair with her right pinky finger. The hair spiraled around her finger, creating a small circle when she pulled her finger away.

"Ah man, this'll be good. Just the three of us," Mike said, as he pushed himself between Allison and Jason, resting his frail arms on both of their shoulders.

"So, how are you getting home, Malik?" Zoey asked while tugging against the edge of her jacket.

"I don't know. I guess I could try to call Rob, but I'd rather not. I have too much homework, and I don't want him to put me in a bad mood right now."

"Don't worry, my mom can drive us home," Zoey replied, flashing a smile at me. As she smiled, I noticed a small dimple at the corner of her right cheek. To the left of that dimple, there was a giant zit. It was like a lighthouse tower, beaconing all of my attention towards it.

"What?" she said. She pulled the hood of her jacket upwards, covering part of her face as a result. Shifting my focus towards her hazelnut eyes, I realized that they were narrowed, with her left eyebrow arched upwards.

"Um, what? Um... nothing, sorry," I replied. I felt a wave of embarrassment languish over me, as I wondered if she knew I was staring at it.

Turning my attention towards the rest of the group, they were talking about some reality television show. I'm not really sure which one it was, there seemed to be a new reality TV show premiering once every day back then.

Soon, Zoey's mom arrived, so Zoey and I said goodbye to the rest of the group. Walking outside, I slung my backpack over my head to try to avoid the rain that was furiously pattering onto the ground beneath us.

Zoey held my wrist and pointed towards a small, black Honda. "Come on, let's go!"

Getting inside the car, I immediately sank into the plush, leather seats. Closing my eyes for a second, I welcomed the car's warm, cozy interior.

Getting into the shotgun seat, Zoey began talking to her mother. "Mom, this is Malik, he's one of my friends and he lives really close to me. Can you drop him off for me?"

"Sure, honey," Zoey's mom replied. She turned towards me. Just like Zoey, she was also overweight. As she opened her mouth, I noticed that there was a large gap between her two front teeth. "So, Malik, where do you live?"

"It's at um, 5 Elmgrove Drive. If you go straight for a bit, turn right onto Randall Drive, then turn left, it'll be right there."

The radio was tuned to a news station, and I couldn't really be bothered to listen to the news. With a few exceptions, it was mostly boring stories about people who I didn't really care about. So, when we began to drove off, I had nothing else to do but look outside. Passing along streets and streets of suburban houses, it felt so different when compared to the hustle and bustle of downtown Toronto.

Many people were walking away from school, wearing their raincoats as they briskly went towards their homes. As we sped past them, I felt bad that they had to walk in the terrible weather.

Soon, we arrived at my house. Thanking Zoey's mom for the ride, I left the car, beginning to run towards my front door as the rain was already dampening my sweater.

Before I could even open the door, a person inside the house opened it for me. As the door was pulled open, I realized that person was Rob.

"Hi Malik!" he exclaimed. As usual, his enthusiasm did nothing but annoy me. His bushy mustache furrowed upwards as he continued to talk to me. "How's it going?"

"Good," I said. I didn't want to talk to him at the moment. Not because he did anything wrong, but he was just someone who still emphasized the very aspect I hated about moving. He just felt extremely fake and plastic, as if he was trying too hard to relate to me. I figured he felt he could replace my father, which I felt I could never let happen.

"So, who dropped you off?" Rob asked.

"My friend's mom did," I said, while I walked as quickly as I could up the stairs and towards my room.

"Alright, well, whenever you want –"

I slammed the door, cutting him off mid-sentence. Dropping my bag on the floor, I sat down on my computer chair, taking in my surroundings. My room wasn't really anything special at that point. Unlike my room back home, this room was still unpainted, it's white walls feeling as dull as my history teacher's life stories.

I browsed the internet for a bit, but that got boring quick, so I figured I should call Angus. We had only talked a few times since I left and we hadn't seen each other in person since I moved. Every time I looked at Angus's Skype username, it never failed to make me laugh. It was clear that the "thebootyslayer015" didn't represent Angus's true identity.

It took a few seconds, but he eventually responded to my call. After a minute of us adjusting our mics trying to hear each other, we eventually established a semi-clear connection.

"Malik fucking McKnight! It's been a while, old chap!"

You know, I actually began to miss Angus's terrible accents. Based off of his introduction, you would think that he was trying to pull off a British accent. You wouldn't believe it, but in person, the guy sounded Chinese.

"That Chinese accent never gets old," I replied in the most serious tone I could possibly muster.

"Dude, it's British," Angus replied in his normal voice.

I laughed. "Hold on, let me get Melissa to join this chat."

"Don't bother, she's out with Chad. It's some type of anniversary thing, I really couldn't care less about it."

"Oh," I replied, feeling defeated. I turned my head back towards the headrest of my chair, slumping slightly.

Chad was a decent guy, and your Aunt Melissa was awesome of course, but I couldn't stand their relationship. You know the saying two wrongs don't make a right? Well, in this case, it was as if two rights made a wrong.

In other words, their relationship was like ketchup and candy. Great separately, not so great together.

Angus sighed. "Come on, I really don't want to get into this again. It's over, it's done. I can't believe you still have a crush on her."

"It's not that, I don't even like her anymore," I replied.

"And the lie detector determined..." Angus paused. He mimicked drumroll sounds with his mouth. "That was a lie!"

I began to formulate a response. "You know what-"

"Jerry! Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!" Angus exclaimed, as he mimicked the live studio audience of The Jerry Springer Show.

"That show blows, and I think you're trying to reference Maury, not Jerry Springer."

"Stop hating, I know you secretly watch that stuff too," Angus said. "Anyways, I think Ryan's home, so we can try to add him in?"

"Sure," I replied. In a lot of aspects, Ryan reminded me of Jason. I figured those two would get along, if they ever met.

Ryan didn't answer, so Angus and I continued to talk. The conversation went from girls, to television, to video games.

"So, why haven't you got an Xbox yet? That's the only console that has good online right now," Angus said.

"I'm, uh, working on it. And I'm broke. I could always try asking my stepdad for one, I'm sure he'd do just about anything to get me to like him. But, I'll get one soon, maybe for Christmas or something," I replied, while reaching into a bag of chips I got from the kitchen.

"Dude, get one. Call of Duty isn't as fun without the resident noob fucking up our games," Angus said, laughing almost immediately after that.

"Shut up," I replied.

That only made him laugh harder. "I do have a serious question though," Angus said. "If you could choose a type of video game to get trapped in, what would you choose?"

"That's easy," I replied. "Definitely shooters,"

"Nah, killing thousands of people can't be good for your brain. Plus, what if you die? Knowing how good you are the game, you'd only be alive for around five seconds," Angus said, laughing again. His laugh was like a firework – extremely loud and uncontrollable.

"Ha, very funny. Why don't we just put you in Mario Kart then, huh?" I replied.

"Go for it. I wouldn't mind. You can't die if you're in Mario Kart," Angus said.

"Yeah you can. If you fall off the ledge, which you do all the time, then you're dead."

"There's a guy who lifts you back up and places you onto the track."

"Just so I can have the feeling of beating you forever in a game, I'm going to choose racing games," I replied. But it was that moment that something clicked. I thought back to the English assignment that I had to complete tomorrow, and the gears in my brain began to turn. I had an idea.

"Sorry Angus, I have to go, later," I said. I logged off of Skype, disconnecting my headset. Reaching towards my backpack on the floor, I pulled out my notebook and began to write down an outline of the story.

I decide that I would create a short story where my protagonist would be stuck inside a racing game. He would have to complete various tracks to get to the end and free himself from the game. I thought it was an idea that could make writing bearable – by using what I liked to create a story.

As I constructed this outline, I put in some thought to my main character. I decided to model him after Angus – an arrogant, unfunny dolt who gets trapped in the one game he isn't good in. But, I'd make him have some likeable qualities too. He'd be a good friend to the other characters he befriends in the game.

When I began to design the tracks I would have him go through, I decided to vary them in difficulty, making the harder ones near the end. Planning this story out was fairly exhausting, but sooner or later, I finished doing that. It was time to write the story.

It was almost like magic – putting my pencil down onto the paper beneath it. Words began to flow out of my mind and into the page as smoothly and rapidly as a waterfall. I felt like an air bender, masterfully taking the elements that I had and combining them into something amazing. It felt like I was creating a symphony – weaving my pencil through page after page, writing though the parts of the story I constructed.

When I finally lifted the pencil from my paper, I looked at the clock. It was already midnight. Closing my notebook and putting it back into my bag, I jumped on my bed, exhausted, and immediately fell asleep.