Parties. Something that has always kept me not only from becoming someone at Bagwell Senior High, but also from being anyone's love interest. I mean, come on. Who cares about the quiet little girl next door whose only main concerns are keeping her GPA at a decent level and catching up on the latest series on Netflix?

Okay. First of all, school hasn't even started yet and I'm being paranoid over something that's not my business. I should really get my shit together, for once. Anyway, I'm not interested in guys either, so, again, there are a lot of better things I should focus on, such as getting ready for senior year. Hell yeah, it's going to be tough. Worse still, I haven't made any friends in three years of high school.

Okay, not yet. Well, unless I consider that Korean weirdo from my Art class one... After all, she's just the girl sitting at my desk doing chibi caricatures of teachers, right? Or what about that girl that always does push-ups with me at PE? Yeah, the one who always dyes her hair and causes riots in the cafeteria... Or maybe the one who has always an excuse of sneaking out of classes without earning detention... I mean, what's the point of going to school when you hardly ever follow classes?

Okay, I give up. I guess that those two girls are actually friendly to me. But does it mean that we're friends yet?

Oh, come on, Lucy, are you joking?

I guess it's really time to get my crap together.

***

School. The place where you either keep your head down and study, or you keep it up and party. Of course, I chose the first option. I mean, there's no other way for me to get into a good college—well, if I'm even deemed to be a good fit for college. Applications can be so intense, especially if one is not prepared enough.

After picking my schedule for the first semester, as I head to homeroom, I'm stopped by someone tapping my shoulders in such an annoying manner that I scowl, "Hey! Stop it!" As I turn, however, I immediately regret reacting that way. Being rude isn't something I'm proud of; in fact, the first thing I do is lowering my head and muttering an apology. "S-sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you."

By then, however, the other person has already left. Their bad. If they don't want to accept my apology, then I should just move on. Well, unless they're clearly set on payback.

No more bullshit, Lucy! You're going to be late for class!

As I finally reach homeroom, I'm shocked that the teacher in charge, Mrs. Richardson, is already there. Fortunately, she hasn't called me yet and doesn't seem to want to tell me off for being slightly late. Before she catches me, I go and take the only available seat, only to find out that I'm sitting next to the same weirdo from the Art class. (To be honest, I don't even remember her name.)

Now, I'm stuck next to her, having to listen to her chit chat and pretending to be even interested in that pointless bullshit. But this is what friends do, right? Okay, why would anyone think that she's my friend? I mean, we barely even talk to each other—better say, she does the talking, I only listen.

Today is no exception, of course. She shows a wide smile, then extends her hand. I take it. She says, "Lucy, right? We're from the same art class. I'm not surprised that we ended up sitting together again." So, why the hell is she stating the obvious? I'm tempted to point it out, but I prefer not to. I don't want to upset her, so I just let her go on. "But do you at least remember my name?"

I don't feel like admitting I forgot it, but lying would only make things worse, so I don't answer, instead letting her ramble once more. "This year is promising, right? There are so many things in store for us, don't you think so?"

Fortunately, Mrs. Richardson puts an end to this torture, much to my relief. "Lee Hyunyoung?" she calls. Guess what? The creep next to me raises her hand! How the fuck could I be so stupid? I mean, I think I've just made the shittiest figure ever. In fact, I hear someone snicker behind my back; although I'm tempted to call them out, I don't. That would only earn me a one-way ticket to detention.

"Class! Quiet, please! Leanne Lockridge?" The moment Mrs. Richardson calls that freak, Hyunyoung and I stop paying attention to role call. Or, at least, I pretend to. I can't wait to hear my name called down so that this torture is finally over. What seem to be only three minutes are an eternity. Not only Mrs. Richardson takes her goddamn time calling everyone, but she also wastes it lecturing students on being late and all that jazz.

"Lucy Pena?"

At last. I raise my hand, mutter something incomprehensible and then go back minding my business. As this painful role call session is finally over, we scatter all around the room to leave and head each to our own classes. Great. AP English. The class I'm going to hate the most.

Without greeting anyone, I drag myself to Room 304 for my first English class of the semester. Or, maybe, I should call it "master torture." Yeah, even though I usually get good grades in this subject, Mrs. Carr has done nothing to make me like it so far. And things are not going to change, not today.

***

Turns out this prediction is wrong, as well. It seems as Mrs. Carr is no longer teaching us. I mean, I'd recognize her instantly. She's an old hag with hundreds of wrinkles who usually wears those ridiculous bright pink glasses and cute floral dresses which, however, are not age appropriate. Plus, her shrill voice has given me headaches multiple times.

Instead, a much younger woman, probably in her late thirties, is standing at the teacher's desk. She's holding a stack of papers. "Okay, guys, can I have your attention, please?" As she talks, everyone stops making noise. Including me, sitting at the last row, near the window.

"My name is Justine Hartsfield and, since today, I'm your English teacher." She walks down the class, passing each desk and starts distributing the papers she's holding. She explains, "Today, we start with a little quiz. Just to test your skills and your knowledge. Please, fill it in at your best and don't cheat. I'm watching you."

After she's done passing the papers, she returns at her desk and the test can start. I check through every question, starting to answer the easiest ones, but then I realize that there are four or five that are really tricky. I look around, only to put my head down when Mrs. Harsfield throws a glance at the last two rows. I guess it's really time to focus on the quiz.

It's not impossible, is it?