I am a freak.

Not like an actual and literal one portrayed in comic books and tv shows. But a metaphorical one. Metaphorical in the sense that I don't have superpowers or have had a freakstorm of a life like people from comic books (I'm looking at you Bruce Wayne/Batman and Oliver Queen/ Green Arrow), graphic novels (sorry Survivors from the Walking Dead), novels (Sorry Harry and Percy), tv shows (Sorry the Charmings, Mills, and Gold families), and movies (sorry Luke Skywalker).

Metaphorical in the sense that I am a freak by society's definition. I am a freak by society's definition because I'm an orphan. My father apparently left my mother when he found out she was pregnant and my mother died giving birth to me. From there on out, I lived with my brother. Then, I started living with my aunt and uncle who moved here. To this awful town in Pennsylvania. For me.

Now, my definition of a freak might be different from yours. My definition of a freak is that everyone is constantly looking at you. Constantly talking about you. Constantly judging you. But it's more of a feeling that they are all looking at you, talking about you, and judging you. At least I can be a freak with my best friend, Sydney Novak. Who I ran up to while walking towards our high school and threw my arm around her shoulders.

"Good morning, Syd." I told her.

She grumbled before turning to me with a fake smile plastered on her pasty face. "Good morning, [Y/N]. What's with the newfound energy?"

"Oh, you know. My coffee came in. My aunt and uncle are gone for two days. You know... nothing interesting. How was homecoming?" I told her.

The girl put her hands in her pockets and looked away from me, not giving me any form of eye contact whatsoever. "Oh, you know. It was homecoming. Nothing too big of a deal. Where were you? Doesn't the editor of the yearbook have to take photographs of the event? Or the newspaper's official photographer?"

I was both. I was both the editor and official photographer for both the yearbook and the newspaper. I couldn't tell her what I was doing on Saturday night, although she did know what I was doing. So, I said a lie.

"I was busy doing touch ups to Tuesday's newspaper about the Homecoming Game and Prep Rally. And editing the photos from said homecoming Game and Prep Rally for the Yearbook." Actually, that wasn't a lie.

Sydney looked at me with a puzzled look on her face. "No visiting your brother?"

"Actually, I did. And when I let drop that I was missing the Homecoming Dance, he got angry, and I left after I recieved an earfull from him." I explained. "Then, I made myself dinner and did my duties as editor and photographer."

And then the sound of a 1978 Ford Fairmont came into my ears, and I turned around to see the car of Stanley Barber. Well, Stanley Barber's dad's car. He stopped and rolled down the window. Really slowly. But I was used to it. And so was Sydney by this point in time.

He smiled at the two of us. "Hello, ladies. Want a ride?"

I looked over to Sydney who just shrugged her shoulders. We hopped into the car, me getting the passenger seat beside Stanley. And that's when I saw it. A healing black eye. What the hell? Don't tell me this was his dad again! Please don't.

"What happened there?" I asked pointing to his eye.

In the rearview mirror, I saw Sydney give off a scared and panicked look. Stan sighed and turned to me.

"I punched Bradley fucking Lewis in the face. Actually, I tried, and he punched me in the face."

Did Stanley "No Fucks" Barber really punch Bradley Lewis? I've known Stanley since we were kids. Little kids. Like kindergarten little kids. And he's never even attempted to punch someone. I always thought he was that nice of a guy. Apparently I was wrong.

"Why?" I asked, turning more towards him.

I saw Stanley look into the rearview mirror to see Sydney nod at him. What?

"He ousted her. In public. I thought I had to protect her. As friends go." he explained.

I turned towards Sydney. "Why didn't you tell me? Or texted me right then and there? I would have marched my ass to school and punched his stupid face for her."

"I just thought you would want to spend the night with you-know. Since you only spend one night with you-know. But I imagined his head exploding which was both disgusting and awesome." she explained.

Stan stopped the car at the red light and looked over his shoulder to look at her. I noticed the look he gave her. She just shrugged. So, she didn't tell him about what I do on Saturday nights.

I turned around in my seat facing forward. "I'm still going to punch him for you. I still haven't punched him for cheating on Dina. You know I can feel you smiling."

"How the fuck do you do that?" Sydney asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. "No idea. I guess it's my Sydney Novak intuition or something."

"Haha. Very funny." she replied, dryly.

There is probably one thing you should know about Sydney Novak. She moved here in the middle of Sophomore year about a couple of weeks after Dina. I had made friends with Dina by then and the two of us made friends with Sydney when she arrived. And now, senior year was here looming over us. And I could not ask for a better group of friends. Of course, before them I had a group of ex-friends and life wad kind of boring for me for a few years (five years), and when the two of them showed up, I realized that my friends before weren't actually my friends and I finally knew what true friendship was. Corny, I know, but it's true.  Stanley Barber, on the other hand, is a vastly different story.

I have known Stanley since kindergarten when we were in the same class. The two of us never really talked or hung out because of Lizzie Beauregard. That was the name of my ex-best-friend-that-was-never-a-best-friend-to-begin-with. Lizzie didn't like Stanley and what Lizzie didn't like, I couldn't like. I know awful. But I wouldn't have any other friends if she dropped me. She did drop me though, in the fifth grade. From there, I was lonely. And then weird and adorkable ten-year-old Stanley Barber asked if I would be his partner in our shoe box project. And our weird friendship would commence.

I blinked seeing a motion like that of a waving hand. I think I zoned out there for a while. I turned to Stanley (who the hand belonged to) and raised an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"We're at school. You can go punch someone now." He told me.

"Really?" I asked turning away from him.

"Yep." Did he just nod while I wasn't looking? Yeah, that sounds like him.

I grabbed my bag and hopped out of the car. I swung my bag over my shoulders and walked into the school. I was on a hunt. And this hunt I will get to punch a dickhead jock for hurting my best friends. And man was my hunt easy.

"Hey, Bradley fucking Lewis," he turned towards me (at the mention of his name probably) and I punched him in the face, "that's for my best friend."

He cradled his face with his hand. "Which one, bitch?"

"Both." And with that, I walked away giving him the middle finger on the way out.

So, how was that? I added the part about Brad's head being exploded in as an illusion because I want to add him to the story (don't worry he has a purpose in a story arc, a shitty purpose but a purpose). Should I write more? Are you guys liking this?

Edit:

Is no one else going to say anything that I Am Not Okay With This is basically the relationshop between Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington if Robin had superpowers?