Project,

I don't really know why I've decided to call you that, besides the fact that... that's what you are. A project. I should probably put a little bit about myself in here. I'm 17. I have a girlfriend named Natalie, but I don't really get to be with her, unless I'm here. And, for some reason, everyone calls me a dreamer.

I say 'for some reason' but I know why. It's because my plans are unrealistic. I never set out to do things that can be done. But now, I'm going to prove them wrong.

I'm going to build a house. Somewhere for Natalie and I to disappear. Where we can be together. Where we can-

"Adam,"

I look up and see everyone in the class is looking at me. And they probably have been for a little while. A couple of them are even snickering at me.

That's fine. I can handle a little laughter.

"Adam," Ms. Lawrence repeated (I read her name off of the board on the fly).

Do you guys know those teachers that suddenly make you want to sit at the front of the class? That's this teacher. She was... How do you say? FUCKING HOT! Her hair is curly and dark red, freckles on her nose, big green eyes, and more legs than a bucket of chicken. Put Ms. Lawrence in a school uniform and take down her hair, and she could be sitting on my side of the classroom. Preferably with me across her lap.

"Do you want to come up and introduce yourself?"

"Hell yeah," I jump up, surprising my classmates with my eagerness and gusto. They must be used to timid new kids. Well, prepare yourself, suckers, cause you ain't never met a badass like me.

I run to the front of the class, grab the chalk from Ms. Lawrence's hand and scribble ADAM on the chalkboard.

"My name," I underline it twice "is Adam. My handwriting sucks. If you can't read that... you should probably retake kindergarten. It's four letters, people. Get an education,"

I got a chuckle. They still don't know what to think if me.

"Alright. Here's the deal," I start pacing around like a drill sargent addressing his troops, in the movies. "I move a lot. Which means I do THIS a lot. I'm tired of it. So we're going to play a game instead,"

Half the kids just stared at me, the other half glanced towards Ms. Lawrence. As if to say: Can he do that?

I glance at Ms. Lawrence and see that she hasn't stopped looking at me. I smile. The floor is all mine.

I turn on my heel to face my fellow students. "I'm going to let the entire class have seven questions. You all, as a whole (not seven questions each) get to ask questions that I HAVE to answer. No matter what it is. Got it? Go,"

The room is silent for a second. Then one skinny, nerd, at the side if the class, hisses through his braces: "What's your favorite color?"

"Orange, but that question doesn't count," I reply. I turn to them all, exasperated. "Let me put this into perspective. You have the new kid, on his heels at the front of the class. You have me at your mercy. I will answer ANY seven questions you ask. And THAT'S the one you chose? Come people," I tap my temple. "Use it. I can't be the only sane person around here,"

A jock in the front row raises his hand. "Are you sure you're not gay?"

The class chuckles.

"Dream on, fucker. Next question,"

I feel everybody in the room lose their minds at once. Pencils hit the ground. Laughter and gasps fill the room. People start repeating what I'd said to others who'd already heard it. Even the jock has to bite his lip, and my teacher snorts.

I've immediately gained the respect of this room.

"Next question?" I repeat, with a small smile.

Suddenly everyone wants to ask one. I point at a short girl in the middle, because I get the feeling she's never really been picked for anything.

"What's the weirdest text you've ever gotten?"

I pull out my phone and scrolled back through my photos. Then I show them a conversation I'd taken a picture of, years ago, when it happened.

Unknown

U DUDES READY TO PARTY?!

Me

HELL YEAH! WHO IS THIS?

Unknown

Sorry wrong no.

Me

...but. I wanna party. :(((

Me

And I still don't know who
this is...

Now I'm getting scattered applause. Let's go!

"Next!"

"Are you a virgin?"

"Obviously," I smile, and find myself staring at a cute, brunette, girl, with big brown eyes. Then I gesture at myself. "Do you want to fix that?"

Her face can get really red, let me tell you. And all the cat calls aren't helping.

Your average hottie from the back of the class jumps up. "Guess how many guys I've slept with!"

"That's a statement not a question," I reply. "But the answer is: not enough. I'm still a virgin, aren't I?"

"Who in this room would you most like to make out with?"

I gesture at Ms. Lawrence, as if instructing her to take a bow. "Would you kindly molest me?"

The screams are deafening. And yes, dear audience, I understand how very politically incorrect that statement was. And I own up to it. And I also... would not take it back.

Ms. Lawrence laughed so hard she had to sit down in her chair.

"What does hell look like?"

"I've been there in a few different lives," I shrug. "Closest thing I could think of to relate it to would be your face,"

"OOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!" My audience covers their mouth and high-fives each other. They love me. It's weird ... that's not something I get a lot...

The next question nearly catches me off guard: "What will be in your headstone when you die?"

I hesitate "I see dumb people,"

Mainly only Ms. Lawrence is the one laughing at that one. And the girl in the front.

"Okay guys one last question! Make it good!" Ms. Lawrence stands up, carefully. I'm glad someone was keeping track.

"What's the weirdest thing you've ever done in front of a mirror?" Someone tells from the back. The class cheers for the question and stares at me expectantly.

I shrug, and reach down to undo my belt.

"No! No... No," Ms. Lawrence grabs my arm, breathless and laughing. "We... Uh. I think we'll count that as an answer,"

The classroom door swings open and crashes into the wall. Everything gets really quiet.

"WHAT THE HELL IS ALL THIS NOISE?" The man roars.

Why does he man look familiar?

Short grey hair. Tall, hunky, stature. That permanent frown embedded into his stone-like face. His ice cold glare cut through everyone like knives. Then he looked at me. With my belt undone, and Ms. Lawrence's hand on my arm.

Oh shit. This is the principal...

I know his face from all the big-brother-like posters in the hallway, pointing down at the kids as the hurried by. They acted as if this guy's likeliness was going to bust out if the wall and strangle them if they stayed too long. And now I kinda understand why.

"Step aside, Mr. Thompson,"

Obviously he's the principal and he should know my name, but the fact that he said it sent shivers down my spine. I hiked back up my jeans and backed out of the way.

He pointed Ms. Lawrence to her seat, and growled at her in a stage whisper. "I don't know who you think you are, whore. But this is a school. Not a fucking strip club, where shit like you belongs,"

My chest tightens. Now, I don't like to get mad. And I don't hate people. I feel like it gets in the way of other emotions like happiness and love. But right now, I don't care. That's my teacher he's talking to. And not only is he saying some really rude shit, he's also saying it in front of the whole class. So no I'm not just going to watch.

"You'd know what belongs in a strip joint, wouldn't you, Mr. Johnson?" I think I got his name right?

I see his shoulders tense up, and he slowly turns around.

Yeah. I'm starting to regret my decision... I've picked a fight with a couple people. But never people quite his size. At least he can't hit me... right?

Mr. Johnson walks up and puts his chest against mine. I'm a pretty tall guy, but I find myself staring into his chin.

He can't hit me... right?

"You think I haven't heard about you, Thompson? Abandoned by your mother and despised by your father. You have a whole life of neglect in your past and a whole future of it to go," he spat, not quietly enough for the room to miss.

"I'd much prefer to be neglected, than to end up like you, sir. I have met a lot of pricks in my life. But you, my friend, are the whole fucking cactus,"

The class collectively stuffs it's fist into it's mouth, to avoid laughing.

"You listen up, brat," Mr. Johnson leans forward, in an actual whisper this time. "I have the dirt on you and every damn person in this classroom. As well as this town. If you don't want everyone to know about the week after your fourteenth birthday, you won't be taking another single step out of line,"

I feel my insides squeeze. Wait. How does he know about that?

My biggest mistake in life. The one thing I would go back a thousand times to undo. Nobody should know about that. Only me, my foster sister: Kristen, and my foster parents at the time. We didn't get anyone else involved because it would have tinted my foster family's reputation. None of them would have told anybody.

"Because if you think they neglect you now," he chuckles humorlessly "I can't wait to see what they think if you then,"

"I won't," I whisper. Anything to keep that under wraps. Anything.

"Detention!" He screams in my ear. Then he turns to glare at Ms. Lawrence. "Do your job or get fired, cock sucker,"

How can he get away with doing this? Just because everyone is afraid he'll spread what he knows about them? Someone needs to stand up... but if I won't do it, why should I expect anyone else to?

"Everyone, let's have a warm welcome for Adam," Ms. Lawrence sniffs in a hoarse voice.

I look up and see every student rise to their feet and clap like crazy. Even with that whole scene that just took place. All of these guys are applauding me for making them laugh. Maybe there's hope for the world after all...

I walk to my seat, in slightly higher spirits. What can I say, I might be the only person in history who's gotten a standing ovation after their class introduction.

My phone dings.

It's a random number texting me.

Unknown

Hey Samantha, it's Carlos. The
Louisiana stripper. Are you free
tonight?

Me

Uh, you have the wrong number
compadre. But I do sell the
largest assortments of meat in
Texas. Would you like to be one?

I can't help but smile.

I stand up. "I have a correction to make,"