To Die For

chapter two: not a cliche

My exhaustion was really almost enough to make me plummet my hand into by tired eyes, sacrificing my makeup. I blinked tiredly, staring up at the ticking clock hanging above the door. Literally not even five minutes left.

There was some shit scrawled up on the board but I was way too tired to even begin to try to decipher Mr. Crawford's crackhead printing. Speaking of Crawford, he was asleep at his desk.

History. Sleep. They go well together.

Of course, not for the students.

Insert kill-me-now smiley face.

And at last, the holy, sweet droning of metal-on-metal of the bell ringing set off, signaling the students to jump up and out out of the class. Of course, everyone's bags were already packed.
Everyone waited on the edges of their seats for the end of history.

I smiled. Ma, I'm coming home from war.

I heard Mr. Crawford awaken with a snort. Ah, Mr. Crawford. White, straight, millennial Mr. Crawford. You'd never expect him to be teaching history. I liked him though. He amused me enough to get me through this class.

When he was actually awake.

I hurried out of the classroom quickly, getting caught in the shower of students as they dumped into the hallways like little river streams flowing into the ocean. I always got what I needed from my locker before my last class so I didn't have to push though at the most crowded time of day.
Yes, I know I'm a genius, hold your applause.

Assuming I'd meet Hazel and Ace back in the parking lot out front, I stepped out and appreciated the sun as I ran down the front steps. Though I was tired, the sun swept over me like a warm blanket. But like a refreshing kind of warm, like when you just get into your bedsheets after a long day and it's still slightly cool underneath. Yeah, that's what a a day like this felt like. The sun was out, yet the air still remained crisp and nipped at my ankles a bit.

I found a nice spot under a tree, seating upon the dampened tangles of grass against the dark trunk. I slumped, pulling out my water bottle and pulling out my phone. 

My wallpaper stared back at me. No messages.

Well I mean, it was a school day, who did I expect to text? My mood stayed strong.

My mind drifted to the new guy. Zach.

I wanted to believe my life was like a movie, where the new bad boy comes to town and makes every girl swoon. The kind of movie where every girl but one would adore him, and of course the girl would be that quiet, write-in-the-margins, low-ponytail-wearing, avid-reading type of girl. Not much effort into her appearance, artistic, sweet kind of girl. 'Not like other girls', I would say.

It always made me laugh when I saw people write up that same character. 'I was different' they would always say. When we were younger, the grown-ups told us 'everyone's special'. If everyone's special, does that not mean that everyone is the same thing? Go ahead. Tell me you've heard this before. But it's true. 

I could never be in that movie. 

I always had an obsession with defying clichés. I wanted to walk up to someone like Chase and do something like walk by him without even a glance, maybe bump his shoulder, shove him a bit. I know it sounds weird. If I ever told someone that they'd tell me I had a crush on Chase. Which I didn't. People just fascinate me. It may sound creepy, but the villans in those superhero movies we all adored were always the most interesting, weren't they? 

It's because they're the most real.

No one is really a saint. Some people do kind things just for the sake of recognition, others do it because it feels good to be nice. There is always a personal motive behind one's actions, some oily greed or desire laced into the people as we drink their compliments in.