Punk

Chapter I . Rude Introductions

I woke up. I could hear my mom calling me from downstairs. "Get up Monika," she says and I groan. I swing my legs over the bed and walk to my dresser. I pull my hair into a messy bun and grab out my favorite sweatshirt with a flowery pattern and put on a pair of high waisted dark wash bootleg jeans. Then I walk downstairs and all hell breaks loose. My mother, Jeanette, stands at the kitchen sink, her elbows submerged in soapy water and my sister, Patricia stands on the opposite side of the room, looking like she is about to spontaneously combust. "What the hell is going on here," I say as I pick up a piece of toast left for me on the kitchen table. "Your sister doesn't want to go to school today, Monika." My mom says and I groan, "Well goddamn Patricia you can't choose whether you want to go to school or not."

"Well it doesn't matter to you because you're good at school," she growls aggressively as she saunters towards me. I decide I've had enough and I pick up my Chanel purse and storm out of the kitchen, not even bothering to say goodbye.

I walk down the halls of hell, also known as high school. And then I see him, the new kid. He's a transfer from England and I've got to admit he's mighty hot. But I can't succumb to his devilishly good looks and deep voice. No, I will not be another cliché character. He walks up as I approach my locker and immediately I tense up. "What's your name?" He asks and leans against my locker door. I raise my eyebrows and slam the door shut causing him to fall into the lockers. He looks shocked by this but then he smirks. "You're a feisty one," he tells me, "I like it". I huff and stalk off down the school hallways, with him trailing behind me like a puppy dog. "So, I didn't get your name." He says. I turn around and am surprised at just how close he is to me. I look up into his brown orbs that seemingly stare into the depths of my soul. They're like chocolate rivers I could drown in. "I didn't get yours." I say, poking his chest for emphasis.

"I asked first"

"I asked second." He sighs and I smile. One point to Monika, I think to myself. I turn away from him again and walk down the hallway to my English class. "It's Thomas by the way," I hear him call and I roll my eyes.

I sit down in my class, taking my regular seat right at the back. It's fifteen minutes past bell time and our teacher is still not present. So much for attendance. I give up, plugging my earphones in and blasting coldplay until I feel a tap on my shoulder. "Dylan," I say turning around in my seat to raise an eyebrow at my best friend. "That's my name," He smirks at me leaning forward, "I have something to tell you, and it's very very important." I roll my eyes [something I do a lot], "Yes?"
"That boy over there," he says pointing across the room, "Has been trying to subtly get your attention for about 7 minutes and 53 seconds. Point 64 to be exact."
"I didn't notice"
"Probably because he's because using his telepathic powers to communicate with you and all the coldplay is blocking him out."
"He looks like he's just staring."
"He must like Coldplay"

"Hey! Coldplay is good"
"Alright Monika whatever you say..."

A silence fills the room as I try not to stare back at Thomas. I can feel his brown orbs burning a hole in the back of my head. Just as I'm about to turn around and tell him to knock it off, our teacher walks in. Excellent timing Mr Robinson.
"Sorry I'm running a bit late class." He huffs as he stumbles in wearing his plaid waistcoat and tan colored jeans.

As soon as Mr Robinson entered the room Thomas' gaze was quickly averted. I let out a deep breath as the old man settled in and began writing on the chalkboard. Mr Robinson had a comb over that reminded me of an athlete that could never finish the race, his hair didn't completely reach the other side of his head; it never crossed the finish line. The man hardly had any wrinkles on his face though, only dent like ones on each of his cheeks. His eyes seemed worn out from the black circles below them, but the hazel in his eyes still shone bright. He's wearing an orange plaid shirt with tan pants; how original.
"Today we'll be learning about Romeo and Juliet." The entire class groans but I can almost feel the glow from Thomas' white ass smile. What a douche bag. He'll probably use this case study to catch some luck with a hot girl in this class. Not that there are many. Mr Robinson continues to blabber on about his favorite novel and the entire class slides further down into their seats, hoping somehow to escape his monotonous ums and ahs about the literary genius of Shakespeare.

The time passes quickly enough though, and soon I find myself with only five minutes before recess. "Now, before you all scutter off to 'chill' with your friends I want to assign you partners for this essay. Since you all struggled so much writing one thousand word essay by yourselves." He pauses, letting that information sink in before he continues. "And I'll be choosing." At this the whole class groans, yet again. "Chelsea and Linden, Michelle and Logan, Vivienne and Ysabel, Lucas and Joan, Mike and Tristen, Monika and Thomas..." he continues but I stop listening out of pure shock. Is he serious? I have to work with him, dear God, this is going to be a long and arduous semester. Just as I think I'm actually about to shrivel up and die, the bell goes. I take my chance and bolt right out the door before Mr Robinson, my new least favorite teacher, can even dismiss us.

I'm bolting down the hallway, the cold school atmosphere harshly hitting my face. I don't want to work with that douche bag. I already know he's not going to do anything to help with this task; I have to complain. I have to ask not to be his partner. All he wants to do fulfill his agenda in "knowing my name". He obviously thinks he has a chance to date me. Me? Dating that obnoxious idiot? I let out a huge laugh at this thought and I stop running when I reach my locker. I look around cautiously, expecting Thomas to jump out and hound me; but he doesn't. So, I turn my back to the now crowded halls and grab my things. It isn't until I close my locker that I feel a sarcastic slow tap on my shoulder. Do I ever catch a break?