The Stereotypes Project (UNDER MAJOR EDITING)

6. The Punxters.

I stared at the crumpled up note in my hand. The black ink looked like it was dripping and seeping through the starch white paper like blood. Involuntarily, I started to shiver. What kind of cruel joke is this?  Did I just accidentally attract a mass murderer with a target of emo girls by dressing like this? If so, I honestly swear to god I'm just pretending. Please don't kill me.

I flipped the paper over. There was a weird symbol on the other side, sort of like a star with a skull in the middle of it, marked with a bright red X. If I hadn't known better, I would probably think some weird secret evil clique was summoning me or something. Ha, no chance in hell right?

It was probably some kids messing around. Or Parker playing a twisted joke on me. Yep, it's definitely Parker. That kid is always trying to push my buttons in freaky ways. Hahaha. Well not this time, dude. I, Charlie the Punk Rock Queen, is not going to fall for your childish play, bastard. And you know what, I am going to confront him right this instant. Parker Drew, you are going down. Like way down. Way way down. So down that you are going to regret you were ever up. Down. (Okay, you get my point, right?)

So I held my head up high, smoothed the piece of paper out as evidence, and walked to wherever that dude wanted me to go. I stared at the note again. Behind the bleachers? Seriously? Isn't that the place where those gross cheerleaders go to make out with their boyfriends or something? (Sue me, all of my knowledge about the complicated world of high school is taken from chick flicks. They are like bibles for teenage girls.)

Actually, now that I think of it, wasn't there that movie that this girl got a note like this and was murdered behind the bleachers?

No, right?

What do you mean there is?

Nah, it's definitely not some murderer. It's Parker. He acted fishy this whole morning, with the whole 'let's stare at Charlie and pretend to look away when she looks at you' thing. That bastard was probably planning this in his head the whole time. Not that I care about him enough to monitor his every motion, of course. (But come on, that dude is dangerous. I need to be on the lookout. That was the whole reason I was looking at him. Not because of the way his floppy brown hair falls over his eye. Honest to god. Wait what, I'm actually a Buddhist? Okay, honest to Buddha.) Yep, he probably sent this cryptic message to me, and even nonchalantly asked me if I wanted to have lunch with him. Distractions, distractions. But I was definitely jot going to fall for his little trick.

With that thought in my head, I (hopefully frighteningly) stomped my combat boots hard on the grass as I took long, powerful strides across the football field. Speaking from a completely objective point of view, I looked like a badass dragon-slayer-troll-killer girl, ready to take down even the most buff quarterbacks in this whole school, so lanky Parker is definitely not a problem. (Also, I have no idea why you are saying I look like a deranged girl who walks funny. You are probably talking about someone else.)

When I finally got to behind the bleachers though, it was surprisingly empty. Except for some freshmen who were chattering excitedly on the other side of the field, there was no mass murderer, no evil clique, and most definitely, no Parker, since he was with Madison and holding her hand.

Wait, what?

I craned my neck out from where I was standing, and sure enough, there was Parker, in his usual distressed jeans, black tee, and Converses. With his arm around, you guessed it. Madison.

That estupido baboso. This was so messed up. And isn't she dating Kurt? Who just happened to be Parker's best friend? I angrily kicked at the wall, and made a dent in it with my steel-toed boots. Unsurprisingly, the soles came off, hanging open, which left me crumbling to the floor clutching my now probably broken toes, in agonizing pain. So much for 5$ thrift shop boots. These must have probably worn by someone's grandpa in World War II.