I Checked Out the Badboy's Boxers

(4) Locker placement at Pentingswood High is not on fleek

Lovely banner by eveninglatte

Ever heard the saying 'first is the worst'? Turns out, it's true.

My mom left on a business trip, and Elle left for school early with Parker.

People that think the worst thing in the world is going back to school seriously underestimate the feeling of going back to a new school.

Basically it sucks ass.

The people are most likely going to treat you like a piece of dirt. That got stepped on. And eaten, and went through someone's system and then got stepped on again. And then, scraped off of their shoe with a look of disgust. Welcome to hell. Aka high school.

Senior year is supposed to be good. I guess that is, when you have the perfect boyfriend, perfect friend group, perfect grades (except that damn B-plus in pre calc), and perfect for practically anything else. I don't even need perfect, I'd settle for familiar.

I know of two friends and one foe at this school. All I have to do, is stay by Elle or Parker, and avoid Boxer Boy.

Which should be easy considering there are four hundred plus students in my grade and I only have to watch for three of them.

Elle is so sweet, she probably has tons of friends that are nice and will welcome me into their group.

And Parker...can't exactly say he's nice. I smirk, maybe he'll have some hot friends.

Stupid thoughts I'm getting now that I'm hanging around Elle so often. They uninvitedly rented a place in my head and never take vacation days.

I glance upward at the French metal clock, that's rustic looking on the edges. 7:19. Time to leave.

Also unfortunately for me, I do not own a car.

Walking, it is.

I grab my phone and shove it into the pocket of my denim jeans, quickly pull a sweatshirt over my head, and leave the house, locking the door behind me.

The walk to school is peaceful, nice even. Except for the fact that I clearly misinterpreted my pain tolerance in these shoes. Pain is beauty, I guess.

I bend down and unfasten and refasten the straps on my black combat boots.

After this day, I swear my feet will be more blister than skin.

I sigh and continue my trek to school.

A whole half hour later, I'm walking through the doors into my new home away from home, seeing as they lock us up in this torture center for long enough.

It's nice, but basic. I stop by the guidance counselor immediately to get my schedule and my locker com. The schedule, I'm holding, tucked under my sweatshirt. The locker com however, I have no clue.

Finally, one of the office ladies walks over to me, "Are you Alexis Anderson?"

I nod, "That would be me."

She glances at her clipboard, "And you would be a...senior?"

I chuckle awkwardly. Why do I get so awkward around people. It's like my nerves die or something and I feel the need to laugh or fidget or ramble, "Correct."

Correct? I don't say words like correct.
What is even happening, I sound like an eighty year old woman that's trying to be hip by saying words like hip.

"Unfortunately, due to the amount of, uh, transfers we've had recently, there are no more available lockers in the senior wing. The junior wing is also filled, and the sophomores are all the way in the basement. We considered placing you with the special educated, but their teachers prefer you to not be there. So we've come to the solution that you will have a locker at the end of the uh, freshman hallway."