Hidden {mgc}

"better?"

He was Michael Clifford.

Everyone knew him. Whether you were a sophomore, or a junior, or even a transfer student.

You knew Michael Clifford. Trust me, you did; he was pretty hard to miss.

With his faded lilac hair and those awful pants he calls punkrocker jeans, in a crowd of twenty you will always pick him out. Always.

My name's Maria (loudluke especially for you babe). People know me as the bitch in the hallway, the girl with the attitude; yet they don't fear me. No, whatever fear my fellow peers have has been taken by the crazy-headed weirdo with the eyebrow piercing and the squinted eyes.

How did I know him, you ask? We met in detention. Room 67, if I remember correctly. We were transferred from Room 69 after a childish boy with a bird tattoo on his neck kept giggling about the number.

I was sat next to Michael, watching him type a text to someone from behind his huge Chemistry book. He kept glancing up at Mr Rottsky, willing him not to pay attention.

I just rolled my eyes and popped my gum and chewed some more, not quite up for being Michael's eagle eye.

By the time detention was over, I was walking down the school hallway when something grabbed my attention.

It was the faint sound of loud music being played through earphones, and sure enough, it was Michael Clifford's.

He was walking alongside me, humming along to the tune as I squirmed at how loud and damaging it must be.

So I walked over to him and pulled one out. Is that a crazy move? Possibly, because we're dealing with the boy who spray painted profanities on the chapel wall.

"Michael," I said, yanking one bud out. "Your ears are going to kill tomorrow."

He didn't reply, instead he rolled his sparkling eyes and turned the volume down by two.

"Better?" he asked, gesturing to the visibly lower volume.

I nodded slowly, as I watched him carry on his way.