Chapter 1 - FIRST IMPRESSION

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The sound of shitty hell wakes me up at 6:00, I roll over and smack the clock as many times as it takes for it to shut the hell up

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The sound of shitty hell wakes me up at 6:00, I roll over and smack the clock as many times as it takes for it to shut the hell up. I swear every time I hear it, it makes me wish someone might have burnt my goddamn school down - then as per usual reality kicks in and i realise I've been wallowing in my own self pity for 20 minutes in the time I should have been in and out the shower. Fuck.

As I lie there thinking about getting up; my mam comes in LIKE EVERY FUCKING MORNING and screams at me for still being in bed; telling me I'm going to be late, as if I don't already know and am already thinking about faking my own death.

I jump out of bed in my baggy Tshirt and my red and green Lacy Christmas knickers - which happens to be my favourite time of year. I live in the UK to be fair, so I'm always freezing when I wake up; I sprint over to where my cosy yet completely unattractive dressing gown is which seems to have multiple unnamable stains that have built up over the years, and drag myself over to where I keep my 3 items of makeup, my mascara, a lip-gloss and my emergency concealer for unexpected spots.

I don't exactly take much time in how I look, but ive always been like that. Not necessarily through thinking its a bad thing to wear more makeup - purely through laziness. After looking in the mirror for what feels like an hour and contemplating on wether I look even half decent; I decide to make a little more effort since it's the first day back, and after putting my mascara on, I pick out a dark rose coloured lipstick. I grab my denim shorts, converse and baggy burgundy t-shirt and head out.

After driving myself to school, looking around at the palm trees and sun, and humming my own made up song; I walk through the doors and head towards Casey's locker. And there she was, typical Casey laughing at some girl trying to open her locker and failing.

I ran over to her as if i hadn't seen her in years, even though it was 2 days ago; and before I knew it she was back to telling me her pointless stories. We headed to the hall where the school does their annual "welcome back" assemberly that even the teachers hate but its a tradition and is always done regardless.

We sat in our usual row in which we had sat since we were 11 and had just started the school, and prepared ourself to listen to the same emotionless "welcome back" speech we had heard 5 times over. About an hour later After we had been through the pure agony of the teachers holiday antics, and had been given our new timetables for classes, it was time to introduce new teachers, heaven forbid we need any more nagging, middle aged, sexually frustrated, single woman telling us what to do every day of our lives.

The first teacher introduced looked mid 50's and snobby to say the least, the wrinkles on her brow were so indented she gave the impression she hadn't smiled in centuries. After around 3 more teachers had been forced to tell us about themselves; knowing fine well no one actually cared - a man with a slightly untucked navy shirt and messy brown hair with glasses came stumbling in. He looked as if he could be my age and was completely unprofessional, and everyone assumed he was just a new student, until Mr Holdman the principal waved him over and introduced him as the new English teacher Mr Ross.

The room fell silent as he quickly but confidently spoke about himself, with some girls giggling and whispering to each other ever so often. I scoffed, yes maybe he was extremely hot, and maybe you could see he had muscles as the shirt was just tight enough to outline the abs on his stomach, and yes maybe it was slightly tight on his upper arms. I could see the cute dimples in his cheeks when he smirked, but it was only when i looked at my timetable and realised i had him everyday - sometimes multiple times a day, for English lit, did it become a problem, because how the fuck was i expected to concentrate on some shitty 19th century novel with the view of a man that looked like he had been carved by the gods themselves standing right in front of me?

Hi guys I thought I would get straight to it and introduce you to Mr Ross who is shown in the photo. I HOPE YOU ENJOYED READING!

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