Dear Diary

Dear Diary: Ashton.

Aston's Point of View: Rmellis/Ryoko4848

I slammed my locker shut with indignation. Their stares bore into the back of my head, the chattering amongst themselves flowing into my ears. I never spoke to any of them, nor do I even know their names or years, but with their constant bickering of my name; I was, no am, displeased with how they talk to one another like they've known me for years.

"Oh look, the Bad-ass Sawyer's is coming through," some immature groups of people would whisper out to their buddy like I haven't just heard them. "Quickly guys, bow down to him," he snickers. Myself boredly staring at the locker in front of me, rolling my eyes when he adds, "twat, thinks he's all so hard."

This behavior was not unusual. I've been at this school since start of year seven, myself getting my name spread around within only a few weeks, when some idiot decided to be the Alpha of the year. 

Though, after one kick to the shin, he was knocked down and no longer than a day did I have to wait to be spread around the whole school. Pupils after pupils would confront me, fight me, eager to battle me just for them to reach the 'Bad-ass' name of the school.

Frankly, they all failed.

The fights, arguments, detentions, suspensions died down when I hit year ten, everyone backing off and the year elevens, (the fighting subsiding,) them all wanting no part of it for they are soon to leave anyways. Coming to year eleven, I'd stuck with my own group of so-called 'friends' and still carried the title as; 'Bad-ass Sawyer.'

With my brown notebook hanging at my side, my unneeded notebook now shoved in the locker, I spin my pen around my fingers, which is a talent I picked up myself. Staying extremely quiet, I listen into the other's conversation.

"Oi, shush." A male's voice, not the same voice as the male before, for this ones more high pitched, hushed this friend. "He has got ears, y'know? What is he hears you?"

Nothing was said, myself believing that they'd chickened out and fucked off, but then he spoke; "Oh what? Bad-ass Sawyers gonna get me?" He teased his friends, chuckling. "Dude, he's got nothing on me. He probably just got that nickname 'cause he's got a load of detentions. I get detentions all the time, what's the difference?"

The second male gasped, "careful," he warns, "it's not all because of the detentions." He informed this friend, the hallways filling with more people making me strain to hear them. "He was suspended as well... twice, no three times to be exact." He exclaims, his voice in utter shock.

"And?"

"And," the boy carries on making me raise a brow in curiosity, "that was because rumor has it he'd—" luckily before they could finish their oh so interesting conversation, my pencil shot through the air in no time, itself bouncing off the locker in-between their heads. Jolting back wide eyed, their head shot in my direction. "What the fuc— oh my."

Yes. "Oh my," indeed.