The Bad Boy and the Nerd, Typical

Chapter One: High School

High school has three categories to sum it up.

At the top of the chain, we have the populars. This group consists of cheerleaders, foot ball players, most varsity track runners, and of course there is the bad a*ses.

Then, in the middle of the social chain, we have the mid steppers. These just consist of the people with average grades of C's, B's and some times, A's. These people go to some parties, but are just in high school since they were forced and aren't making a deal out of it to be known.

Finally, we have reached the bottom of this vicious chain, and this link holds the nerds. Yes, nerds. Nerds only, too. They make sure they aren't known, scurrying through the hall before anyone notices, and rarely standing to present a project just because they don't want to be seen. Not many people fit this category, and the ones that do, are mostly mean to everyone: even their own kind.

But, none the less, I am a nerd and I am not mean, I hope. I smile at people who look my way then scurry off to my own little world. I know my limits of when and when not to speak. I compliment many people that I happen to see, and they see me.

I don't know many people's name, but I do admit I am a varsity track runner, but since I don't like to be known, I always request not to be spoken about in the announcements about my awards during track. So, I could be popular, but I want to get into a good college and make it through the school year with flying colors. It is my final year, after all, and I don't want to mess up after getting this far.

Today, is the first day of my senior year, though. The leaves are still some what green here in Michigan, but the wind is bringing the leaves to a darker color as the jet stream brings in cold air from further north.

"Kayla, breakfast is ready!" my mom called from down stairs. My ears perked up, lips forming into a slight smile. I grabbed my bag off my bed, making sure all six note books, and all six folders, and all three pencils and pens were in order before jogging down the stairs to where my mom laid out some breakfast.

"Morning, mom," I smiled. We were never close, so she smiled softly, nodding a slight 'morning' before pointing to my plate.

"Thanks," I filled a glass with orange juice, taking small sips in between bites.

"You better go, Kayla," my mother, scolded me, "you're gonna be late."

Nodding, I obliged and began my trek to my 78' mahogany corvette, glad that my dad left me his old car. It was in good condition, always well taken care of, so it drove like any other new brand car.

By the time I had arrived to school, my fingers were drumming repeatedly on the steering wheel. I was hoping more than anything that as I walked the halls to get to the office to get my schedule, I would be able to pass through this year unknown, and unseen by the human eye just like every year.

So, with my teal, worn down converse, I glanced at my schedule, easily dodging the gazes of people. I had on simple clothing: worn down (as always) Beatles Band Tee, and some worn (of course)skinny jeans. Can't forget to add my glasses that were just typical for my nerdy kind.

"Kayla," Mrs. Martinez smiled, "wonderful to see you. How is Andrew?"

My brother was an algebra wiz, so was I, but I always chocked up on tests. Unlike me, my brother was popular though, varsity track like me, and in all his subjects he was in the lowest of classes except Algebra; there he was top of the highest class.

"Good," I smiled, "he is at his final year of college."

"Oh really? I feel so old now," she laughed lightly, shaking her head. Truth is, she looked young for her age. Barely any wrinkles on her tan face, framed by curly, dark brown, ringlets.