GREG'S Bizarre Adventure

Part 1, Chapter Two: Middle School! Begin!

Greg didn't even say goodbye to his mother when he left the car. She rolled down her window, and, to his surprise, called out, "GREG!! I love you!"
Greg rolled his eyes and didn't even look back at her.
He overheard other students giggling at him. Greg clenched his fist, but he knew he didn't have time to waste. He had to find his seat.
As soon as he cracked the big steel doors to the school open, he saw pure chaos. People were running, jumping, fighting and throwing things like toilet paper. Greg shoved from behind and tripped over a trash can, the contents of which spilling on the floor. Greg needed to save his energy. He needed. A. Seat.
So far, the place called "Westmore Middle School" was looking more like it should be called "Hellhole". Greg witnessed a tall kid holding this short Indian kid's belongings, who looked to be a 6th grader, just like him, so that the kid couldn't reach for them.
After looking at a board in the hallway and finding his classroom, he, at last, stepped inside to find his much desired seat. His eyes immediately drifted, not to a chair, but an attractive blonde girl sitting next to an empty desk. She had this strange aura about her. To Greg, she was just perfect, without even knowing her name! He needed THAT SEAT, and needed to get to it fast. Before he could, though, he was stopped by Rowley who had also just entered. He bore some kind of foreign outfit and said something in what sounded like Spanish.
"Rowley, I saw you last week. I hate to be like that, but I really got a grab a seat." Greg told him.
"Oh, but I forgot to tell you about my trip to South America! I wore this outfit so I could show everyon–" Rowley attempted to say, before being cut off by Greg dashing for his desired seat. Just as he was about to lay his buttocks on the seat and formally claim it as his own, a hand intercepted his butt's contact with the hardwood chair. He looked up, and it was none other his arch-nemesis from elementary school: Patty Farrell. 
"What do you think you're doing, Greg Heffley?" she challenged.
"I don't know, just trying to grab a seat; how about you, Patty Farrell?" he retorted.
She chuckled. "I know better than to allow a pleb incel like you to sit next to Holly Hills. I know why you want to sit here, and that reason is her. You're simply pathetic if you think you stand a chance against my will, Greg."
"Oh, really?"
"Mhm." Patty said with a nod, as she began to bend over to take her seat.
"THEN HOW DO YOU STAND A CHANCE AGAINST THIS, WHORE?!!" he roared. Greg then went for a fully charged uppercut. His knuckles nailed Patty right at the bottom of her chin, and she flew up to the ceiling. Her head crashed into it, and she dangled for a moment before the ceiling gave in and collapsed. She hit the ground with sheer force, and clots of blood gurgled with saliva from her mouth. Her body jerked for a moment before lying there, purely limp. It was then when Greg snapped out of his daydream. Patty was still conscious, and alive, at that. She was staring directly at her enemy. "Uh, Greg? Aren't you going to do something?" she asked. "Your fist is just raised."
Greg shook his head and looked down at his hand. She was right, it was raised, and he had made a fist. Dammit! I only imagined killing her. For fuck's sake.
Before he could look back up again, his new homeroom teacher waltzed right into the classroom.
Patty erupted with, "He was trying to take my seat!"
Greg tried to defend himself with, "But I was hear first! She–"
"Hooolld on, now. What are your two's names?"
"Patty Farrell~ <3" the young girl introduced herself.
"Greg Heffley."
A look of concern and frustration washed over the teacher's face.
"Greg. Greg, Heffley. Would you happen to be the brother of Rodrick Heffley?"
The boy nodded.
The teacher sighed and pinched his forehead with his left index finger and thumb. "Alright, up here, with me. I don't need you causing any...trouble for me." the teacher ordered. Greg then proceeded to do a walk of shame up to the front of the class as Patty happily sat down in what was supposed to be his seat.
Well, if there's any benefit to this, I now can look at Holly's face without raising much attention. I mean, since I'm at the front, where am I supposed to look? He used this opportunity to gaze upon his peers for the year, and probably most of the next two years after this one. He spotted the short Indian fella who was being picked on in the hallway, and just a few desks away from him, a bizarre looking ginger boy bearing glasses, who had a taxidermied Owl on his desk, being carefully stroked. There weren't really any other notable faces that he wasn't already acquainted with.
The teacher began his introduction. "Sorry about that, everyone. My name is Mr. Draybick, and I'll be your homeroom teacher this year! We're gonna have a good time learning and getting to know each other, together, and I hope we all get along."
Mr. Draybick continued on, but Greg didn't care enough to pay attention. Instead, he lay his eyes on Holly Hills' face, and zoned out.
Before he knew it, it was already lunchtime. Strolling alongside his best friend, the two found themselves in a pickle. Every lunch table they asked to sit at, every seat they found available, they were rejected by those already sitting there. Either the seats in question were already "reserved" (which is stupid. Nobody can reserve a seat in a middle school cafeteria, or any cafeteria in a school building, for that matter. There are other people besides yourself. If you leave your seat, this is something you're willing to sacrifice, end of tangent), or the people that were keeping these seats "safe for their friends" were just assholes who didn't want Greg and Rowley to sit near them. Eventually, though, they did indeed find a place to sit: right behind the waste and recycling bins. Every minute or so, more and more trash was being piled on top of them. Their lunch hour wasn't entirely boring, however. The ginger kid from class has come by to sit with the two boys. It seemed that he didn't have a spot to sit at the actual lunch tables either.
"Hey, guys!!" he began, waving frantically.
"H-hey..." Rowley greeted in return. Greg said nothing and thought it best to ignore him.
"OOH, Greg! Is that some SWEEEETS I see on your LUNCH TRAAAYYY?!" the "special" little boy cheered. He was referring to Greg's vanilla pudding. "What, no! This is mine! Get your own!" he snapped.
"Agh, you're right. My mom doesn't allow me to eat sugar. She says glucose in my diet will induce hyperactive activity, hehe. I should stay away from it, just so she doesn't get mad, heeheehee." he giggled. "'You know you shouldn't be eating sugar, Alan Fregley!'" he chimed, doing a supposed impression of his mother.
Fregley, right, that's his name.
"So, Rowllison, what'cha eating?? PIIIIIIIZZZAAAAAA?!?!" Fregley interrogated Rowley, saliva dripping from his mouth like a bulldog, his hands on Rowley's shoulders.
"How do you know my full name?" the chunky boy asked.
Fregley did not respond, but rather pulled out his taxidermied owl from his backpack and began rigorously licking its head, like a mother cat to her kitten. Saliva soaked the owl's feathers. There was clearly something wrong with this boy.
Fregley looked up once more. "Her name is Klïtoreece! (It's Korean!)"
Thankfully, that was when the bell rang. Greg didn't even know what to say to or think of this child. He and Rowley quickly shuffled away. The next period was math. Greg always hated math. He wasn't great at critical thinking and problem solving, and a lot of the rules and concepts really confused him, despite him only being in the sixth grade and not having learned much in the overall realm of mathematics. Him and Rowley stood up and walked away from Fregley as fast as they could.
"Geez, that kid sure is something. Who would bring an owl to school? And start licking it?!" Greg questioned.
"Well, he's probably got some sort of condition, like ass-burgers." Rowley tried to conclude.
"You mean asperger's?"
"No, ass-burgers."
"I think you mean asperger's."
"I thought it was ass-burgers?"
"I thought ass-burgers were, like, hemorrhoids or something."
"Could be that, too. Anyway," Rowley said, trying to steer the conversation back on track. "He definitely has ass-burgers."
The two friends laughed out loud as if they were in a cartoon where the characters made an obviously unfunny joke to one another but end up laughing as a group anyway.
"But seriously," Greg began. "For whatever reason, I was picking up this...aura from Fregley."
Rowley cocked his head slightly to the left and made a face that had confusion written all over it. He then looked down for a moment as if briefly lost in thought, and looked back up again. "I don't know, maybe I did too. I mostly just felt his weirdness rubbing off on me, but I may have felt something else when he touched me on my shoulders. Joshie says that touching someone without them saying ok is no good, so maybe it was just 'stranger danger' kicking in?"
Greg shrugged. "Probably."

The boys arrived at math class where their old hag of a teacher was waiting for them. She was standing in front of the class with a coffee in hand, but a stern, cranky expression. Her hair was tied up in a bun at the back of her head, and had small glasses that only covered half of her eyes. "Gentlemen, you're nearly late," she told Rowley and Greg. "Hurry in quickly before the second bell rings." she instructed rather harshly. Greg tried to get a good enough glance at his classmates for this period, and hoped to find a seat next to Holly Hills, if the two shared the period. He wondered if she disliked math as much as he did. He immediately shot down the idea as just trying to make himself feel better about being stuck mentally at grade 2 math. He knew Holly was too smart for him. Unfortunate for him, Holly was not in this class, and thankfully nobody like Patty Farrell was either. He didn't want another incident with her. One person other than Rowley that Greg did recognize, however, was the short Indian boy who was being picked on before the first bell, and who was also in his homeroom class. Taking a seat just two rows diagonally ahead of the boy, Greg suddenly felt uneasy. Just like he did when he was near Fregley, an unfamiliar energy was radiating from the Indian child. Greg has never felt something like this before. This feeling was completely foreign to his senses. He wasn't scared, but he also did not feel safe, but not unsafe, either. Rowley took a seat just one away from his own. The class had officially started, and the old geezer was already lecturing the entire roster of students about her life story and accomplishments. Claiming to be born in the year 1868 in England, she told the legend of a vampire in a few villages over, who resided in a palace and was defeated by a nobleman with muscles the size of a gorilla's. She might as well have been a vampire herself, since she was over a century old, but nobody really bothered asking her about it. She then went on to explain how she had served in every war of the modern day, and how she challenged Hitler to a one-on-one brawl to death, and that she was in fact who ended Hitler's life, single handedly, and did not kill himself, but that the American media covered it up with propaganda due to a grudge apparently still held toward the British. "I fed his testicles to my 113 children!" she exclaimed. She had also APPARENTLY taken down a plane on 9/11 by tearing it apart from the inside out and, again, personally killing the plane's hijacker, by grinding his face into one of the plane's propellers and feeding his meat covered spine to her (then) 224 kids and her 3417 grandchildren. Greg was bored by this point and started doodling in his journal.
Coming from his left, here could head the faintest whisper of Rowley's voice calling his name.
Greg glances up at the teacher one more time to ensure she didn't notice Rowley talking to him. Then he turned his head in just the slightest way and listened to what Rowley had to say.
"Your dia– uh, journal! It-it says 'JOURNAL' on it!"
Giving a puzzled expression, Greg closed his "journal" and looked at the cover. It still said "DIARY" on it. Greg looked back at his friend with the same confused face, and Rowley just looked back at the teacher.
A few war and zombie hunting stories later, the next bell rang. It was now the final period of the day (which normally consisted of four periods, but the homeroom introduction took up the first two of the day). Everyone stood up and they heard faint yelling from their math teacher, crying something out about textbooks.
Rowley was finally able to explain what he was telling Greg. "Your journal, it actually says 'JOURNAL' on it! It doesn't say 'DIARY' on it anymore! Did you get a new one?"
Once more, the wimpy kid reached into his bag to look at his journal. It still read, "DIARY".
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm not kidding, Greg! It's different! I don't lie!"
Greg continued to stare at the book in his hand. Was Rowley crazy? Or, was he the one being crazy?
Just as the concern crossed Greg's mind, the Indian boy walked past them. "Nice journal, Greg Heffley." he acknowledged. This was the first time the boy's voice was ever heard. He was indeed Indian, as his accent clearly pointed towards that being the case. His energy was still emanating from his body.
Greg turned back toward Rowley. "He just called it a journal too... Was he just messing with me?"
The bowl-cut boy shook his head. The two realized that the final period of the day was just short of starting, and they booked it to class.
Greg looked at his schedule and noticed that the last class of the day was P.E., Physical Education. The Indian boy was just ahead of them, and from what he could tell, Greg was pretty sure that he was headed in the same direction him and Rowley were. The boy looked back with a smug face and smirked. Suddenly, his aura engulfed the hallway, and Greg and Rowley froze in place with caution running up and down their spines. The air was like no other that the boys had ever experienced.
Without moving his mouth, without even looking at them, the boy's voice rang, "I know your secret, Greg Heffley, and I know what you want. But I won't let you have it!"

NEXT CHAPTER: CHIRAG GUPTA & INVISIBLE TOUCH
PART 1, CHAPTER TWO: END