Damn those 7th graders, they're so fucking annoying! I really can't believe I was like that only a year ago. I guess 8th grade just changes people. I feel so much older and wiser now.
And like a real 8th grader, I don't waste my free period on homework - whoever the fuck even does that?! - or anything 'useful'. I'm sitting on a bench outside the school with my classmates. They don't really like me, but that doesn't matter, I don't like them either, they're really not as cool as they think they are. Katie, a boyish, awesome girl that every guy wants, is wearing another pair of her awesome jeans. I really like her figure, she has a really thin waist and gorgeous hips. She's sitting next to me and talking to Emma about some indie rock band she saw live in the weekend. It's late summer - early autumn, and I'm wearing skinny jeans, a cute white t-shirt with two Japanese girls printed on it and a white woollen jacket. I hope she approves, maybe she'll like me more?
'I say we go to that Spanish teacher and set her hair on fire,' Lance, the popular (straight) guy with only girls as friends, proposed.
'No, that's really mean!' answered Rimma, a mean, fat girl that nobody really liked.
'I thought you hated her?' Lance asked.
'Well not to such an extent,' Rimma aknowledged.
I sighed loudly, I really didn't like Rimma. The Spanish teacher, on the other hand, was perfectly alright.
'Hey, what's up with Miranda?' said Ramora, a beautiful, tough girl with blue eyes and blonde curls, who practiced practically every martial art and constantly had to correct teachers who pronounced her seemingly simple name wrong.
Katie looked at Miranda. Miranda was the popular, blonde, blue-eyed, long-legged girl who really didn't seem to belong in our 'clever' class, but was actually really good at everything and worked as hard as everyone else. Now she was skipping toward us, waving her bag and coat around and hitting practically everything she could or could not hit.
'Why's she so happy?' Emma wondered out loud.
'Probably in love,' Katie muttered.
In the meanwhile, Miranda approached us and stopped. I looked up at her, wondering what she was going to tell.
'So what did you say was wrong with you?' Katie asked her.
'Bitch,' said Miranda and punched her friend in the arm. They were totally different, but really good friends.
'So tonight I was asleep in my bed. And I was dreaming of this one guy, this absolutely, totally, scrumptiously gorgeous guy. I dreamt we went out one day and had loads of fun and stuff. At the end of the day he took my phone number and that very same evening, he called me...' Miranda paused to sigh.
'So what?' asked Rimma with this really weird what-the-fuck face.
'Shut up, I'm telling my story,' the blonde snapped.
'So he called me and I woke up. It was like, 4 in the night. And I realized my phone was really ringing and it really was that guy. So I pick up the phone, all sleepy, and say: "Hello?" and I hear this screechy voice saying: "Hey, open the door, I forgot my keys!" and I ask him, "Who the fuck is this?" because you know, his voice really didn't sound like his voice. And he answers: "Bitch, it's your brother, I went out, I'm totally wasted and I can't find my keys..." So much for romance.'