Alright, here's part 2 of the story:

My next class was in the Library, a wonderful study hall. The Library and the cafeteria were my only solace in the entire school. The cafeteria was quite the ecstatic wonder of the world, I'll have you know, and I am eternally grateful for all the precious moments and memories spent there, eating alone and hearing that screeching laughter (that was sarcasm, for those of you who are not bright enough to recognize it.) And there is where I sat, as far away from the restless natives as possible, in a dark, windowless corner near a broken vending machine.

Deciding that my time would be better spent on something useful rather that wasting it thinking about a certain worthless someone who shall remain nameless (of course at that point, he was, I hadn't gotten his name during our jolly conversation.) I pulled my untrustworthy science stuff out of My Trusty Friend The Backpack, and spread it out on the empty scarred surface of the table. Tucking my legs up underneath me on the bench I opened My Trusty Friend The Chemistry Grade 9: Applied Science For Life Text Book.

Not twelve seconds later, someone cast a shadow over my table. Glancing at the invader of my dark space I suppressed a groan. It was that stupid kid again.

"I can sense your enthusiasm at my presence."

I kept glaring at him, hoping he would be intimidated my a scary silence routine.

"Well, that's good, because I am now in every one of your classes. We'll be spending a lot of time together, Amara." He leaned back in the unstable plastic chair and waited for my comment.

"How could you do that without knowing my schedule?" Damn. I talked. There went my theory.

He leaned across the stained table and raised his eyebrows. Somehow, I found myself lost in his eyes, which really were a nice shade of green. "Magic," he whispered.

I felt a minute shiver take control of my body as goose bumps swarmed over it like spiders. He was very...serious. I believed him. For about two seconds.

"No," I said, "You didn't."

"Funny story, actually, because you see, I did."

"No you didn't."

"I just said I did. We just met, would I lie to you?"

"Probably."

"Well, I'm not. And I did."

"You did not."

"You know I did, babe."

"How, then?" Wait a minute, babe? I was NOT his babe. (Even though, if I was really honest with my poor pathetic self, I would have realized that yes. I did. Want to be his babe. Whoa, can we say sentence fragments or what?) "I'm not your babe."[I couldn’t believe I said that! What the fuck was his problem? He was making me say the weirdest things!]

He didn't answer my incredibly articulate (albeit weak) insult. He just looked at me for a very long amount of time, at least ten minutes. I sat there, patiently impatiently waiting for him to hurry himself up and get to his probably stupid and worthless point. (I was curious, alright, even though I didn't want to admit it. I mean, a strange kid says strange things, it piques your curiosity, you know?)

Finally, he straightened himself right the hell up and grinned like a pleased cat. "There," He said, obviously quite the proud of himself.

"What?" I looked around for the invisible magic he'd claimed to have created. To my non existent surprise, there was nothing, because he didn't do anything.

He laughed, and I noticed he was pointing to my science book, which was lying blank on the table, all the pages were blank. I flipped through the whole thing, hoping to catch a glimpse of type, but nothing. Dammit.

I looked to the grinning prince situated in front of me. "Magic," he said. He was right. The bastard really was in all my classes. I could feel those emerald eyes glowing into me, watching all the moves (which, I was sitting in one of those impossibly small desks, so there weren't too many for him to watch.) It was---unsettling. Weird.

I didn't want to believe him. But I did. I mean, the kid completely (momentarily) emptied my science book. I hate science in all shapes and forms, so there was that to consider. But I had seen it with my own eyes, so something had happened. It was weird, because I wasn't too into the whole magic-exists-outside-of-fairy-tales idea, but...

Needless to say, but I'll do it anyway because that's the kind of person I am, I didn't get that much learning done on that day. (Not that I ever do, but come on people, it's called writer's license.) And before I knew it, the big yellow monster known as the bus had stopped at the end of my aunt and uncle's street and I was walking home as slowly as I could. I always walked slowly, hoping that maybe one of those psycho murderer folk would consider me as good a prey as any and decide to ritualistically torture and kill me. Oh, but those sadistic bastards never came. The bastards.

Because I have no luck, my aunt and uncle were still breathing and alive. Good Old Uncle Harvey was already good and drunk, and ready to leer. I hate the word leering, which is the main reason why Good Old Uncle Harvey leers. He sat, in sweatpants and a once-white t-shirt, ready and waiting for someone to talk to.

Here comes that imagery thing my English teachers are always so fond of. Just so you know, and can get an accurate view of my side of this story, Good Old Uncle Harvey is a somewhat bumbling, idiotic fellow, who has been sent some pretty upsetting events in his life, and therefore, like his pathetic wife, tends to drink himself silly. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem to realize who I am half the time, and calls me "Sally." Who Sally is, I have no clue.

But here Good Old Uncle Harvey was, ready and waiting for someone to talk to. "Hey, there, Sally, how's little Sally today?"

I ignored him, as I tended to do. But, apparently I did a horrible thing in another life, because I was punished in the form of a chain smoking aunt, clad in a tattered bathrobe, her greasy unbrushed hair swinging around as she yelled at me to "answer him, you ingrate!" Obviously, a good day was not had by all.

I tried to walk away, but I was stopped by my aunt. (Her name is Lisa, by the way.) " Answer him!" she repeated, punctuated not only by an exclamation point, but a cloud of smoke in face and a smack in the head as well. I kept my eyes shielded from the housewife from hell, and continued on my merry little way through the shit hole to my room.

It was less a bedroom and more than a temporary place to keep myself until I could get the hell out. It held a warped dresser, a mattress on the floor that served as a bed, and my stereo. It had a tiny window, unpainted sheetrock walls, and a lovely rug of cement. I like things neat and tidy, so the mattress is always made, my CD's are stacked neatly next to my stereo, and all the rest of my stuff is arranged on top of the dresser or against the walls.

So back to the story, I threw Trusty Friend The Back Pack at the foot of my mattress and flicked the switch on my stereo so that my NIN CD came on. “STARFUCKERS!” they were yelling into my speakers. I changed into the khaki pants and red shirt that made up my uniform. I work at Jane's Video's. It sucks, but it pays $8.50 an hour and I don't have to be "home."

So, I went to work, and I'd only been there about twenty minutes when I heard my boss slam down the phone and stomp over to me. (My boss's name is Ellie, and since only four of us were employed, none of which was named Jane, I have no fricken clue where the name of the place came from.) I was quietly putting returned videos back on the shelves where they belonged, when the best news that I'd heard all day came from Ellie.

"Know anyone who's capable of running a goddamned cash register? Haylie just fucking quit." Ellie has a tad bit of a swearing issue, which I find hilarious when she's trying to sell things to customers. I shrugged, since I sincerely doubted that too many people around here were capable of using a cash register, and resumed my putting-backing. She stared at my back for a bit. "Fucking kids today," she muttered under her breath,(she's all of what? 22?) "Back in my goddamn day, we had REAL jobs after school...." At this point, I stopped listening, since I didn't really give a damn anyway.

The bell over the door rang, signaling 4:30 p.m. and thus the arrival of the old perverted man who comes in every day at exactly that time, looking for new whack-off material. His name is Old Pervert Ed. Well, that's what I call him anyway, since his name is Ed and he's old and a pervert. Ellie quit her rant to go make sure he didn't attempt to steal anymore porn.(It never fails to amaze me how much porn that this guy has actually stolen.)

I kept putting the movies away. I know how repetitive it sounds, but I have a very repetitive job, after all. And boring, to boot, but at least I wouldn't have to work with Hayliewhore anymore. Hayliewhore is a whore. The girl is looser than a broken rubber band, I swear. Although we are the same age, we have nothing else in common other than our employment at Jane's Video. She is taller than me by a head, Obese [about 10 tones more than an average person], with long bleached blond hair and blue eyes and an acne covered face. She wears clothes that make her look even bigger, and she dropped out of school a couple years ago, I assume, since I haven't seen her there. All in all, she's a big fat whore. Another thing that I hate about her is that she is constantly bitching. Bitch Bitch Bitch, all the live long day. In addition to bitchiness, Hayliewhore suffers from mood swings, homicidal urges, and a general perma-PMS syndrome.

What have we learned about Haylie? She's a big fat bitchy whore.

Now, I could spend a whole lot of time explaining to you the complicated and fascinating process of shelf-stocking, but you're probably not that bad of a person, and therefore do not deserve such punishment. So, we'll skip ahead.

Oh, one last thing, though. About an hour before my shift ended, Ellie called me over and explained to me that her nephew Josh, who lived in Floresville, the next town over, would be working there, starting the very next day. Hooray! And I, would be the one to show him around. Whoop de do! [Yeah, sarcasm again]

I left work that night, planning excuses to give Crazy Edwin to take over for me. For the record, Crazy Edwin is the only person I enjoy working with. He's Kyle's age, and he's one of those nerdy guys who are so smart that they’ve already graduated college. (He majored in computer sciences and he works in a movie store. I know, I can't get over it myself.) He makes sci- fi references constantly, and always seems to be on the lookout for aliens. He's short, about 5'7, unbelievably skinny, pale skinned, even in California. The one thing that sets him apart from the rest of the Trekkies is that his hair is always clean and I've never seen the boy with even a mild case of acne.

But the thing that I liked the most about Crazy Edwin is that he was the closest thing I had to a friend at the time. Sometimes, on weekends when we were opened wicked late at night, even though no one ever wanted to rent anything, he told me stuff. It's mostly nerdy stuff that I really don't care about, but sometimes he'll come out with something about his family and life outside of Jane's Videos. His mom died when he was 15, and he loved her a lot.

Another plus is that Crazy Edwin has never once made fun of me. Ever. Or ignored me.

But back to my story. (sorry, I tend to go off on tangents. That's just my way.)

My shift ended, I walked home, la la la, next day.

The weird kid with great eyes sat next to me again. (Did I mention yet that his name is Damien? I guess not. Well, his name is Damien. Damien Something-or-the-other.) I tried to ignore him, but I had to admit, the idea of the fact that someone was actually paying attention to me without making any negative comments really caught my attention. Plus, he made my science go away. That's always good.

"So, how about that good old math homework, eh?" He grinned cockily, which was quite odd looking. He really had the whole, I'm-dressed- all-in-black-and-am-homicidal-don't-fuck-with-me thing going on. Don't see too many of them folk grinning.

"I didn't do it," I got out.

"Oh, yeah, that's right, you don't do homework."

"How do you know that?" He was right you know. I never do homework. It's a waste of time. I don't pay attention in school, why would I bother at home?

He grinned again, his green eyes sparkling. "Well, obviously! You want to be a waitress. Not too much of the homework is too useful for you."

"I don't want to be a waitress," I said.

"That's what you said on those questionnaires that your school makes you do every year, even though they are a complete waste of time, and have no real benefits to any one."

Frustration. How else could I describe how I felt right then? What, was my life story printed on my fucking forehead or something? Why did he know all this stuff about me?

He knew how I felt, too. You could see it. He was pissing me off on purpose. He even thought it was funny.

I glared and turned towards the window with my arms crossed over my chest. Idiot.

"You're wicked cute when you pout, you know." Fuck YOU! Of course I didn’t say that. Fuck, I NEVER pout! Ew, never!

Luckily, we were at Sugarhell High by then, so I could get away. I got to homeroom as fast as I could, hoping he would stay behind.

Unluckily, I had forgotten that he was in all my classes.

Damien sat down next to me, still grinning. I was beginning to highly suspect that there was a chemical imbalance in his brain, obviously simple concepts such as "Go away" were above and beyond his understanding.

It was during my internal railing against the bastard that I felt something hit the back of my head. I turned behind me to see a dirty pink eraser that had fallen to the floor. Immediately, I felt my skin blush, a reflex that I despised and hated.

As I turned back to my desk, I noticed Damien next to me. Having never seen him without that grin, I was extremely surprised to see him glaring at the group who were laughing their anorexic asses off at me. His eyes were nearly glowing, and his lips were slightly moving.

Suddenly, the laughter stopped and turned to a gargling. I swung my head around to see the stupid girls, the ones who've hated me since I got here, grabbing their throats. They appeared to be trying very hard to say something, but nothing intelligible was coming out of their mouths. Other people were giggling as their faces turned bright red.

I turned to Damien. He was facing the front, staring at the board, a smug smile on his face. His eyes were no longer freaky-glowy. He turned to me, and grinned like usual.

It was clear to me that he'd had something to do with it.

The class was still laughing as the bell rang to herd us like cows into the crowded hallway. I immediately went to his desk where he was slowly standing up. "What the hell was that?" I asked him.

"They'll get their annoying voices back, don't worry."

"What the hell?" Sandy, one of the gaggers yelled.

"See, they're better already." He grinned. I couldn't help it. He seemed quite proud of himself, and was so happy for doing something so mean. (Alright, I think they deserved it, and also I felt the same perverse pleasure that they now knew what it was like to be laughed at, but hey, principles, people) I didn't understand HOW, exactly, he had gotten it all to happen, but the point was, he had turned a group of snotty, bitchy, slutty, whores into-fish. Fish who gargled. "Why did you-" I waved my hand around. We were in the hallway by now, on the way to Math.

"They hurt you," he said simply, as though it were an obvious answer.

"They threw an eraser at me, Damien, they've done worse."

He stopped and turned towards me. His eyes were doing that freaky- glowy thing again. I stopped too, and stared at him, my eyes wide. Usually, he was so happy and grinning, this was fucking scary! Like he sensed my fear, his features relaxed and he put his arm around my shoulders. We started walking again, which felt kind of weird, what with having someone so close to me without them trying to shove me or anything. My first instinct was to shove it off and stomp angrily away, but having his hand on my shoulder seemed to comfort him, and so I just let it go.

There were no more unusual events in out morning classes. Whenever somebody made any sort of comment about me, Damien would glare at them with that scary look in his eyes, until they swallowed nervously and looked around wildly for escape. One guy even had tears in his eyes.

Yeah, I thought it was weird, the effect Damien had on people, but I thought to my self, "screw it, Amara, it's better than being laughed at." And wouldn't you know it, it really was. So I didn't say anything.

Lunch was certainly different. For the second day all year, I had someone to sit with. The day before was different, as he annoyed me. On this particular day, I didn't mind so much. A lot of people stared at the two of us, and I'm sure as hell that many of them had comments, but they kept to themselves for once, an entirely welcome change. Like most high schools, our cafeteria smelled like crap. The food tasted like crap. But to give the students any sort of freedom what so ever would give the joke of authority a goddamn heart attack, and heaven forbid should the janitors do real work, so we end up in lockdown in a wonderfully cafeteria. There really is no reason why we should be forced to spend one hour and twenty whole minutes in that horror of a place, but Leah. Leah is a big fat waste of tax payers money. The district actually pays the woman to sit in a chair in the middle of the hallway and monitor. Every single time I've seen her, She is eating. Cakes, candies, chips, Coke* she's always stuffing her face with SOMETHING . And as a result, she always has crumbs and grease stains decorating her lovely 80's apparel, and not the good kind, the kind that’s in style either. We're talking the bad, fat-lady-in-neon-spandex kind. Leah is also a big bitch. (funny how many live in Sugarhell) No matter how much you need to leave the cafeteria, no matter that you're going to piss your pants, no matter how sick you feel, no matter if your head has exploded and you need to immediately seek emergency personnel, you're not allowed to leave.

Anyway, BACK to the story. We had just sat down at the end of a table of curious onlookers. "WHY did you do that earlier?" I asked him for the tenth time that day.

"They offended you. No body fucks around with my girl." I dropped my unwashed fork into soapy mashed potatoes. "YOUR girl?" He finished chewing his bit of salad, "Yeah, my girl. You know that shits bad for you, right?" he said, pointing at my lunch.

"When did I become your girl, and WHAT shit?"

"Longer than history, and that shit on your tray."

"LONGER THAN HISTORY? That's not helpful at all! And what's wrong with mashed potatoes and Salisbury steak?"

"Don't you realize that our souls have been joined since the beginning of time, that we've hooked up in all of our past lives, and if anyone can call THAT Salisbury steak, they're fucking insane." He punctuated this with a bite of a tomato.

"PAST LIVES? Now who's insane?" I took a bite of my steak to prove MY point and nearly gagged. It tasted like Salisbury shit. Damien found this hilarious, and began to laugh hysterically, clutching his sides while I spit the crap into my napkin. "stop it," I hissed.

After a second, he did, although he didn't stop grinning. "Here," He said, and grabbed his fork, "Try this." He scooped up some of his salad and held it out towards me.

"I'm not eating that," I looked at him.

"Fine. Tonight I'll take you out somewhere with decent food."

"No."

"Why? You scared of your uncle and Aunt?"

"No." What the hell? Of course not!

"Then why not?”

" I HAVE a JOB, you know."

"Jane's videos, right?'

"Yes. No. Yes. Ugh, stop DOING that."

"what, knowing my own soul mate like the back of my hand?"

"I’m not your soul mate, and do you STUDY the back of your hand?" The bell had decided to ring at that point. "TOMMOROW night then." I just left. Who the fuck did he think he was? Now I wished they’d all leave me alone. Stupid Damien. Stupid school. Stupid life.

Ok, I’m not sure whether I ought to continue with this story. Ok, if you think it’s trash, then please tell me WHY. I mean what’s the point of telling someone that they’re work’s crap when you won’t tell them why it is.

I wrote another story. Just experimenting with all types of writing. This time it’s a personal account of a lower middleclass family in the U.S. Please don’t flame me on this one because there is no point. I’m no way continuing the story so yeah. Its weird. I might not even put it up. It’s called The writing on the bathroom walls. Its weird. Forget it. I’ll just add it to my crap list. Writing in first person perspective is so damn hard. Especially because the readers start to feel as though it’s the authors p.o.v.

Like I said, just experimenting. Just like my lame poems. Fucking depressing. -Praseeda*