• The following link is a link to a prior chater in this selection:


    It wasn't hard for everyone to notice how depressed and "emo" I was. Of course, knowing this, I had an extreme amount of pity from just about everyone. It's not like I had only been invited over to someone's house only once or twice. I lost track of the amount of times someone's asked "Yo! Wanna come over this weekend?" And every time, I'd glare at them, say no, and walk off.

    The one girl I hated, Mary, was especially sympathetic and never said a faulty word against me. She'd walk by me, smile, ask how I was going, and all the while, I'd still be looking down, grumbling things of sarcasm, like "What does it look like? Oh, I feel cheery as ever." All this love, all this sympathy got on my nerves especially, causing me to be more distraught than ever. Why did anyone care that I was the way I was? It's my game of life. And I'll play it my way.

    Every day panned out the same way. I was forced out of bed, then forced to school, then forced to do work, and then forced to go home. It was like my life was being controlled, and my grasp on how I'd run it was being altered. To me, that was like breaking the rules of the game.

    My life was a redundent, spinning circle; never ceasing to stop, and never any different. But it all changed March 17, 2006.

    Science was my worst subject, even worse than my D- in Language Arts. So when the teacher told us a project was do next week on the studies of the mechanics of the human being, it was only natural for me to let out an exaggerated groan.

    He then told us that we'd be working in partners, for which on cue I heard a "yes!" from somewhere in the classroom. I sure didn't say that. My head was far from parrading at that moment. A more accurate metaphor would be "burning and breaking down".

    The pairs were drawn randomly from a box, and as he drew each one out of the box, he'd pronounce loudly,

    "John McLin...Patrick Ghan. Heather Henderson...Leo Patricia. Tom Jacobs..."

    I sulked in my seat as low as I could. That was me. I almost plugged my ears as he uttered my partner's name, but I was too late,

    "Mary Ar...Ar..."

    "Archibald," a voice from the back said. "It's German." My head withered into thoughts of pandemonian. Of course I got the person I hated most! She walked over to me, sat down, and looked at me. I glanced away.

    "So, do you want to come over to my house to work on it?"

    "...No..." I muttered as cynically as I could.

    "Then we'll work at yours?"


    "How about the lib--"

    "Oh, shut up! We'll work alone is what we'll do." She looked shocked for a second, and then regained her composure.

    "But we can't. We're turning this in as a group grade." She was right. Of course, I was burning with rage, but, with an annoyed sound of defeat, I uttered,

    "Fine. Your house, tomorrow." And it was so. I'd never been to someone else's house, but I certainly wasn't looking forward to it as I rode on back home.