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I toss it in my backpack and stand up, then squeeze between the desks in front of me, realizing I should've just done that instead of trying to pass the asshole. When I'm almost at the door, I look back and see the guy’s still in his seat but he's sitting up more as he talks to someone on the phone.
He glances up and catches me staring at him. I quickly look away and go out to the hall. It's so crowded I can't even walk without bumping into people. It's a huge change from my private school. There the halls were big and open, and since admission was capped at a small number of students, it never seemed crowded. Class sizes were small and teachers knew your name. I doubt any of the teachers here will know my name. The last teacher didn't even acknowledge I was new.
Stopping at my locker, my brain freezes as I try to remember the combination. It's the same one I used at my old school. How could I forget?
A girl comes up to me, shoving my arm. "What the hell, bitch?"
My hands immediately ball into fists and rise to protect my face. Knowing I'd be going here, a school known for having more than the usual number of juvenile delinquents, I took a selfdefense class to protect myself. I didn't think I'd actually need to use it, especially on the first day.
The girl is my height, but probably thirty pounds heavier. She's not fat but has a thicker build than me. I have what my mom calls a delicate build, which basically means I'm small and thin. Last year I tried working out, trying to get some muscle, but it didn't happen. I had no idea what I was doing.
The girl laughs. "What's this?" She points to my fists. "We gonna fight?"
I look at her, confused. "I don't know. Are we?"
My fists remain by my face, my eyes darting to her arm which has a scar on it. Was it from a fight? Is this her thing? She starts fights with people for no reason? I look up at her short blond hair. It's more yellow than blond, like it's been dyed. It matches her yellow eye shadow, a stark contrast to her dark eyes, which are outlined in a greenish-blue liner.
The girl laughs. "Relax. I was just messing around."
"Why?" I ask, suspiciously, glancing down at her black t-shirt and ripped, faded jeans. "What do you want?"
She leans against the locker. "What's up with you and Dean?"
"Who?"
"Dean. The guy you planted your ass in front of." She smiles. "You got a death wish, or was that some kind of flirting technique?"
"Dean? That's his name?"
She shrugs. "Dean. The Defender. The Destroyer. He goes by different names. So what exactly were you trying to do, sitting on his desk like that?"
"He wouldn't move. He wouldn't let me go by to get to the other desk."
"Dean doesn't like people sitting next to him."
"He needs to get over it," I say, suddenly remembering my locker code. I try it and the locker opens.
"You might want to go to a different school," the girl says. "You piss off the Destroyer, he'll make your life hell."
I grab my physics book from my locker. "The Destroyer? People seriously call him that?"
"Mostly the girls. The guys call him the Defender. He's our best defensive end. Actually he's one of the best in the region. He's got scouts already looking at him."
"Football player," I say, rolling my eyes as I shut my locker. "I should've known."
"You don't like football players?"
"Are you serious?" I roll my eyes. "They're assholes."
"My boyfriend's one."
"Oh. Sorry."
She shoves my arm. "I'm kidding. I'm not dating anyone."
"I should go," I say, looking past her at the crowded hallway. "I need to find my next class."
"What room?"
