He doesn’t speak a word. The whole year, I can’t remember him raising his hand to answer a question or even reciting the pledge in the morning. He simply sits in the back and diligently listens to everyone else. Had he not been so quiet, I never would’ve remembered him.

I can’t identify her accent. She speaks as if she was an infant, but it’s too elegant to be a lisp. Somewhat British, yet no, it’s much softer.  Blonde hair and blue eyes further scramble her place. I have no idea. I guess she just comes from nowhere at all.

Why rebel? Hatred this! killing that! and a leather jacket straight from the nineteen fifties. I doubt that he even believes in any of what he preaches. Anarchy is not an art. Is he really such a tough guy? No way. He doesn’t realize that anyone can find a website.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard a more seductive giggle. She can’t wear a shirt like that for any reason other than attention. “Congratulations, you have won gentlemen’s affection and ladies’ fury.” “But I’m so innocent!” she pleas. It doesn’t matter. Whatever she does, curves are bound to start rumors.

For such a genius, he really is quite stupid, wondering why he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Solving algebra by day, playing warcraft by night, and even a pocket protector and Rubik’s cube. I just feel bad for him. Is he unaware of the stereotype? I guess he’s never watched TV.

It’s sad that I even know of your troubles. Arguing parents and a crumbling household? And such malicious rumors to top it off! You never seem sad either. The really scary part is that had that boy not heard that laughing at you, you never would’ve had anyone who’d help.

They make-out during lunch everyday. It’s surprisingly passionate for high school freshmen. She’s poised delicately against the wall, and his arms around her waist. They can’t have known each other for more than a few months, and yet, her chest is touching his. I wonder how close they really are.