• Emos go choke on your razors.

    Thats what it said on the door of the choir class. Now I wouldn't have found it offensive any other day, but it just so happens my so called friend had just called me emo. Me? Emo? Hell, I'm just as emo as the fat kid in the corner eating the Twix bar. Or that white peeling paint in the aerobics room that no one has seemed to express any interest in re-painting. See, my point is, I'm not one bit emo. Not that I have anything against them or anything .... Oh, hey look, I'm rambling on again, as I always seem to do. Don't worry, you'll get used to it, I promise.

    Now, I should've took the sign as I warning of what was to come, and turned back while I had the chance. Of course, I've never been one to think ahead for anything, so is it that much of a surprise that I walked right in only to be greeted by pointless emo insults? I don't think so. And this is just the start of another lovely day at Hell Hole High (Which I've graciously re-named. No need to thank me!)

    Chapter 1

    "Hey now
    Can't you see what you're doing to me?
    Hey now
    Can't you see what you're up against?
    Hey now
    Just let me be"
    'Hey now'
    From the lyric journal of your favorite depressed, melo-dramatic, wanna-be rock star, Jennifer (Jen) Null.

    I'm not emo. I know I've been saying this the entire time, and you're probably already about to strangle me, but I have to make this point. In order for you to understand me, you must know that. Yes, you MUST. Well, now that we've got that cleared up, my name is Jennifer Null. Call me Jennifer, and you die. No, seriously, I threw a kid down the stairs once for calling me that, that's how much I hate the name. You'll be better off just calling me Jen, unless, well, if you want to end up at the bottom of the third floor stairwell getting trampled. But that's alright with me.

    As I was saying, I shouldn't have been too surprised to start receiving random emo insults as soon as I set feet into the choir room, but oddly enough it seemed to light something within me.

    "You guys know what," I said calmly, actually too calmly for my liking. "you can ******** yourselves."

    And I also shouldn't have been too surprised at when the preppy, bubbly, blonde, cheerleader, and captain of the cheerleading squad, stood up, looking as though someone had swiped her make-up and replaced it with a heavy metal CD, and glared at me.

    "What did you just say to us?" She demands, rather snottily, I might add.

    "You heard damn well what I said to you and your make-up loving bitches," I sneered, knowing that I was crossing the invisible line between my self control and my breaking point. "Well, on second thought, maybe you didn't, because you were too busy sucking on your boy toy for the day. Oh excuse me, did I say day? What I meant was hour."

    The preppy, blonde, size 0 cheerleader, which, who has a name but I can't be damned to remember... or care about what it is, slaps me. Yeah, slaps me. You read right. She actually had the nerve to. Oh, its on baby, its on.

    Though as stunned as I am, you know, having a small boney hand pound against my face and all, I immediately jump into action. Kicking and punching the preppy, boney, cheerleader, which surprisingly doesn't seem all that keen on fighting back now. Go figure.

    So it's only natural that my choir teacher happens to show up RIGHT at that exact moment, only to see me beating the living s**t out of one of her favorite students (She's a soprano, by the way. The teacher always favors the sopranos more than the altos, like me.Unfortunately.), and sends me to the principal, practically dragging me by the scruff of my shirt. Oh yeah, it's definitely the start of another great day. Not.

    "La la la love
    I'll never understand its meaning
    La la la love
    Never, while I'm on the ground bleeding"
    'Love makes me bleed'
    From my lyric journal, where else?

    I shifted uncomfortably in the plastic chair in front of the principal's office. Not only has Miss.Preps- a- lot gotten off the hook, but she's free as a bird. No detention, no suspension. Nothing. Not one damned punishment. It was apparent that she'd used her fake charm to get off so easily. Great, just great, now I know I'll get all the blame. Of course, its always me, cause no one would blame a sweet, innocent, little cheerleader, would they? That's the way it always has been, and always will be.