"Um, hey," I say, waving slightly.
The emo kids raise their heads slightly and all whisper, "Hello," in unison.
Creepy.
One of them walks over to me.
"Michael," he says quietly, raising an arm to me.
I take his hand and say, "Kamarie."
It was difficult not to give him a once-over. Super-cliques fascinate me. Michael, from head to toe, was like this: Alex Evans hair, two different colored eyes (one very bright blue, the other a muddy brown), silver star-shaped snake bites, eyeliner stitches on his neck, a Devil Wears Prada t-shirt, a black&white striped armwarmer on his left hand and a variety of rubber wristbands on his right, light blue skinny jeans, and some Airwalk brand high tops.
I looked down at my outfit. So much more simple. Coldplay T and skinny jeans. I feel... lame.
"So, suicide?" Michael asked.
I nodded. This conversation seemed awkward.
"Come sit with us," he said, taking my wrist and leading me back to his circle of "friends."
The Punkass Armada Community Member 
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