"Scene kids. Sexy. If you're into that kind of thing, which I guess you are now, Sammy." my emo friend commented. Blake wasn't one to criticize fashion, considering his own choices. He has always been good like that. His backpack was made entirely out of your run-of-the-mill grey duct tape, and his clothes found on sale at second hand thrift shops. He even wore his dog's collar on some days. He considers himself to be emo, (you know, black clothes, screamo bands, hatred of all living things, bad angsty poetry) because of his auburn bangs that sweep down and cover most of his face and his pure and utter hatred of all things living, but I'm not quite sure that’s what he is. "Emo" may not be the word for it. Freak maybe, but not emo.







I was getting ready to go back to school as a new me, as the scene girl me, the edgy girl me, the cool girl me. I had my hair cut all sweet, with my newly dyed black bangs sweeping across my face. It hadn't been easy to get my mom to let me dye my crimson locks black. Recently I had saved up my meager allowance to buy an army of hairspray, skinny jeans, hair bows, and eyeliner. Most of which I bought at the ultimate emo store, Hot Topic. These items were all spread out in my enormous closet, beneath the rest of my clothes. I had convinced my frugal mother to buy me a few band tees from Hot Topic, and I learned to do my eyeliner thicker than a raccoon. Not only that, but I had some accessories from Hello Kitty.





Blake and I were sprawled out on my hardwood basement floor, eyes transfixed on the reruns of some anime show on Cartoon Network. I wasn't paying enough attention to know what it was about, my mind didn't care to comprehend on a day such as this, or even what show it was. Blake and I had known each other for years, and we have quite the history. We weren't a couple, but we had dated in the past. It didn't work out so well. He has some issues with staying faithful. Not that I really care anymore.





"Yeah, I'm into that kind of thing now. I'm gonna be emo just like you." I teased, flipping my hair, and adjusting my pale pink bow with my spindly fingers threading through my hair. I was the perfect scene girl, or at least I was going to be soon. (Well, if all goes well.)





Before, I never really had a "style". I was just me. Before, I was content with that. But now that I'm going to be in high school, I didn't think that was appropriate any more. So I chose the style I liked best. Edgy, and cool. Different, but not too weird. I'm scene now. Just the way I like it best.





Blake's mouth gaped open in a large, piercing yawn; light reflected in his silvery metal braces. His teeth were terrible and crooked, which never seemed to mean much until now. It felt like now we were in high school, we had so much more to worry about. Even how straight your teeth are have a bearing on who you're going to be in high school. What we look like, who we hang out with. And now, we have no time to prepare, because school starts tomorrow. September the 1st loomed far in the distance at the beginning of the summer, and in seemingly no time at all it's sprung upon me.





Last year, and all through middle school, I was miss goody-goody. This year is going to be different. I am going to be the bad girl all the guys want to be with, the pretty girl all the others are jealous of. I'm going to be exactly who I want to be, no matter who cares. I am going to throw caution to the wind, and do what I want to do, no matter who complains about it, no matter what trouble I get in. In fact, this year, trouble is going to be my friend, my companion faithful and true(unlike Blake.) I don't have anything to worry about, because no matter what happens, I'm going to be what I am and what I've always wanted to be.





"So you scared about tomorrow?" Blake asked, smiling devilishly from beneath his mane of auburn hair, which he rears and tosses back, like an impatient horse. He really is cute, once you look at him in the right light. He's tall and skinny, with impish features that just kind of grow on you. His face is always contorted into some kind of evil face, which he is proud to have spent hours in front of the mirror in his bedroom perfecting.





"Well duh. Don't tell me you aren't, because I sure as heck won't believe you." a laugh ripped out of my mouth, and I took my back down to the floor next to him lying right beside him.





"Oh really? Because I'm not scared at all. Everybody has to go through high school, and they all survived it. Some of them even made it through easy. So why shouldn't I?" Sadly, his logic made sense to me, but I still didn't believe he wasn't at least a little bit nervous. Everybody on earth was at least somewhat nervous before they started high school, (well, everybody on earth who actually goes to high school) whether they wanted to admit it or not. It was inevitable. At least, that’s the way I see it.





"That doesn't mean it was easy for them. It could have been the hardest thing they ever had to do in their whole worthless lives." I taunted, arcing my face before his, pointing out something that probably hadn't even crossed his feeble mind. How bright could he be if he honestly wanted his hair to practically cover his entire face? (If you couldn't figure out that one, not very.)





"No, but they still made it though it. And heck, it's just school, how hard could it be? I've already lived through eight years of it, and nothing bad happened to me. Well, nothing too bad happened to me." he said, hardening his glance in a way that I knew meant that there was no arguing this point with him any further, he was set in his thinking.





My shoulder slumped down in a huff and my eyes began to roll as I let loose a pathetic sigh and wrapped my arms around him in a gigantic hug. There was certainly no saving this boy. In fact, I was certain that it was just this attitude that was going to ruin him in high school. I had spent hours researching on the internet, how to act, how to dress, what is socially acceptable for people like me. Yet, he had done nothing of the sort to prepare himself. In my opinion, he was toast. You had to at least care what was going to happen to you in high school.





"You know buddy, I think you've got a pretty tough year coming up here ahead of you, maybe you should have prepared better." I warned him, not a thought in my head that maybe it was I who should be better prepared.