Summer couldn't have passed my quicker. The parties, the booze, the sleazy one night stands. All gone. Now, I was back to the normal grind, packed like a sardine into the can that was the public high school.

To be specific, it was Reynolds High School, right in the butt crack of Nowhere, Idaho. Filled to the brim with all of the typical high school stereotypes, I was in the mix with some seriously nasty people. I mean, who honestly wants to sit in the back of the Health room with some redneck talking about how his tractor is faster than your's? Not me, that's for sure.

Walking in, the smell of cigarette smoke and body odor assault my nostrils, and I tried my best to hold in any kind of distain. Not that anyone really needed a facial expression from me to be able to tell how much I hated this place.

It was ten minutes until the bell was supposed to ring, and my locked was on the south end of the school. Making my way through the halls, I got the general nod and perhaps a small "hello" from a few people, but nothing that was extremely friendly.

The stairwells were surely occupied by couples, getting a quicky before school started, so I opted for the long ramp at the side of the gym. Not many people frequented the area, so it was a good escape from the rest of the world.

Leaning against one of the railings, I pulled a Marlboro box from my back pocket and lit a cig. Yes, I was one of those kids that made the school smell like shit, but you know what? I couldn't give a rat's ass about it. The sooner I was out of this place the better, and with the grades I've been getting, I'm set for life.

Although I look like your average dilinquent, I'm probably the smartest kid in the entire school. I've had straight A's since kindergarten, and even A.P. classes are beginning to bore me to tears.

"Why, then, are you all alone?" someone might ask, and I have the answer, as I do for most things. If there was a class for social skills, I would be at the very bottom of the class. Sad, but true.

Not that it really matters to me. I mean, there isn't much of a variety to choose form in this po-dunk town anyway. The girls all either have under-bites or a sick, permenant case of lice. Or both. And the guys? All they want to talk about is snuff. And duck-butter, whatever the hell that is.

"Hey, man."

I glance to my left and see Sid Carrington coming up the ramp, also holding a smoke.

Sid is probably the only guy- no, person- in this school that could relate to me. He's got the brains, just like me, except he chooses to waste it on colorful ways to get high and stay that way. When Sid crashes, you had best head for the hills.

"Hey," I reply, sizing up his typical Tripp pants and anarchy shirt. I may be an outcast, but I don't draw attention to myself like Sid does.

My normal attire consists of jeans, Chuck Taylors, and some old band shirt that's lying around on my floor. I don't go looking for the spot-light; it just seems to enjoy going after me.

"Ready for another year of wasted time? Honestly, man, I can't stand this place. Say, why don't we blow this joint?" Sid asked, ribbing me in the side.

I won't lie; the thought didn't sound too bad. Still, my parents had begun to catch on to my absences, especially since the year prior's report card said that I had missed ten days, all unexcused. I shook my head and replied, "Can't. Not yet, at least."

Sid rolled his eyes. "Only you could make me stay in this hellhole."

I laughed. "Please, it's not like anyone can make you do anything." Which was extremely true. I had never seen him take orders from anyone. Would this help him in life? Probably not, but hey, at least he would die looking cool.

"Yeah, well..." His voice trailed off, then he sighed heavily. His eyes traveled on, passed the brick wall so that I couldn't see what he was looking at.

"Something interesting?"

Sid shook his head, but looked slightly bewildered. "Nothing. Just looks like some new players are going to be coming into our grand tragedy."

I cocked an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate, but he didn't. The bell rang out, making me cringe, and I tossed the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out with my foot. "Time to enter the gates of Hell."

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When I had woken up this morning, I had though, "You know, maybe this won't be so bad."

Well, that was before I actually got to school.

Although I've been homeschooled up until now, I have heard about all of the supposed mystery meats and stereotypes, but I never really put much emphasis behind them. I mean, I'm not the kind of person to judge others, but holy Hell.

And yes, I do mean Hell. Is it honestly supposed to smell like this all the time? It's called a shower, people. Use it.

The smell wasn't the first thing that tipped me off, though. No, the second my boots touched the school grounds, all bets were off. I received some of the most dastardly stares in my entire life, which were completely uncalled for. Then there were the others, who just looked scared of me, which is odd because I've never been much for violence or fright.

When I stepped through the doors of the secretary office, the smell changed, but not to anything much better. It almost smelled like a hospital, sterile and well, dead.

The woman that was perched behind the desk smacked her gum loudly, clearly not wanting any students inside her domain.

"Can I help you?" she drawled, and I fought not to cringe at her accent. Being from upstate New York, I wasn't exactly used to southern drawls, and I was still in the twitching stage.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm Morticia Jekyll. I believe my transcripts were sent here a few weeks ago?"

"Oh, right." She pecked a few buttons on her keyboard and the printer next to the monitor fired up, sounding like it was on its last legs. "You're that homeschooled girl."

It wasn't a question as much as an accusation, and I didn't really no how to answer, so I opted for a nod and a smile.

The paper finished printing, and the woman yanked it out. "Well, here you go."

I thanked her and prepared to leave when I heard, "You might want to cover that up."

Confused, I turned around and asked, "What?"

The woman, gestured to my arm and answered, "Those tattoos of you'rs. Teachers and other adults around here might find those offensive."

I glanced down at my right arm, covered with a sleeve of tattoos. Still, they weren't anything derogatory. There were roses, with thorns on long stems that stretched around my arm, along with other intricate designs. "They aren't offensive, ma'am, I-"

"You will address me as Ms. Parkins, and you will cover those up when you are in my presence."

Well, I guessed that was that. Kids were gathered against the windows, watching the happenings, and suddenly I knew exactly how a fish felt when children were staring at it from outside the bowl.

It was creepy.

I rolled my jacket sleeve down until I was out of the office, then pulled it up again. Was freedom of expression against the rules here, or something?

Walking down the hall, no one offered me a "hello", or any tyoe of friendly greeting for that matter. I had thought that maybe being the new kid would make me more appealing for recieving help, but apparently, not so much.

My locker was supposedly located on the second floor, and I glanced around to find a staircase or maybe an elevator? I mean, this place was fucking huge.

There was a brown door with the word "STAIRS" scribbled over by markers and pens, and I figured it was the best I was going to get. My heels clicked as I made my way to the door and threw it open, heedless to what could lurk behind it.

Man, was that a bad idea.

A tall red head was pressed against the brickwall by some guy that resembled a linebacker, which led to my first thought, "Is he beating her?" Then I wised up. What had I seen in oh so many teen shows on TV? Couples making out in stairwells.

I thanked God for letting them have their clothes on, then rushed back out into the hall, doubting that they had even noticed my brief presence.

The hallway was slowly filling up with students, none of which that looked lost or confused in any way.

A blonde girl in a denim mini skirt was standing alone near a classroom door about five feet away, and I turned to her cautiously. "Uh, can you tell me how to get to the top floor?"

At first, she didn't even register that I was talking to her, which would have been funny in any other circumstance. Then she rolled her eyes and glared like I was the dumbest person she had ever met. "The staircase is right next to you, idiot."

I cocked an eyebrow; this place was going to get old really fast. "I'm aware of this, but-"

The bell for the first class sang through the halls, and I cringed. "Is it always that loud?"

The girl's smile was wicked as she said, "Welcome to Reynolds."