OMG. A few days ago at like 2 in the morning, I couldn't sleep, and I had just finished like 1/10 of my homework(it's supposed to be thanksgiving break, but my teachers-ugh) and I was just browsing through my Wattpad, just checking how everything was doing, and I saw a couple of campaigns, one being BreakStereotypes, and I remember thinking that my story would eventually fit under this category, I just hadn't really started the plot of this story yet. At this time, this book only had 34 reads TOTAL and 0 votes. 2 days after I had put this and my other book(it's called The Haircut, you should go check it out!) under this campaign(my other book is also part of a different campaign) I now have almost 200 reads on this story and 9 votes. Guys, that is insane, and this is only for a 2 part book. You guys are great. Thank you for all the support that you guys are throwing at me right now, now let's see if we can get any comments on this book! I would really love constructive criticism since I'm always trying to improve my writing also, but thank you for the reads and votes!!! I wrote this chapter a while ago and I just made a few minor edits to it, so I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! This chapter is dedicated to @martini267 for the votes, thank you so much!

Grant's POV (2 days later)

I woke up to someone punching my gut. Jolts of pain surged through my abdomen, and I shot out of my bed.

I looked around and found my brother grinning wildly at me with his messed up hair and a pair of Transformers pjs on. Megatron I think? I don't remember the names of all of them, but I do remember Optimus Prime, he was my favorite one.

Anyways, with my abs still hurting incredibly bad, to the point where I could feel the blood pulsing through them, I reached over to smack my brother. He leaned away in order to dodge my hand, and I inevitably missed.

Ugh.

My brother then squealed excitedly. Yeah, he actually squealed. What a girl.

He said, "GUESS WHAT DAY IT IS TODAY!"

I looked around bewildered. How would I know? The only reason I ever knew the date was because of my top-notch defense classes.

I keep looking at him strangely and he pointed to my phone on the nightstand next to me. I turned it on, and guess what day it was. Yeah, it was the first day of school. And I didn't even know. Do I even have a backpack? What about binders? Paper?

I'm in deep shit.

Forgetting about my throbbing abs, I shove my brother off of me who had come back afterward to straddle me, and I clumsily made my way down to my parents' room. Unfortunately, it's in an entirely different wing. Normally, this was awesome, but now, not so much.

I look over my shoulder and see my brother following closely, trying to stay clear of me, though I knew his plan. I'm pretty sure he believed that he was getting in trouble, and so when I tell my parents what occurred, all he had to do was burst through my parents' bedroom and tell them his version of the story, and my parents wouldn't even bother to remember my side.

Younger siblings are such a pain, I swear.

I open my parents' bedroom, only to see that they were already up and almost done getting ready.

Why am I always the last one up? First-world struggles.

"When were you guys going to tell me that the first day of school was today? I had to depend on my brother to tell me!"

My mom looked at me with tired eyes and said softly, "Grant, sweetie, we just got up ourselves. We're sorry we didn't wake you up on time and for not completing our duties as your personal servants."

My father shot her a smirk while packing his suitcase, and she smirked right back. He then turned to me and said with a sigh, "Grant, you need to learn to be responsible. I mean, you have a calendar, you've got your alarm-"

"My alarm doesn't tell me what day it is," I interrupted.

He continued to plow through his lecture saying, "-and you have your phone. What else do you need? When you go off to college, which is happening in just a year, may I remind you, you're not going to have us to tell you what day it is."

I kept a stony expression on my face, but unfortunately, I understood exactly where he was coming from. After that mini-lecture, I decided to keep it simple. "Do I have a backpack?" I asked. My parents just smiled and looked at each other and said, "You should be able to find what you're looking for in the kitchen." I just looked at them, but I could tell I wasn't going to get any hints about what exactly was waiting for me in the kitchen, so I went to the kitchen.

All of the stuff I needed, everything I was worried about, was waiting for me in the kitchen. Okay then. I looked at the clock.

7:15.

Shit.

School starts at 8:00.

Time to put the style in "Blackwell."

That was probably the worst phrase I have ever come up with, and that's saying something.

By the time I get ready, I've already missed the bus (I know, I'm wealthy as shit, and yet my parents still put me through the trouble of riding a school bus, AND I can't catch a ride with anyone else, because that's not "responsible" enough for my parents), and everyone's already left, including my brother. When I walk outside, I see the new Indian/Portuguese neighbors, and their two daughters. The younger daughter was thin and tall, but she was probably as old as my brother. The older one, however, was short and was a bit on the curvy side, but you could tell that her curves were made out of pure muscle.

It was like looking at Dwayne Johnson but in girl form.

The dad, Mr. Scorzer, was half Portuguese and half Indian, according to what they had said yesterday. A short man with pale skin, salt and pepper hair, a sharp nose, and a beer belly to accompany it. The man might have been handsome at one point in his life, but he lost much of his looks when he grew his portly stomach. You could tell that he had not always been plump in life with one look at his legs. They were lean and muscular, something that he had not lost with age. His small head, rounded belly, and muscular legs made for an interesting combination to look at, but his wife, however, was the real looker.

She had dark skin compared to her husband, but she had a completely Indian heritage. She was tall, at least two inches taller than her husband, and quite plump as well. When she had given me, my brother, and my mom a tour around their house, I had seen a picture of her on her wedding day, and she looked way different. She was tall with a skeletal structure, but that clearly changed as time went on. She held on to her big, brown, warm eyes, button nose, rounded cheeks, and long eyelashes.

The daughters looked vaguely similar to their parents, however. The younger one had a slight stature and was dark-skinned like the mom. Her eyes were smaller, although that may be due to her age. She had chubby cheeks and stick straight hair cut into a bob. She had small, defined pink lips that stuck out of her face, and could, all in all, be considered to be a very adorable child.

The older one, however, was very different. She had inherited some of her dad's paleness, though not as pale as him, but not as dark as her mother; she was somewhere in the middle. She had an hourglass figure which was showcased in a simple v-neck and jeans, prominent collar-bones, high cheekbones, bushy eyebrows, and a button nose. She had a small chest, thin waist, voluptuous hips, and evident muscle tone on her legs. Her arms weren't nearly as well equipped as her legs, but you could tell they could lift if they needed to. I remembered thinking about how hairy she was yesterday. She had hair on her arms, and I'm sure she had hair on her legs. She also had a small mustache if you could call it one, though it was more like peach fuzz than anything else. I also remembered the rectangular glasses that rested on her nose, and the pimples that cropped up across her cheeks and forehead, though it was nowhere near full-out acne mode. Her hair was thick, straight, and ended at her shoulders, but it curled a little at the end, like a small waterfall. When she turned, her hair caught a ray of light, and a section of her hair turned from a brownish-black to a fiery copper. I liked her hair.

She got into one car with her dad, while her younger sister and Mrs. Scorzer got into another car. I snapped out of it once I realized that one car had moved. The car containing Mrs. Scorzer and her younger daughter sped past me. The father backed out of the driveway and drove away, but his oldest daughter scrutinized me the entire time, her eyes never leaving my gaze. It was unnerving. I had never met someone who could look at me head on without having to look away. Her stare was not like any that I had received; it was a purely analytical gaze; nowhere near the shy ones that I was used to receiving in the past.

By the time I got out of my daze, I only had ten minutes left to get to school. I grabbed my old bicycle from our dilapidated tool shed and pedaled as if my life were on the line.

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When I got to school, I was fashionably late to my first-period class. The teacher looked pissed off at me, but there was nothing she could do about it; my dad was the biggest funder of this shithole, so they were just going to have to make do.

My first-period class was AP Physics. I scanned the room looking at my new classmates and a couple of faces stood out, one of them being my best friend, Evans.

"Aye bro, where the hell have you been all summer? I haven't seen you in years!" said a boy striding towards me. I snorted at his hypocrisy; we both knew that we were each busy with our own things.

Thick, blonde shaggy curls hung around his head in a mass of waves, a sharp nose and faint stubble dotting his cheeks. He had an aura of friendliness, but he didn't necessarily look like it. He was that one guy at your school that was made of pure muscle. He came over to me and gave me a bear-hug. As I hugged him, I looked over his shoulder and there was a curtain of obsidian hair shielding a familiar face.

She had glasses, a medium-sized, prominent nose, and sharp cheekbones protruding from her face. Her lips were a defined pinkish-purplish red, and right above it was a dusting of black fuzz. She looked up and returned my gaze with a wary look, evident by the way she furrowed her brow and pursed her lips at my sight. Her face was framed by a halo of black hair, creating a shadow effect, lessening the glow of her tan skin.

The girl across the street was in my class.

What was her name again?

I could distantly hear the teacher trying to get my attention. It wasn't until I let go of Evans and looked back at the teacher's desk, that I bothered to actually listen to what the teacher had to say.

"Mr. Blackwell, not only have you been late to your first class of the year, you also blatantly disrespect me. You already have a record at this school young man, I suggest you not add to it."

I look away from my neighbor and smirk at the old lady at the front of the class, who was, apparently, my teacher.

"And if I do add to it, what will happen, a detention?"

The teacher flushed a brilliant shade of red, and said scathingly, "No, it will be an expulsion, I'll make sure of it."

I smiled and said sarcastically, "Well you go ahead and expel me, and I'll make sure that you'll be unemployed for the rest of your life."

The lady's eyes bulged right out of their sockets, and her mouth gaped open and closed like a fish's, making her look dumb, and generally incapable of teaching an AP class, much less AP Physics.

I sat in a seat towards the back of the class while the teacher glared at me furiously. I just smiled back and relaxed in my seat; the teacher knew as well as I did that whatever I had said earlier was the complete and utter truth.

The entire class just looked at me with a mixture of awe and wonderment. I look over to my neighbor, but as soon as my head turns her way, she looks back at the front of the classroom. Hmm.

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When I walk into my 2nd-period class, there she is again, at the front of the class with a stick straight back, looking at me intensely. I try to brush it off, but somehow, I have an urge to return the gaze. I'm not sure why. Yes, she is attractive to a certain extent, but I've had better girls just downright offer themselves to me. What's the difference now? I decided to blame my rough morning for the weird feelings. Yeah. That's what it is.

But when I try to concentrate on the assigned chapters in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, I find my attention wandering as soon as my eyes reach the page. After a while of just looking at the page, I glance at the clock, and I'm relieved to see that there are only three minutes left of class. I'm the first to leave, and after letting out a deep breath, I'm met with Evans.

Hearing my sigh, he grins and says, "Hard day already Blackwell? Man, and I thought you could handle two AP classes, not to mention the four that you're actually taking."

I grin, and going along with the ruse I respond with, "The classes are easy, but the women in them? Now that's just going to a whole new level." Evans smile grows even wider, and we go to our 3rd-period class, with me hoping that there wouldn't be a certain girl there.

Guess who I saw walking into the gym on my way in.

Yep, you guessed it.

She's in all of my classes.

And it's when I'm changing for my last class in the locker room, which just so happened to be P.E., that I decided to confront her.  

Picture: Grant Blackwell

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