Through Weathered Eyes

For the Quibblo contest.

A lot of you don't even know half of the drama that happens to some people in high school. I can safely say I don't miss it at all, but I was sort of like this inanimate object, observing some things about certain kids. And when you realise somethings, you don't even want to be the one to "call it."

I hope it's not too boring! Enjoy.

Chapter 1

Day 1

by: TheGrouch
She sat down confidently, yet she was timid. She knew who she was, but she wasn't quite sure any of the others did. Young and yet very mature, Kennedy Caplan smiled when she looked down on my weathered exterior. She gently set her notebook and pen on my left corner, and she gracefully took notes. She was beautiful on the outside and on the inside, as I grew to learn throughout the year. She was even perfectly capable of handling the obnoxious Ms. Rummer, doing so with kindness and a sort of serenity. I nearly fell in love with her.

James Mettle was not so wonderful. On the first day he nearly fell into the seat, and I could sense the methamphetamine on his person. He slouched in his seat and drew crude pictures that a fourteen year old boy should not have known how to draw in such detail. Towards the middle of class he always caught himself staring at the sagging "baggage" Ms. Rummer had in disgust, and he was always the first to run out of the classroom.

Federico Montajo, whom I came to know as Freddy, sat down the first day with a nervous smile and a nervous twitch. His left eye blinked nearly three times that of his right eye every minute, and he spoke with a shaky voice when asked to pronounce his name: Federico Narcisso Lontoya Montajo Smith - his father was American. He was a sweet boy, although terribly anxious. I grew fond of him over the year. I always think of him when I feel low.

Janelle Hines showed her sass before even sitting down. She was a white girl from a rich neighbourhood, but she preferred to think she was from the "Hood." She threw her books on top of me and rested her elbows on me almost as though growing comfortable, but it was all full of disrespect. She wrote her name with bling but had no binder ring to put it in. She etched her initials along with a certain "JM" on my exterior, a permanent scar I wince at every day.

Andrea Lugizzi was an exchange student. He spoke with a heavy Italian accent, and he wore a heavy cologne scent that I never forgot: 90% musk, 10% dead possum, or so it seemed to me. Ms. Rummer liked him more than a 50 year old divorced women should, and he was mildly suggestive, winking at her every time he walked in. The first day he sat down I felt his sway, his charisma. I knew one thing for sure: he would succeed, but not through ethics and determination.

During Rummer's free period that first day I spent time thinking of the kids that would be using me as their rock and their stronghold this year. I was eager to see how they would turn out through their first year of high school. I played a big role for them - this was the beginning of the end of school for them. The first year had to make an impression.

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