"I want to lay on a mud puddle and cry."

Those were the first words that my very best friend, Natasha Foundland, said this early in the morning as she flopped down beside me on our usual table of the school's Commons.

She appeared to be wearing her 'I don't give a shit' outfit that consists of her old and baggy hoodie, a pair of sweat pants, and a pair of slippers with really thick socks. Her blonde hair was tied up into a messy bun on top of her head, and her baby hairs are floating to shape her face. I also noticed that she didn't even bother with her make up, and her eyes looked puffy.

I stared at her with raised eyebrows behind my thick framed glasses, and tried to move my arm that's currently trying to deal with procrastination. Papers in front of me scattered as I tried to finish my English essay which will be due in about... fifteen minutes.

"So, the closure thing with Dennis didn't end well, I take it?" I asked, and rolled my pencil to my other hand to continue, letting Natasha hug me limply on my side.

Being ambidextrous really has its perks.

"It was a disaster Mave, he just... He cried, which made me cry, which made him think that I want to get back together, which means that I have to explain to him over and over again the reason why we have to break up. So yes. It did not end well." She complained, placing all her weight on me, and laying her head on the table.

She made an indescribable sound, more like growling and groaning in complaint at the same time.

I gave out a chuckle of amusement and shook my head in disbelief. Then, Natasha muttered a typical,

"I hate my life."

"You hate your life everyday." I told her, scoffing. "If it makes you this upset, then why did you break up with him in the first place?" I eyed my last and closing paragraph of my essay, deciding how I'll combine words to bullshit through a powerful ending conclusion.

"Because I like Thomas!" She cried, throwing her hands up in the air. "Why do I have to have feelings with another boy, knowing that Dennis is also perfect to me? Just why?"

"You are horrible." I said, finally finishing my paper and putting them away. Natasha sat half of her body up, frowning and actually looking like she's about to cry. "This is why I try to stay away from drama. Things like this-" I gestured at her face. "...happens. You look completely out of it."

"I wish I was like you Mave, how do you manage not having a boyfriend?"

I didn't know if I should be flattered, or offended.

"Oh wow... Thanks bitch." I replied, mocking offense and nudging her. "Boyfriends are just trouble. I don't want to be stressed out like you are right now. There's too much effort to put in. I don't give a shit if I'm single, and I'm damn proud to be a virgin." I lifted my chin up proudly while making my point.

Sure, there are guys out there that showed attention, but I didn't really care about it. I flirt with them here and there, but I don't do anything to make them think that I'm interested.

Don't get me wrong, I don't hate relationships. I'm just not looking for one right now. I want to focus on my studies, get straight A's in all of my classes, take part in major activities in school, and eventually graduate, get my diploma with an acceptance letter to a good University.

Call me an over-achiever, or whatnot, I don't care. That's just who I am.

Natasha scoffed at my speech about boyfriends, and asked if I want to get breakfast with her in the cafeteria.

This was a routine that we do every school day.

Me, showing up extra early in school to finish assignments, or to do extra studying. Her, flopping down next to me, complaining about boys and crying. Me, calling her stupid for her bad decisions. Her, complaining again and calling me a bitch. Me, defending myself and reason with her behaviour.

Then, we go to the cafeteria and eat bad breakfast sandwiches.

To be frank, I'm just Natasha's walking advice column.

"Is that mustard on your shirt?" I asked, pointing at her hoodie.

"Yeah, I was eating corndogs last night." She said. "Not the sexy kind though."

I grimaced at the sick joke.

Natasha Foundland would always be that girl that can pull off any outfit and still look good in it. Despite the pieces of clothing that she's wearing right now, I have to say, Nat looks beautiful.

I used to compliment her now and then, but I don't bother anymore since random, preppy, and kiss-ass girls in our school does it all the time.

"I like your hair." A sophomore girl said to Nat, while we were putting food on our trays. I rolled my eyes and gave the girl a look of disbelief.

Nat, on the other hand...

"Um. I haven't washed it for two days... But thanks!"

I almost dropped our tray of food from laughing too hard.

I never did understand why Natasha and I are friends. I'm not that interesting. I'm just that girl that will occasionally make you laugh because of my bluntness and honesty.

If I would compare myself to Natasha, I myself don't look so bad, but Natasha would always be the prettiest, and I have no problem with that since I really don't want any attention.

We've known each other since elementary school, and we've grown close and comfortable around each other. I thought moving up to high school will make Nat meet new friends, and I would be that friend of hers who she used to know. I asked her about this one day and she replied with,

"Because I will never forget the day you kicked Justin Hill's balls during eight grade when he tried to look up under my skirt." She grinned. "And I knew that we would be the bestest friends forever."

She knew then that my friends are important to me, and that I take care of my friends.

But honestly though, while I make my way through life with only a handful of friends, Natasha on the other hand is natural when making them. She would talk to strangers like she'd known them all her life. People just decides that they adore her, which made her popular and well known around our school.

Then there's me, Maverick Bridge.

Totally awkward when I speak to people, but not appearing awkward at all. I'm not shy, I just happened to have this reputation that would make them hate me after I open my mouth. Most of them find me funny though, which I question why all the time.

I get surprised when strangers suddenly knows my name, but I think it's because I hang out with Nat.

But I also think that it's because my grandfather is the principal of our high school. We don't share last names though, since he's my mom's dad. He is called, principal Reginald Potter. Or, Mr. Potter.

Nat asked if I was related to Harry Potter, I told her no because that would mean that I would've received my Hogwarts letter long ago.

Halfway through our breakfast sandwiches, Natasha complained,

"Why do we even bother consuming this piece of crap food?"

I told Nat that she shouldn't complain because some people doesn't have anything to eat and that we should be grateful because we have so much.

"Shame on you." I said to her, poking her face to annoy her further more.

"Stop making me feel bad." She said, pouting and shoving mouthfuls of breakfast biscuits into her mouth to prove a point.

Then, Thomas came to sit with us, and things got awkward.

"What did Dennis say?" He asked carefully, his thick eyebrows furrowing with concern. Then, he looked around, as if looking for someone, and I gave him a look of suspicion.

"Good morning to you too, Tommy." I greeted, giving him a sarcastic grin.

Then, I pointed at Nat, who's currently frowning at her sandwich. I held Nat's head and moved her face towards Thomas. "She's obviously having a good morning too, aren't you sweet heart?" I continued, sarcasm still in tone.

"Thomas, Maverick is bullying me." She complained.

"I'm being nice. This is me, telling you that I love you but your decision-making sucks." I told her, and obviously pointing out at Thomas as the 'decision of suckyness'.

Thomas just shrugged and ignored me. My jaw clenched, and I stared at him hard.

What a fucking asshole.

I never liked Thomas. He's selfish, he's too cocky, and he's a douche bag. If it wasn't for Nat's sake, I would've kicked his ass a long time ago just because I can. I'm convinced that the only thing he cares about is getting into Nat's pants.

I'm a very straightforward person, so I told this right at his face with Nat one time... And I've never seen such a fake smile in return before. Since then, I never made an effort to hide my dislike towards him.

Thomas Sanvedra was of Colombian descent. His father, Mr. Sanvedra is a Spanish teacher, who works in our school, while his mother is a registered nurse in our town's hospital.

Tom appeared to be an attractive boy with an absolute six-pack under his shirt. He's muscular in a proper defined way, where most girls would assume that he was a dancer, or a swimmer. His hair was always windswept, that would make him look like he just got off from bed.

I always wondered why girls go gaga for him, and I asked Nat about it one day. She said something about his ass, and I didn't ask anymore to spare myself the confusion and the look of stupidity. But I did told her,

"He looks like a badly hand-made plastic Ken doll shipped from China. All that plastic is giving me cancer."

Tom didn't think it was funny.

"To answer your question though, Dennis was pretty upset." Nat replied to Tom, who sighed and stared at her with a frown. "Dennis is a pretty good guy, Tom... He understands."

"I just hope he doesn't treat me differently during soccer practice today." Tom ran his hand through his defined jaw, and to the back of his neck in a stressful manner. "I don't want to start a fight with Dennis."

"Of course he'll treat you differently." I told him honestly, and rolling my eyes. "You did sweep Dennis' girlfriend off her feet and now you two are together."

"Maverick." Nat gave me a warning look, the one that says she wants me to shut up. "Ex. Ex girlfriend." She corrected.

I face palmed.

It was a fact that Tom and Dennis are the bests of friends. But then Natasha happened, and everything went down to shit.

"Betrayal." I told both Nat and Tom. They looked away from me in shame.

I swear, high school drama is mostly why Nat is so stressed out all the time. I would be lying if I said I'm not in on it, because Nat would always come to me to talk about the drama, and I had no choice but to be involved.

"I'm sorry. But I'm not okay with this. Our squad is breaking apart. You guys are ruining everything!" I complained. "Look, there's Dennis. He's not even going to sit with us anymore." I added, then nodded my head towards Dennis' direction.

Dennis Peters was walking by the Commons. His books in one hand, and a water bottle in the other. He glanced our way, gave a little wave and a tight lipped-smile, before walking towards the opposite direction.

Usually he would come rushing towards us and sit beside Natasha, then fist bump Thomas, and then hug me, but I guess that's not happening.

"I'm not going to receive my morning hug today." I stated sadly.

Tom and Nat exchanged looks, but I looked after Dennis' retreating figure.

"It's like he's been kicked out from our friendship table. But look how brave he's handling all of this." I told them, seeing as he kept his chin up but his shoulders were defeated.

Poor Dennis.

As soon as the warning bell rang for first period, I walked away from Natasha and Tom, to let them deal with whatever shit they have.

I gripped my small floral backpack and went to go to my first period class, which was English.

Ms Shatilla, our teacher, stared at me questioningly when I handed her my procrastinate-made essay.

"And when was this finished, Maverick?" She asked, taking my

five-page essay and staring at it.

"Just this morning." I replied, and chuckled. She shook her head in disbelief and went through the pages. "Don't worry, Ms Shatilla, I'm not slacking off." She then just gave me an amused look before telling me to go sit down.

I was greeted by my fellow classmates which was odd since everyone was supposed to be miserable every mornings. I expected them to stare off into space or bury their heads on their folded arms, but it seems as if everyone was in a good mood.

Maybe because it was Friday?

Well, I'm not complaining. That would mean that Ms Shatilla won't give us any homework since everyone would be productive today. That sounds good to me.

As I made my way towards my desk, I noticed that someone was already sitting on it. I also noticed that everyone was staring at her, maybe because we haven't seen her before.

Everyone in our school somewhat, or at least know of one another. Who's doing who, who's dating who, etcetera.

So this girl screamed new, according to everyone's eyes.

She didn't seem to hear me, or see me. She had her eyes closed, earphones plugged in her ears, and her hand was gripping the desk, as her thumb tapped silently to the beat of her music. I joined in with everyone as I also stared at her in question.

She was in fact, attractive and pretty. She was fit, and slender. Her blonde hair fell gracefully on her shoulders without effort, and I can't help but admire her boldness for wearing a mid-cut sweater that showed off her curves. To not show too much skin and be modest, she wore high waisted jeans, but that didn't hide the fact that she was still, showing off some skin.

Since we were in a Catholic school, I wondered when Ms Shatilla would scold her for her 'inappropriate' clothing.

I looked down at her and tapped her shoulder. She moved her head, took an earphone out and I was met by a pair of light brown eyes. I paused for a moment, unsure of what I'm doing, and finally I said,

"Uh, you're in my spot."

The girl just stared at me blankly, not moving an inch. I raised an eyebrow and folded my arms.

"Look, I don't want to go Sheldon-ape on you and keep saying that you're in my spot-" I was midway through a Big Bang Theory reference when Ms Shatilla said that she assigned this girl on my seating spot.

"That's kind of rude." I blurted.

Then I quickly asked our teacher why. She said because she didn't think that I would mind.

But you see, I do mind.

It's the best sitting spot in the classroom, and it's located in the back corner, beside the window. If I wanted to look at my phone, I could easily use it without getting caught. If I'm bored, I can always look outside the window and appreciate the beauty of nature. Most importantly, I like natural lighting, there's a relaxing vibe to it, and I can't believe that it will be taking away from me.

"You can sit here at the front." Ms. Shatilla told me, patting the desk beside the boy who smells like cigarettes.

"Hey Mave." The boy winked, and I just greeted back without enthusiasm.

I looked back at the girl, and sighed sadly.

I really wanted to reason with Ms Shatilla, and get my desk back but the look she gave me said that we have to start class soon. If we had time, I'd gladly argue because I didn't deserve to get my territory being taken away.

Yes, I'm in that level of stubbornness.

"Well okay..." I said, suddenly feeling like I've lost something of value. The girl gave me an apologetic smile which I thought was really nice, but it wouldn't change the fact that she had stolen my spot.

But I was a nice person, so I smiled back at her, shrugged my shoulders, and made my way to the front seat, getting ready to dodge the spit from Ms Shatilla's mouth as soon as she starts the lesson on Hamlet.

Natasha was already by my locker during our 8-minute break before our third period class. She was holding two granola bars in one hand and her History book in the other. When I met her to my locker, she saw the look of disappointment on my face.

"Awe, what's wrong Mave?" She asked.

"Someone was assigned at my seating spot and now my face is covered by an old-widowed teacher's saliva." I grumbled while Nat had the audacity to laugh at me, and I flipped her off. I placed my locker combination and let Natasha place her book inside.

She never had her own locker, and insisted on using mine instead. I argued about this but Nat has issues about memorizing numbers. She'd rather have someone else memorize a combination (which was me) and rather share since I was very nice and that I was her very best friend.

I told her that the only reason that I was letting her share my locker was because she keeps snacks in there.

I can't believe I let this little shit do that, because now my locker is full of granola bar trash. To prove my point, Nat unwrapped both her bars and threw the garbage in.

"Here, have a bar." She said, and I took both of them. Before she could protest, I licked them and said,

"Mine now."

"Greedy bitch."

Then my grandpa walked by and approached me.

"Language, Ms. Foundland." He said, making Nat turn pale and mutter her apology.

"Hi gramps." I greeted, and he gave me a warm smile in return.

Natasha was scared of him, maybe because he stood up as six foot three and towers most of the people in our school. His hair's white from age, and has a beard that was a foot long. I called him Dumbledore one time, and Natasha lost her mind, and couldn't stop laughing.

I think the hilarious one was her, because we would spend silent reading time during freshman year and watch she would randomly burst out laughing, remembering 'Dumbledore'.

Anyways, Principal Reginald Potter is a good man that likes to follow rules, and tries to be fair. If I would describe his personality perfectly, then I have to say that it resembles Atticus in the novel, To Kill a Mockingbird.

The reason why he's talking to me now was unknown, but I soon realize what it was when the same girl from English was standing beside him.

"Lost?" I asked her.

"Not lost." She replied, crossing her arms across her chest and looking away as if she was bored.

"Your mother specifically said that if you need assistance, then you should ask." My grandpa reasoned. "Not roam around the halls, looking completely lost."

"I'm not lost." The girl repeated. "I lost my school map, but I'm not lost."

"Ms. Dubois-"

"Please, don't treat me like a child." She cut my Grandfather off with her calm voice.

There was an awkward silence for a few seconds, then I asked,

"Is she someone important?"

Nat nudge me on my side, pointing out my Grandfather's warning look. I guess it came out as rude because Grandpa does not look happy, at all.

"No." Said the girl, shaking her head and sighing.

"Maverick, Natasha, this is Danielle Dubois."

"Dani." The girl corrected.

Next thing I know, I was walking Dani to her next class, which was Calculus, while Nat went to her own class.