“Hey, Hailey! Over here!” called Zoë Collins from her spot next to Dylan Viner near the fountain. Sixteen year old Hailey Ateara smiled and walked slowly over to the group. There were at least ten teenagers piled on the steps of the fountain outside the main building. Zoë, Dylan and Hailey sat with them, but separate somehow. They didn’t quite fit in. Crazy band geeks that they were.

“Hi, guys, how was math?” she asked calmly. Her chemistry period had seemed to take forever. She wrinkled her nose as she took out her two giant salad sandwiches; one of the other girls was wearing way too much perfume for her sensitive nose.

“Ugh,” said Dylan. “Don’t go there.”

Zoë shrugged. “Who cares about math? Not when you just got asked out by the guy with the cutest, most wonderful, most spectacular, most divine, most perfect ass in the history of St. Michael’s High School.”

 “Who?” asked Hailey casually, trying to hide the smug smirk that was trying to envelope her face. She tucked her thick fringe of crow black hair behind her ear. But it still managed to fall across her face. She took a large mouthful of her sandwich. And another…

“Jeremy Rosbon! He is oh-my-god so effin’ sexy. You haven’t given him an answer yet, Hail! A guy like him doesn’t stay on the market more than a few hours!” babbled Zoë frantically. “And how can you eat two them and still be a size ten?”

Hailey laughed at Zoë’s exclamation and then shook her head. “Nuh uh. Jeremy’s a pathetic loser, except for his perfect, steroid-pumped physique and not to mention he has with doorbells for brains and a serious lack of good communication skills. I will not go out with him. And as for my weight, I run a lot.” 

“But he’s so hot!” she argued, as if it negated all the rest. And in Jeremy Rosbon’s case, it probably did.

Dylan rolled his eyes, as he normally did, at Zoë’s reasoning. “Look. I agree with Hailey; the guy’s a pedigree jerk. He always calls me a faggot. I can’t say I like him.” Dylan scowled.

Hailey glowered. “He said that again? See this is what I mean,” she pointed out. “He’s not even nice.” She thought Dylan was incredibly plucky, not only for putting up with her and Zoë everyday, but for ignoring it when practically the whole sophomore year believed him to be gay.