Our Story: About highschool?

[Jake11]

4 years. 720 days. 4,320 hours. 259,200 minutes
No matter how many different ways you attempt to calculate the time, nothing changes. The amount of your life you spend in high school will not get any shorter. 180 days a year, 5 days a week, 6 hours a day. You're drowning in the sea of pathetic, obnoxious and utterly hopeless people every single day. There's no way out. You swim to the top, but get pulled right back down by a force you don't understand. Then again, does anybody understand high school? Do we ever really understand what's going on around us? These second-rate people whom surround you at all times are inescapable. Yet it's here where you meet those out of this world people that you'll call your best friends. It's here where a person learns more about themselves than anything of academic value. It's here in high school where everyone is given the chance to write their own story. Well this, this is Our Story.


New story that I've started to write. I'd love to hear what would think, and if they would continue reading from there?

If you want to read some more then just go to
http://www.booksie.com/young_adult/novel/nicholas_coughlin/ourstory
You can view updated chapters there.


Any ideas of things teens go through that you would like to see in the story?

[The Madness.]

Is this going to turn into like Degrassi? Just wondering.

[Jake11]

Never really watched that show. I wouldn't know.




Chapter One

Do you remember when you were little and all you ever wanted was to be older? Wanting to be that big kid in the big school with the big things to do. You spend your whole childhood, just wishing to be in that moment where you're on your own. That moments now, it's finally here. We're independent, free and the world's ours! Mommy and daddy can take the back seat now, they don't tell us what to do. Not now, not that we're older.
Truth be told, my parents woke me up, made me breakfast and drove me to the bus stop today. I'm not all that self efficient as I pretend to be. Why should I be though? I didn't want this, I never wanted to be older. I never said, "Hey! I wanna go to high school and do everything on my own." I'm lying. Going to high school is something I've been waiting for, something I've wanted more than anything. Well here I am getting onto the bus, scared shitless.
"Bryan!" someone shouts from the back of the bus, "Dude, back here."
"Uh, okay." I yell back as I stumble through the isle, bumping into at least three people. Receiving judgmental glares from every person I see, doesn't help my nerves. I practically fall into the seat.
"Hey, how was your summer?" asks Brendan, barely audible over the laughter and yells of the returning upperclassmen.
"Good, it was uh, fun." I quickly stutter, afraid of puking if I say too much.
"Football going good? Heard you've been pretty nasty, making JV this year? Being put on the freshmen team would be a blow." He laughs.
So it begins. Get this straight, I hate football. The excitement of throwing a ball from one end to the other dies down after about 3 minutes. Simple solution would be to quit. My father would have a heart attack if I even gave him the impression I don't want to play anymore. It was his life, his dream and his desire to play football in College. The only problem was that he sucked. He spent his time on the bench. Me? Unfortunately, I'm better than my dad.
"It's alright uh, I guess. Freshmen wouldn't be bad." Secretly hoping I break my leg when getting off the bus.
"HA, kidding right? Freshmen dude, come on. They just stick the extras on that team." He rants on.
If you haven't noticed I'm not Brendan's biggest fan. He's sort of an conceited over the top idiot and that's being nice about it. That describes most of my friends, but when you're on the football team you have to put up with them. I can't ignore my teammates, they need me. The thing is, I don't need them. I want to be me, that's all.
The bus stops. The atmosphere gets louder. Everyone shuffles for their things. One by one they stumble off the bus. I stare out the window. Nope, not ready. Not yet. Brendan nudges me. I get up. It's too fast, slow down. I step down each step cautiously. I look around. I feel alone. I am alone. Mom?
57 steps. That's how many it took to get to the doors. Those double front doors. It's crazy how much just two doors can represent. They represent the beginning. The start of high school. I'll be entering in these front doors for the next 4 years of my life. Once you go in, there's no turning back. Right now is the choice: Go in or bail? Follow the crowd, go in.