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Post by Demetri Montroli on Sept 11, 2008 20:32:35 GMT -6
Ew English, not his favorite subject, especially since the last time he was in a English class it was actually the language. He understood this was for grammar and blah blah blah, but he didn't like English all the same. He was a bit nervous since this was his first class around here. He was wearing a usual outfit for him He had a long sleeve white shirt with a black shirt over top of it. The white undershirt was a bit big as most of his shirts were as it was baggy on his arms slightly as most clothes did on the small boy. He was quite small he only stood at five foot two and weighed ninety seven pounds. He was a light weight no doubt about it. The Black over shirt had a white faded design on it, it was kind of cool.
For pants he wore his usual black fitted jeans. He loved black jeans but was never one to wear skinny jeans he didn't like how tight they were it felt like he couldn't walk right. Lastly on his feet he had a pair of black and white checkered vans.He had his black messenger bag over his shoulder as this bag looked as if it had seen better days but was in good shape. He loved his bag it ad writing, buttons, pins and so on all over it. Mostly all the writing was in Italian but you get the point. He walked into he class room as he looked at his fellow students. He quickly made his way to a seat in the middle in the first row against the wall. This was where he usually sat he liked it around there.
The only time he didn't really like it was when there was a tall person in front of him. He looked to the board as he read it. He wasn't that good at reading, it was kind of hard actually. He was use to reading in Italian he still wasn't accustom to the pronouncing of the words he read so if he read them wrong how can you tell what they are? Mostly all of his classes were advanced except for English, it was his lowest grade. He set his messenger bag on the ground by his feet as he waited for class to begin.
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Post by Lydia Dupont on Sept 30, 2008 13:13:02 GMT -6
Lydia glanced down at her color-coed schedule that was always popping up on her Blackberry. Her first class of the day was English, and she couldn’t help but feel a shrill of excitement run through her as she took a lengthy sip of orange juice. English had always been one of her favorites, second only to Math. She absentmindedly smoothed the top of her pin straight brown hair as her eyes hurriedly skimmed the Business section of the New York Times. She sighed softly as she looked at the numbers, it looked as if her ambition to become a CEO was slowly crashing to the ground. She figured she could just switch over to politics instead. She had always wanted to be a politician anyway, and this way she could easily rise to the top without having to worry too much about the failing economy effecting her power or threatening her job security. She decided to dress down for her first class, and had merely slipped her favorite soft red Free People cardigan over her shoulders, and a pair of opaque tights. At Trinity, people had always tried to look as if they simply rolled out of bed and went to school, as if their fabulousness was completely natural. She wondered if it would be the same here at Westfield, though she was sure it rang true everywhere. Her over the top designer numbers were to be saved for after school, and going out on the weekends. She decided to arrive a bit late for the class, not late so that the class had actually started, she would never do something like that, but late enough to make an entrance. She pushed open the door to the classroom and padded in on her favorite pair of Jimmy Choo metallic flats. What she found wasn’t really what she had expected, or was it? Blonde. Blonde. Blonde. Blonde. Starving suburban emo kid. Blonde. Lydia rolled her eyes slightly as she scanned the classroom. She had to admit, her heart sank slightly when she saw the lack of enthusiasm in the classroom. Back home in Manhattan, the academically rigorous private school classrooms were filled with stimulating conversation, passion for the material, and intelligent students all trying to competitively out do each other for the best grade. Here, well, one girl was blasting her music, and they were almost all clicking away on their cell phones. It was as if she had walked into some sort of horrible suburban detention realm. She couldn’t help but pity them, each one thinking that they were too cool for school. She wasn’t going to let the disappointing classroom discourage her though. She was going to continue her near perfect GPA, graduate from an Ivy, and move on to be come successful in life. She would be sure to laugh when the motley crew in front of her ended up on the cover of some trashy magazine as they entered whatever pathetic rehabilitation center they were forcibly committed to. She raised a disdainful brow as she glided into a chair next to a blonde girl ( Chloe), anything to stay away from the distracting music blasting from another blonde's headphones.
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Post by Brooke Shields on Oct 6, 2008 18:02:30 GMT -6
Brooke walked into the classroom, already noticing people there. She sat down in the back of the room, a seat down from the hot guy talking to the blonde. She fell into the chair, and stretched her long legs to the fullest. Today she wore a black halter top, black jeans, and her black sneakers with the awesome neon green laces. She knew she looked hot, and that was the look she was aiming to have.
Pulling out her cell phone she began to text one on her friends from her old school, passing the time. Who gave a shit what the teacher thought anyway? What she wanted was to get a boyfriend, and apparantely there weren't many guys here. Brooke needed to get some guys attention fast.
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Post by Chloe Rose (MOD) on Oct 6, 2008 18:29:49 GMT -6
Chloe looked up as a girl sat next to her. She seemed to have lots of money, but then again, who here didn't? The girl also seemed slightly confused about the entire situation of Westfield. Not too many people were really paying attention to the world around them and the teacher was still yet to be heard from, but quite a few people had shown up non-the-less. Maybe Westfield would be way easy. One of those boarding schools you just had to show up for and you passed. How nice would that be? As if Chloe's life wasn't easy enough as it was.
"Hey." Chloe said looking the girl over. Friend worthy? Check. Rich? Check. Pretty? Check. She had all the makings of fitting in with Chloe, maybe this girl would. Then again, not everyone could bow down to Chloe's feet. Right now all that Miss Summer needed was a butt kissing side kick. A beta would be nice too. She needed to start her clique, to get friends built up around her and start taking over the school even more than she already had. Certainly it couldn't be that hard to make friends.
Then a girl in all black came in in a huff. She looked like a skank by the way she dressed and how she acted like she owned the school. What was up this girls ass? Instantly, Chloe was put off by her. She didn't even want to be in the same general area as this girl. It was as if she had a disease and Chloe wanted to be no where near her. Suddenly, she felt slightly trapped.
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Post by Lydia Dupont on Oct 6, 2008 19:58:10 GMT -6
How had she landed herself in this situation? She began to examine her silver polished fingers as she tried to compose herself. She was prone to being incredibly stressed, and found that the pressure built up far too often. She felt a sudden wave of hatred for her father. It had all been his fault. It was his fault that her mother had felt disgraced, it was his fault that she had to leave her beloved Manhattan where everything was perfect and right with the world, and it was certainly his fault that she landed here at Westfield—home of the mindless blondes and gross displays of youth wasted on consumer culture. She yearned to go back home, back where people actually cared about their grades and future, and where decadence was taken with a grain of salt and a dose of life. She needed to get back where she belonged.
Lydia’s deep brown eyes began to slowly glaze over as she lost herself in her thoughts while waiting for her class to start, she almost didn’t hear the blonde girl next to her speak. Hey. She turned her head to look at the person who had just addressed her. She was blonde, which was almost a given at that school, and she seemed to be sizing Lydia up. Lydia raised a brow, at the girl, as if she were wondering what the girl could possibly be judging her on. “Hey,” she answered with a curt grin. It wasn’t that Lydia was harsh, it was just that her smile had always been short, and for lack of a better word, cold. She considered her options for a couple of moments before continuing. She could write this girl off, and be completely rude, or she could try and make the best of her horrible situation and go out of her way and beyond her normal standards to try and make a friend. She looked at the girl once more. Although she didn’t really dress in the same manner that Lydia was accustomed, she supposed her outfit could have been far worse. She also noticed that the girl was really well groomed, which was certainly a positive factor. Lydia simply despised messy people. But there was something different about this girl, for she wasn’t just your ordinary California bleach-blonde, there was a spark of ambition hidden behind her eyes, a spark that Lydia possessed herself. She decided that this girl could be worthy of her time. “I’m Lydia,” she said as she made an effort to seem warm, “Lydia Dupont.”
Lydia’s thoughts were interrupted as a rather nasty looking girl in black stormed into the classroom and made her way to the back row of the desks. She couldn’t help but grimace at the sight of her. People like that were as tacky as they were transparent. She didn’t understand why people tried so hard to stand out by flamboyantly showing their anger. Anger was such an unbecoming emotion, and it was best kept whisked away from the public eye. Lydia raised her brow once more as she watched the girl take out her cell phone. These people’s classroom etiquette was disgraceful. “Oh God,” she said as she rolled her eyes to the blonde girl that was sitting next to her, “Not really the most ‘delicate’ being, now is she?”
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Post by Chloe Rose (MOD) on Oct 6, 2008 20:13:21 GMT -6
“I’m Lydia,” There was a plus. She had a pretty name at least. Not to mention Chloe had had a great friend named Lydia when she was a toddler. Sometimes that was a good sign. Most likely though, it was chance. At least she had continued the conversation herself and not made Chloe do all the talking. Chloe hated people that did that. Truly it annoyed her because why talk if the other half of the conversation doesn't have any input other than the usual 'yeah's','mhm's', and 'cool's'.
"Chloe Rose Summer." It was habit that Chloe always include her middle name when introducing herself. She loved her middle name way more than she would ever like her last name. If it were up to Chloe she would have dropped the last name Summer a long time ago and just stuck with Chloe Rose. But sadly, she didn't have those rights yet, and her parents threatened to take away any inheritance if she dropped the name. Dropping the name did signify not being apart of the family, but Chloe didn't understand why they had to be so anal about it.
“Oh God,” Chloe liked this girl already. “Not really the most ‘delicate’ being, now is she?” She was talking about the same girl that had just stormed in like she owned the place. The one that had obviously been trying to show off for Mr. Maxwell who sat next to Chloe. Really, it was too bad she tried to get him that way. There was only one way that that whole thing would end. With her getting screwed over. "She looks like she shopped at Halloween Express and someone sent her over to the horror section on accident." Chloe said rolling her eyes to share her utter distaste of the whole matter.
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Post by Maxwell Cherry on Oct 6, 2008 20:19:18 GMT -6
Maxwell listened slightly to what the girls were saying. The new one, the brown haired girl, was Lydia. The only other Lydia he'd known was a blond haired bitch, but this one seemed completely different. A little more on the modern classy side, he would say. In his head he calculated exactly how he could get in her pants, if he really wanted to that was. Maxwell wasn't the most sexual guy out there. Sure, he thought about things other than sex, like booze. Well ok, he only thought about two things. They took up most of his thinking time anyway, so why think about other things? No, Maxwell respected girls on the outside, he only did dirty things to them inside of his brain. But no one would know what he was actually thinking anyway, so it didn't really matter.
"Whoa." Maxwell said looking up and whistling as the girl walked by. It was obvious that was the kind of attention she wanted, but she looked like she was angry. Wonder what made her so mad. The curious youth thought. This girl, would definatly be easy to get with. He'd say maybe about an hour and he could have her back at his dorm. But who wanted a beast like that in his bed? Maxwell was considering it.
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Post by Brooke Shields on Oct 6, 2008 22:26:20 GMT -6
Brooke put her phone away, realizing something. She needed friends, very badly. How else was she to become popular as she had been in her old school. Apparently the "bad girl" type wasn't going over well with the other girls. The only way to join the popular girl clique was to become like one of them, even though she wouldn't be able to be as much as herself as she would of liked, who gave a shit when you were popular.
Brooke sat straighter in her chair, and acted slightly more like the other girls, but not enough to look like she completely changed. She needed to act as if she was tired, which was why she had been the way she was, and then be like everyone else. More than anything she at least wanted to have some friends, and the more popular the better. She noticed that the hot guy she saw was checking her out, and she smiled. Some good attention at least. But of course he might be thinking he could get her to have sex with him, which was just gross. She grimassed at the thought, and began to get angry again. Calm down, she thought. Slowly she began to relax, the tension releasing. Brooke heard the other girls talking about her, which slightly put her on edge, but she could handle it. Besides, she didn't need to be the most popular girl in school, just popular.
She got out a notebook and pencil, and put them on her desk, and waited for the class to begin.
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Post by Lydia Dupont on Oct 7, 2008 18:01:14 GMT -6
Chloe Rose Summer.
Lydia shot the girl a soft smile as she heard the familiar name. So this was Chloe, the girl that her roommate Alexia had spoken of. What was it that she had said? ‘Chloe Rose did after all, she's only a freshman and she thinks she rules the school, isn't that silly?’ Lydia glanced at the blonde girl before her, she didn’t seem as stuck up as her roommate had alluded. Then again, there was that hunger behind her eyes—a slight hint of ambition and visions of grandeur. Though that hardly put Lydia off, if anything, it only made her take to the girl more. She was beyond driven herself, and she always admired and respected that quality in others. She would much rather converse with a person with even a devious ambition, than no purpose at all. The one thing that did peeve her was the full introduction. Was she some kind of debutant back home? Was she trying to impress her with a full name that she had never even heard of? She didn’t know, but she decided not to strike it against her for the time being. If she blacklisted everyone right after their introduction, then she wouldn’t have any friends at all. “Enchanté,” she said with a pleasant smile. She always had a way of throwing various French phrases into her every day conversations, it wasn’t that she was French, it was just she always thought it added an air of mystery and romance to the otherwise dull mundane English chatter.
Whoa.
Lydia turned her head in the direction of the generic blond boy who was sitting next to Chole. An amused expression danced across her face as she momentarily pondered the nature of the boy’s cat calling. Was he being sarcastic, or did he seriously believe that the girl with the bad attitude, and even worse fashion taste, merited the attention she so obviously craved? She began to laugh. Lydia’s laugh was unusual. Like her smile, it was beautiful but possessed a certain meticulous coldness. It had the effect of steely wind chimes—tinkling with mirth, yet still metallic and hard. “I think you just made her day,” she said as she raised a brow at the boy, “you applauded the show she’s putting on, and I’m sure there is no other audience member she’d rather please than you.”
She looks like she shopped at Halloween Express and someone sent her over to the horror section on accident.
Lydia laughed again. She wasn’t a mean person in spirit, but she was rather passionate about clothing, and considered it her right to speak out against certain grand offences. She couldn’t help but notice how foreign the girl seemed to sound. It wasn’t that she spoke with a funny accent, but rather her colloquialisms were somewhat different than what she was used to. For instance, back in Manhattan, every said ‘by accident’ rather than ‘on accident’, though she knew some of her out of town friends down in Martha’s Vineyard to use Chloe’s ‘on accident’. Also, she had no idea what Halloween Express was, though she was rather sharp, and was able to get the idea. She assumed it was the suburban equivalent to Ricky’s.
Lydia looked back over her shoulder at the grumpy attention-seeking girl and noticed that she had suddenly decided to look as if she were sitting up straight to pay attention. A wave of disgust washed over her as she lost any potential respect she could have possibly had for the girl. It was one thing to be an obnoxious brat, but it was another thing to be a complete social chameleon that changed to fit the societal norm. Lydia was a straightforward, no-nonsense, kind of person who always stayed true to herself. She would never consider trying to change herself to be more like someone else. She didn’t conform to society, society conformed to her, and she looked down upon those desperate social climbers that kept their true personalities so hidden that they no longer knew who they were anymore. “Well look who suddenly decided to become a student?” Lydia said sarcastically as she rolled her eyes at her desk neighbors, “I’m sure that she is truly interested too, and it’s not just some transparent act.”
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Post by Brooke Shields on Oct 8, 2008 15:49:34 GMT -6
Brooke noticed that the brunette talking with the blonde looked really disgusted with her and sighed. Why did everyone care so much about everyone but themselves? Well, she couldn't say much herself, but still. She obviously wasn't going to find friends there. She slumped back in her chair. Why did everyone treat her as if she was angry? That was not what she was feeling when she walked in. That was just her style. And now she was stuck in this mess, with the two girls hating her, who were probably the highest clique in school, and without any friends at all. Why was life so damn complicated? Brooke was feeling very low right now. She should never have left the tomboys when she was in middle school. If she had stayed with them and not with Kim, then she would be better off. She really wanted class to start soon, so she could get her mind off of all of this.
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Post by Wes Tortora on Oct 10, 2008 22:05:27 GMT -6
Wes stood in the doorway of the classroom. He had only a minute to spare, and he was looking for a seat, desperately. He noticed that the classroom already had a bunch of girls in it, and very few guys. He sighed. He noticed that many of the girls were checking him out, and he knew they had reason to. He even noticed one girl swoon. He felt like shrugging. It wasn't his fault that he had good looks. He walked forward, making careful notice to nod whenever a girl said hi to him. He was wearing a navy blue t-shirt, and jeans. Both were expensive, and they looked it. He took a seat behind a girl who was dressed in all black. He noticed most of the girls were giving the girl dirty looks, and one girl in particular, a brunette, seemed to be the worse. Personally the only thing Wes noticed that was wrong with her was that she seemed to have an over-confidant attitude, and that she probably needed some more color than just black.
Sitting down, he ran a hand through his long, but not too long, brown hair. The girl in front of him looked at him and and gave him a look of interest, and then went back to whatever she was doing. Huh. The board didn't say anything about getting a notebook or pen out, just take a seat. Most of the girls in the class were pretty attractive. There was one who he knew instantly was the leader of the cliques, not only because of her looks, but he had seen her face in so many magazines, it got tiring aftere awhile. But of course he was in plenty of magazines too, but he was known for being the hot rich boy who's parents were divorced and his mother dying.
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Post by Mrs. Jones on Oct 11, 2008 11:01:09 GMT -6
Everyone was filing in. One by one more kids came until the class was almost ready to start. Hayley sat at her desk looking through the roster and checking the kids that came in on her attendance sheet. She found it easier to do that then wait for everyone to take their seats. Hopefully, today would be a good day for learning. She realized that it was the first day of classes and no one was happy about it, but maybe she'd help make their day. Her method of teaching was to get everyone up and going, to make them happy and not pile on homework. After a while, Hayley figured it was time to start the class. She stood up and smoothed out her black Chanel suit. "Okay class. Today we will be improving our writing skills. First things first, stand up and stretch, and also put all phones and ipod's away, or they will be mine." She said smiling and clapping her hands to get them to stand up. It was so much easier to work with the teen's after they had stretched and put away all distractions. "Now." she started after the last of the youth's sat back down. "I have a no tolerance rule in my classroom. I catch you texting, I take it away. If I don't see it, your free to text all you like. Also, never show up late for my class. Walk in and mumble your excuse but you will be sent out into the hall promptly after so that I can finish what I was teaching the rest of the class and then let you in when I feel like it." Hayley was a tough teacher, but she saw it more as tough love. If the students didn't respect her now, she'd never win it by the end of the year. That would be one hell of a year if she had trouble controlling her class. Usually kids weren't too bad though. "Now for your first lesson were going to talk about past tense and present tense. I want you all to be writing in past tense. This means you use words like jumped, jogged, looked, etc. The Point of View you will be writing in is third person. It's easier for people to understand your writing if your doing it in third person POV." She said turning around and writing the main points on the board. "Oh and by the way class, you don't have to write this down, this is just some fyi's for you." Mrs. Jones didn't usually make her class take notes. It seemed to save her the grief of the teen's complaining.
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