As the bell rings and I feel people pour into the classroom, I kick open the vent, tossing my binder towards the rightmost seat on the first row. No bad boy ever sits in the first row. Not only that, but teachers always hush people talking on the first row, and even if they didn't, I would only have two seat neighbors — the one next to me, and the one behind me. Compared to any other seat position, that is the least amount of possible interactions. Every other seat has three, and even four-seat neighbors. 

Again, not my first rodeo. I know what I'm doing. 

Even so, I'm not free of danger. A girl takes the seat next to mine, and by the color of her long, raven hair, and eyes with colors that one would only associate with a bag of Skittles, she is a "totally average girl." She even reeked of normality. Shampoo branded shampoo, a friendship bracelet, and an outfit that told me she didn't care much about her style, even though she looked straight out of an Abercrombie catalog. 

If that wasn't enough, the fact that she begins to monologue in whispers as soon as she sees me confirms it. 

"Omg, is that the rumored new guy?" she whispers, sitting next to me. "Alycia was right he is dreamy and mysterious. But dangerous. Do I say something?" 

Yes, news spread fast. Somehow, even when I enroll a day before starting, people already know everything about me, and say it in whispers behind my back, things I don't even know, like how my nose looks strong, yet decisive. Again, no mirrors. What the fuck does that even mean?

I don't have time to monologue, for she finishes monologuing. I know that because she asks me a question.

"Hi, I'm Laila! Are you Ayden Gomez, the new kid?" she says, followed by an "Omg he's so dreamy"

The worst part about their monologues is the fact that they don't use commas, or proper contractions. 

Now, what to do when a "totally average girl/boy" introduces themselves? It's a trick question: it's a trap! Engage, and they will continue to talk with you. Don't, and you will seem mysterious. There is only one thing you can do to end the conversation and not come out like an asshole. 

"Hey," I say, with my smirk, the only mouth movement I can make after an incident involving a drunk dentist and a very long needle, "I have a micropenis."

That's the end-all line. How do you respond to that? You don't. And if they tell anyone about it, they either don't believe them, or ping you as a weirdo. Which, okay, makes you more attractive to some weirdos, but at least you reduce the potential pool. 

"Hey, I'm Leeland," says the boy behind me, which also reeks of a "totally average boy." In fact, he looks exactly like Laila, but with a stubble. "I like micropenises." 

"Which is why I have a footlong," I say. "Extra salami and dick." 

He whispers something about me being funny and dreamy, and other things that are too explicit for the impressionable minds of my young readers, but involves some ropes, a lollipop, and a copy of Don Quixote. 

And that's the end of the first interaction. Hopefully, I have no other problem. 

But problems always seem to find me. 

The principal of the school, Mrs. Strickland — because you can't have a more on-the-nose name in education — walks into the room with a smile from ear to ear. 

"Hello, students," she says, clapping to get everyone's attention. "First of all, welcome to your last year at Hill Valley Mountain Woods Highschool. I see new faces amongst you, like Mr. Gomez. Mr. Gomez, will you care to present yourself?"

"Hi," I say, standing up. "I have a micropenis."

Any normal adult would admonish me for that, but my bad-boy nature makes everything I say incredibly charming. 

"Oh, stop it, you," says Mrs. Strickland. "Mr. Gomez's last school was burned down by mysterious circumstances."

Oh, not this shit again. 

Everyone says "Ohhh," in unison. I feel their stares like knives on my back. 

"His mother died while giving birth to him," she says. 

Of course, everyone follows with an "awn."

"And also, micropenis," I repeat. 

That one didn't get any traction. Maybe they don't buy it. I have to stop using extra skinny pants. They leave nothing to the imagination. 

"Well," says Mrs. Strickland, "with that out of the way, there has been a schedule change. Instead of having History as your first subject today, you will have Chemistry, so if you can move to the Chemistry lab..."

And that's how everything goes to shit. I didn't plan for this. Everything was for nothing! But the basic plan still stands. First out first in. 

While everyone is busy grabbing their stuff, I make use of my tactical binder advantage to quickly move towards the door. 

And just as I'm about to exit, I smash against another person who also has a binder and a rush to get out. We both get entangled with each other, spilling into the hallway floor with a thud. 

Next thing I know, we are surrounded by students, all whispering way too loudly. Chief amongst them, you guessed it, Laila and Leeland. 

"Omg, that's Hayden Wilson!" she says out loud, followed by her "internal monologue," which she still says out loud. "Hes tall dark and yummy yummy"

"He's the captain of the football team! Such a bad boy," says Leeland. "Hes all I want in a daddy ugh"

Sometimes, I wonder if any of these people are going to get Me-too'ed.

"Hey!" says Hayden, not maintaining social distance at all, with his foot taller than me, and at least 50 lb of excess muscle. "Watch where you're going, newbie."

Ah, the rival bad boy. I've only had the pleasure of having one other rival bad boy in my life, a few years ago. Turns out that he was the reincarnation of some sorcerer or something. I just walked out when he started to monologue. 

Speaking of, I've been really quiet monologuing to myself over here. I have to say something, fast!

"I have a micropenis," I say. Great. 

Lucky for me, it was muted by the sound of chanting around us. All the kids were yelling "Fight, fight, fight!" 

"Oh my gosh!" whispers Laila, "the two bad boys are about to fight wait till I tell Gisangela about this"

Great, another fight. I've never thrown a punch, and yet, I always win. Mainly because the other person slips on something and falls flat on the ground, knocking themselves out. Such is the curse of the bad boy.

Mrs. Strickland steps in between us, pushing us away from each other. Not that we budge much, mind you. We are built like fridges.

"No fighting!" she says. "Mr. Gomez, Mr. Wilson, detention, both of you!"

Last thing I need is adding bad fuel to the boy part. And we didn't even do anything! So unfair. 

"But we didn't even do anything!" says Hayden. "So unfair."

"End of discussion!" says Mrs. Strickland. "Now, move along. Nothing to see!"

As the buzz of the not-fight left the hallway, and with detention in my first five minutes of class, I can already tell this day is gonna be shit. 

But it can be shittier. 

"Hey, Gomez," says Hayden, turning to face me. "You, me, after school. I'm gonna whip you real good."

And with that, my first day of school starts. For real this time.