The secretary eyed me disdainfully when I arrived, and gestured to the farthest chair from her desk. It was fine by me, as her beehive hairdo would have been an eye sore to stare at for the next ten minutes. The bell rang, and I realized I was going to be late for yet another class today. Oh, well. At least I'll have an excuse this time.

The second bell rang, and then all was silent in the office, save for the clock ticking above my head. I slouched down in my chair, gazing uninterestedly at my surroundings. I hadn't been in here since freshman year, when some asshole had dissed my soccer skills. He had claimed that there was no possible way I could have muscles, because all I did was run and kick a ball "like a girl". Needless to say, I proved him wrong with a right hook to his pretty boy face; you need muscles to do that.

Freshman year seemed like such a long time ago; it's weird to think it was just last year. I smirked, thinking of a certain freshman I knew fairly well.

Penny- the social butterfly that she is- probably already has a crowd of admirers surrounding her. I wouldn't be surprised if she was granted a seat at the "popular" table at lunch. I mean, how often are you going to find a girl who can wear a dress as good as she can throw a punch? Wait...

I groaned audibly, causing Beehive to glower at me from her antisocial corner. If Penny was attracting such attention, who's to say it wasn't masculine? The thought of my baby sister surrounded by a bunch of testosterone-raging guys was enough to have my teeth grinding and my fists clenching.

This, unfortunately, was how the principal found me- practically seething.

"Mr. Kherrington," he greeted, eyeing me suspiciously. "Another fight, I presume?" His brow rose as I hesitated to answer. "No, sir," I finally answered, resisting the urge to roll my eyes at this pompous ass.

"How surprising," Mr. Yates remarked, beckoning me with a long finger. I reluctantly followed into his lair-er, office.

"Have a seat, Mr. Kherrington," he ordered has he rummaged through his file cabinet. The folder he pulled out couldn't have been mine; it was so thick.

I wordlessly handed over my referral slip as the man sat down forebodingly. His eyes scanned the paper thoroughly, and I couldn't help the hand that went up to scratch at the back of my neck. Hopefully if I looked sorry, Mr. Yates would let me off with a warning. Well, one can dream, can't they?

"Lying this time, is it? Do you prefer to cause trouble in all aspects possible, Mr. Kherrington?"

I piled on the guilt even heavier, managing to have my eyes tear up a bit. This was all voluntary, of course.

"No, sir," I answered, deciding to play it safe and simple.

"So you didn't lie to Mrs. Peskova regarding your whereabouts this morning, then?" He looked amusing, as if he was enjoying this ridiculous question and answer session.

"Yes, sir. I did lie to Mrs. Peskova," I said, sarcasm dripping from the tip of my tongue. I left it at that, not wanting to be tangled into anymore lies today. Mr. Yates, however, seemed to be waiting for me to say something. He sat back in his chair, folding his hands and eyeing my expectantly. Finally- when he realized I had nothing else to confess- my principal spoke.

"No excuse, no explanation, for why this altercation occurred? Or is it just an everyday thing for you to lie so blatantly?"

"No, sir," I mumbled, running my thumb along the wooden arm of the chair. "No reason."

"Look at me, Mr. Kherrington." My eyes met his, and it was almost as bad as looking into Dana's black pits. I felt like this man could read my every thought, and it unnerved me.

"I don't understand what possessed you to pull this stunt this morning, but I intend to nip it straight in the bud. I will not have students lying boldfaced to their teachers, especially our athletes. You are supposed to set an example here; are you not, Mr. Kherrington?" he questioned, seeming to grow frustrated by my lack of response.

" Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir." It was like my extensive vocabulary (for a fifteen year old, at least) had been yanked from the forefront of my mind. It now lingered on the peripheral, tangible, but inaccessible.

This seemed to mark the end of the conversation, because Mr. Yates leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. "As the repercussions of your misbehavior seem to have overlooked you, I will set them myself. You are hereby suspended from the first soccer game of the season. If this misbehavior continues, I will see to it personally that you are removed from the team altogether. Are we clear on this, Mr. Kherrington?"

I was waiting to hear the words "All Clear!" for the defibrillators that had shocked me back into awareness.

"But, sir! I'm starting this season! Coach K will kill me!" I exclaimed, ready to resort to on-the-knees begging, if I had to. I was going to continue, but Mr. Yates held up his hand to silence me. I knew better than to keep going when that appeared.

"I will have no arguments, Mr. Kherrington. You made the decision to break the rules of this school, and starting for the soccer team does not excuse you from them. You may take this up with Coach Kherrington in your own time, but my decision stands. Now, get out of my office before I make good on my threat and pull you from the team!"

I stood up dejectedly and trudged out of that asshole's lair. Who the hell did he think he was, ordering me around like he coached the soccer team or something? Now, not only was Cooper going to skin me alive for the lie this morning, but he was going to hang me by my toes when he discovered I wouldn't be starting in the first game!

I grumbled under my breath as I stalked out of the office, heading toward my second period class. Of course, it's math. Dana was probably seething at my absence, but I couldn't bring myself to care. Soccer was the most important thing at that moment.

Before I had even rounded the corner, the piercing bell sounded overhead, signaling the end of second period. "Shit," I muttered, placing my hand over my face. So: Go to Dana's class anyway, or just head to third? I made the decision fairly quickly, and I was soon turning toward my one and only blow-off class, art.

Ms. Corella was one of my favorite teachers, besides Cooper, of course- if you could even count him as a teacher. I was decent at art, and any teacher that would let me sleep when I'd had a long game the night before was a keeper in my book.

The route to her classroom was a long one, and I didn't think I would make it before the bell. Oh well, the principal excuse will probably work well enough for her. Sure enough, the warning bell sounded and I was still a good ways from her classroom.

I picked up the pace a little, avoiding the looks I was getting from the passing students; I probably hadn't looked very pleased right then. Finally- just before the ending bell signaled- I reached her classroom door. The handle turned before I could even grasp it, and a familiar voice drifted out of the open doorway. Penny!

"Well, look who it is," I smirked, some of my earlier anger dissipating at seeing my sister. She jumped, the sissy, and looked at me in surprise.

"Owen!" she exclaimed, grinning. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think? I have this class right now, dummy!"

She smirked, gesturing to the open doorway. "Well, you're late-so dummy, yourself."

I sighed, running my hand through my hair. "It wouldn't be the first time today. I just hope it's the last. I already saw Yates this morning," I said, starting to go in. Class had already started.

"Not you, too! I was late to Dana's class this morning; I'd say I'm as dead as you are!" Fear shone for a moment in her wide eyes, and I pitied her more than myself. At least I wasn't facing Dana; well, not yet, anyway.

"Don't worry, sis. I'll have Ben butter him up with his favorite dinner tonight. Then he might go soft on ya." Though I hoped so, I sincerely doubted it. Dana was stubborn as a mule- sometimes even more so.

"Yeah, right," Penny remarked, rolling her eyes. She glanced down at the slip she had in her hands, and looked up frantically. "I have to go, Owen! I don't want to be late for another class!" my sister called over her shoulder as she hurried down the deserted hall.

I waved faintly, and made my way casually into the classroom. Ms. Corella looked up from attendance sheet, making a mark.

"Ah, Owen. You and your sister suffer from the same tardy problems, I see," she remarked, smiling.