No Title yet, still working on it

OKay well I started this story yesterday. Please give any constructive critizism or tell me if I have any errors in it. :)

Warning there is a mention of the use of drugs. It's just a joke near the end that carries on for a couple paragraphs. Just thought I'd mention that.
It's kind of long...sorry about that.
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Ever feel like you don’t have a friend in the world? That’s me in a nutshell. Don’t get my wrong, I do have friends but I feel sometimes that if I weren’t there with them it wouldn’t make a difference. I have three close friends and a lot of acquaintances who abandon me quite a few times a week. I end up sitting in the library all on my own for a whole lunch hour. They don’t care most of the time. Any one of them can be as obvious as this, “Cassie, I just have to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” She’d get up, take her stuff and leave. Who needs their binder, back pack and every other piece of property to go pee anyway? The bell would ring 45 minutes later and I’d get up and go to class. I get use to it though. I’m not overly depressed 16 year-old. My parents love me I have other family who loves me. Plus I have my internet friends. They are true, devoted friends. Why is it so easy to make friends online and not so easy making friends in real life? I’ll tell you why. People online don’t can’t see you. They don’t base a first impression on your appearance. I usually get to know people really well before seeing them. If only real life were that easy.

I jumped as I heard the bell ring. I put down my pen and stretched out my arms. I had just spent yet another lonely lunch hour by myself. I looked over what I had just written. Writing always helped me sort out my thoughts and deal with any emotions I have. It was also a good way to pass the time, say if your friends happened to abandon you for a whole hour. I folded the papers and stuck them into my bag. There was no way I would ever show anyone what I had written. I had always been paranoid about what people thought of me.

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and started on my way to class.

“Cassie!” I heard someone shout out to me. I turned to see Jason Klein, the very guy who nearly ripped out my heart last year. I had liked him, (okay, I admit it) and he had asked me out. He was my first boyfriend, and also my first kiss. Later on I find out he only asked me out to get closer to my friend, Mandy. I’d like to add she is no longer my friend, and they are still dating.

“Oh, hi Jason,” I said plastering on a fake smile. I turned my back and began walking to my class.

“Hey wait!” he said jogging up beside me. “Man, you walk fast!”
Do I? I hadn’t noticed. I didn’t say anything to him; I just picked up the pace.
“Is anything wrong?” he said sensing the tension.
“Nothing. I can’t be late,” I said tightly.
“What class do you have?” he asked. It was obvious he was struggling to keep up with me.
“English,” I said relieved that I had arrived to my class, “Here’s my class, bye!” I quickly turned into room 113. I took a deep breath. That went well. I took my seat next to Heather; the girl who thought I was her friend, but I wasn’t. She was terribly snobby, liked to brag and was a constant liar.

“Oh my goodness Cassie! I’m so excited! I’m going to a wedding this weekend and I went for my 65 dollar French manicure yesterday,” she added extra emphasis on the price, “take a look!” she held out her hands to show me her nails. I had had my share of manicures in the past, but this was by far the worst nail job I had seen in my life. It was quite obvious she did it herself. I would never think of saying that to her though.

“Did you say 65 dollars?” I asked, mainly to show my interest and to let her know she wasn’t the only one who gets manicures, “I can get a French manicure for half that price at the place I go to.” The smile on her face widened.
“Money’s no object for me,” she said. I rolled my eyes. (Of course I turned my head first). Luckily English was one of my best subjects. I understood things easily and always got good marks. The only downside was Heather didn’t get things as well and always had to look at my paper for ideas or answers. She complains how she won’t graduate if she doesn’t do well. I hope she does graduate; another year with her would be hell.

I made it through English without any homework to bring home for the weekend. Only two more classes to go! I got to biology and sat in my desk.

“Hey Cassie,” said one of the three close friends I had.
“Hey Mary,” I said happily. Finally, a class to relax and just talk with a friend.
“What’s with your hair?” Mary said. Instantly my hands went up to my hair.
“What’s wrong with it?” I said confused.
“Did you forget to brush in this morning or something?” Now I remember. I was tired of always straightening my hair in the morning. Lot’s of people wore their hair down at school without straightening it. Why couldn’t I?”
“I decided not to straighten it this morning. Does it really look that bad?” I said starting to panic.
“You look like you’re on crack.” Why am I friends with her?
“Do you have an elastic?” I asked hopefully. Mary shrugged.
Okay. That settles it then. I’m going to skip gym today. I can’t have people wondering and whispering around the school, “Is Cassie Cooper on crack?”
Biology was by slow. I had already asked to go to the washroom three times to see if there was anything to do to make my hair better. The second time I had asked to leave he peered at me through the top of his square-rimmed glasses.
“Again?” he had asked. I couldn’t think of a reason he would actually buy do I lowered my voice and explained to him that it was that ‘time of the month’. He seemed to think it was a good enough reason and simply nodded the first time I asked. I think I had made him uncomfortable. However, I had hope he wasn’t thinking I was trying to get out of class to go do some crack. After all, I did look like a crack head. I can just picture it. The phone ringing later tonight, my parents answering it to receive a warning from my biology teach that their only daughter, Cassie Cooper was possibly on crack. I then pictured him saying, “That is a commonality on many students at this school.” Commonality, is that even a word? I’ve heard him say that so many times. Why doesn’t he just say common? Why does he have to be so smart?

Something hard hit my leg. It took me awhile to realize it was Mary kicking my leg. “What?” I said a little too loudly. I looked around to see the whole class staring at me. My teacher looked at me with his piercing eyes.

“Well, Miss Cooper, what do you think?” he said impatiently.
“Can I go to the bathroom?”

So I got kicked out of class. I’d like to think of it as being dismissed early. I caught the extra early bus and got home around 1:30. If my parents had found out I had skipped school I would be grounded from my beloved computer for all of eternity. I just had to make sure to pick up the phone before they did.

I set my bag down in the kitchen and went into the fridge. I wasn’t hungry, but it was almost like daily routine to look in the fridge for food when I got home. I pulled the bag of carrots. I felt like eating healthy today. I then proceeded to my room down the hall. I flicked the light switch. Even during the daytime my room was dark. I had dark violet colored walls and a light purple bedspread. I had a matching curtain draped over the window that I always kept closed. I pressed the button on the computer and listened to the familiar hum as it booted up. I quickly changed into my blue sweats and logged onto my instant messenger program. Not many people were online. It was, after all, only 1:30. Most people were in school. There were only two people online and they were both in my ‘don’t know them’ list. I had separated my contacts into ‘school or real life friends’ list and my ‘don’t know’ list. It just made things easier.

I double clicked on the first contact. “Hey!” I typed into the text box. I waited a few seconds to let him respond. After talking a bit, I found out his name was Ryan, he was 18, (a year older than me) and from South Dakota. We talked a lot about random stuff such as school, hockey (he played hockey. I’m not much of a sports person, but I acted interested) and his family. He has younger brother, who was 14.

I could hear the garage door opening in the distance. My parents were home. I got up from my spot in front of the computer and looked at myself in the mirror. I had forgotten about my hair. I grabbed my brush and brushed it out. It still looked horrible. I grabbed a near by elastic and put my hair back into a ponytail. Better. I sat back down on the chair as I heard the front door open.

“Hi Cassie!” I heard my mom call out. I could hear the routine sounds of her throwing her keys on the kitchen counter and the heavy footsteps of my dad walking into the kitchen.

“Hey, Mom!” I was just getting ready to go greet them when the phone rang. I dashed across my bedroom and picked up the receiver before anyone else could.

“Cassie Cooper has missed one class today,” said the recorded voice, “If you have successfully received this message, press one.” I pressed one and hung up. There. That wasn’t so bad was it?

When I got to the kitchen I noticed my sister wasn’t there. “Hey, Mom, where’s Jenna?” Normally her little sister got home a few minutes before her parents.
“She went home with a friend today,” her mother explained. “What do you want for dinner?”
I shrugged. I didn’t really care what we ate, as long as we actually had something. Sometimes my mom didn’t cook supper mainly because she didn’t feel like it. I hated those nights.
“I suppose I’ll find something,” her mother said opening the fridge.
I decided to retreat back to my room and continue on my IM conversations. By now more people will be on for sure.

“cassie? u still there?” was the message blinking on the screen when I got back.
“sry, my parents just got home.” I typed back to Ryan.
“oh i c,” he typed back, “do u have 2 go?”
“not rite now but when my mom finishes cooking dinner i will,” I replied. He then asked about me. I told him I lived in Manitoba, Canada, not too far from him. I told him about Jenna, who was 12 and complained on how annoying she was.

“do you have a mic?” he asked afterwards.
“wat?” I replied not quite knowing what he meant.
“a microphone. we can do a voice convo. its easier than typing.” I had never done a voice conversation with anyone.
“i dont have a mic. sry.” I reluctantly typed back. A voice conversation would be a lot easier. I decided I would go out tomorrow after school and buy one. They shouldn’t be that expensive.

I heard my mom’s high pitched voice calling everyone to come and eat.
“g2g,” I said, letting him know I had to go. I logged off and went to the kitchen.

I could smell my mom’s cooking. It smelled like spaghetti. Didn’t we have spaghetti last night?

I sat down at the table. Sure enough, I was served a big plate of spaghetti. It was sort of like Déjà vu.

“Mom, didn’t we just have this last night?” I said, poking my plate with my fork.
“Cassie, my dear, you are never satisfied.” My mom said. My dad gave me a stern look. What?
“Okay then,” I sarcastically.
“Cassie, what have I told you about talking back?” she turned to my dad, “Roy, didn’t I talk to her about talking back?” My dad just nodded. He looked really tired.
“Cassie, your mom and I have been having some very stressful nights at the office,” My dad was a lawyer my mom was his secretary. Kind of cute, huh? Not.
He was blabbing on about how they were tired, how cooking was such a chore, etc. etc.
I wasn’t listening. I wasn’t eating either. I was just staring at my plate thinking about pie. I don’t know why I was thinking about pie. I sure could eat a pie right now. A nice, warm apple pie, with plenty of –

“Cassie! Listen to me!” My mom was yelling.
“I am listening,” I lied.
“No, you’re not!” she ran her fingers through her hair. She was clearly irritated. I didn’t mean to be like this, but sometimes I was. Okay, more than often.
“Cassie, go to your room and come back when you’re ready to cooperate.” My dad said in a monotone voice. What just happened? I barely did anything.
“Fine,” I threw my fork down in an angry manner. I wasn’t angry. Not at all, I just felt like making them believe I was angry. I did that quite often as well.