New Starts

                                    

                                          
I, Andrew Kirkland, for telling off a student with much less than proper language- am now trapped in detention after school had ended. Though, the teacher in the classroom was currently gone. Most other students in the classroom were the trouble makers. An apparent gang in the center of the school's running. Well, one of them anyways. The school was under full control of three distinct groups. 
                          
This one was made of Autoshop boys and the guys whose hobby was pranking the nerds. Their girlfriends in tight leggings and tube tops at their sides. Each and every one of them identified by the possession of something leather. Boots, jackets, headbands apparently were the popular choices. 
                          
I sat in the back, texting on my phone. Telling Allen that since I told off the fucker that threw pasta down my shirt I was in detention for a week. he texted back that it must suck being stuck in a room full of trouble makers. My only reply was that we were ones to talk.
                          
Allen: Srsly tho. U gotta tell me about ur school
                          
You: I will once you learn to spell
                          
Allen: pfft. As if. U so British
                          
You: I was raised by the 2p personification
                          
Allen: So was I. But I was born 'Murican
                          
You: Keep telling yourself that, Al.
                          
You: brb some asshole is talking to me
                          
Allen: Wat's that supposed 2 mean!?
                          
Allen: k
                          
I put my phone in sleep mode once a guy sitting a few rows away, with a rest of the gang that got caught doing something, shouted over to me. I was leaning back in a chair with my feet crossed on the desktop. 
                          
I glanced over. "The fuck you want?" I said harshly. "You can't sit there. That's Charlie's desk" the guy said. I tipped my fedora over my eyes. "I could give a damn. But I don't have any." I replied, crossing my arms and turning my phone back on again to continue talking to my brother. The guys were going to say something when the door opened and someone walked in. The door slammed.
                          
Allen: Wat did they want from u?
                          
You: *What *You
                          
You: And they say I'm in some guy's desk
                          
Allen: Thx grammar police. And that's bull.
                          
You: Yeah. Some weird scary dude just walked in
                          
You: Might be him
                          
You: He looks untrained. bummer.
                          
Allen: U need 2 stop w/ the multi message. it blows up my phone.
                          
You: Your phone totally explodes
                          
You: Into many pieces
                          
You: When I do this
                          
You: You buy a new phone every two seconds because of this
                          
You: I laugh in victory
                          
Allen: very funny. ur hillarious.
                          
You: hilarious* And I think this guy wants to start a fight.
                          
You: Shit the bitch has a knife. 
                          
You: Thinks I don't see it.
                          
You: brb i'm going to kick his ass
                          
Allen: U do that. Don get cut. 
                          
The guy who entered the classroom was standing by the desk. Tall, broad shouldered. Definitely worked out enough. he had a ruggid jaw line, and brown hair that looked greased with gell to sweep back over his forehead. Blue eyes were harsh, but still kind. I've heard of him through rumors in the lunchroom and the hallways were the Literature and Foreign language classes are. He's the gang leader. "Get out of my desk" he said. He was from out of state. the accent was a heavy New York one. Much like Allen's. he reached down and grabbed the front of my shirt in a fist. I got my feet off the desk and slid my phone into the backpack on the floor that belonged to me.