Preppy doesn’t seem to get the hints. He is either extremely persistant or really dumb. He keeps walking next to me, rambaling on about his day and his last weekend. I don’t hear a single word he says. Not that he notices in the slightest.

When we reach my classroom, I don’t pause. Giving him the cold shoulder to its fullest degree, I walk into my class and sit down at my desk in the back. Preppy has followed me and perches on the seat next to me, never stopping in his onslaught of friendly words.

Completely ticked off by him now, I grab my iPod out of my pocket. I make a huge show of turning it on and selecting a song. Then I turn the volume up enough for him to hear it and know I wasn’t faking this time.

I notice an expression pass his face, that of a wounded puppy’s, and I feel only slightly guilty at what I did. He says something else, trying to keep his pride, and then leaves my classroom. I am, thankfully, alone with my thoughts and no interuptions. Until the bell rings, signaling the start of class.