This is not a love story
I mean, it’s not, isn’t it?
I already had my love story; a girlfriend. And, while, yes, I haven’t said those fretful three words yet, it’s still love, isn’t it?
Well, being a part of the basketball team was bound to get me a girl; especially as the star player. At least, that’s what my boys tell me--my boys as in my teammates. I’m shy to use the word ‘friend’-we’re not really friends. Despite their apparent need to blabber to me about everything (for example, the hottest girl of the week or day, depending on who you’re talking to), we’re not friends.
I guess I can say I do have one friend, though: Simon Rogers, local goth and apparently, a drug dealer, who constantly roams the dark alleyways of the city. Well, he’s no drug dealer, I know that for sure. In fact, he’s anything but that. He’s an orphan, just like me. Except, well, my parents are actually alive and his are long gone, but, nonetheless, we go to the same orphanage. The same one where we met all of those years ago and will live for only god knows how long.
Simon Rogers, despite his unnecessary need to be constantly wearing leather and leather boots, is in fact an angle. But, he’s a dealer, because that’s what the kids at school believe. And, well, kids are always right, aren’t they? Because of his awful reputation, Simon Rogers sits alone. Which is why, despite my popularity (and, apparently outrageous amount of friends, per Simon) Simon Rogers and I sit alone every single day in the Westbrook High cafeteria.
(I didn't count that short paragraphs as paragraphs!)