sun shine rain

Tiffany rain knows what she wants: the best clothes, the best grades, the best house, the best voice and the best boyfriend. She has the perfect life. She's top of her class, her teachers love her, her friend are in awe of her, he family adores her. Year nine is a new year. Nothing could go wrong. Right?

Henry's a ginger brainiac, he thinks Tiffany is big headed and pompous. He knows what he wants: a scholarship to the best school, a new calculator and for kids his age to show a little maturity. His an individual with a flared jeans and a bad taste in music. Year nine is just another boring year . Right?


2. Henry

I woke up at 7:45, pushing my luck. Knowing I had to be at school at eight. Why rush to sit in a classroom of gormless fools, who can't wait to chat about the latest episode of Towie?? How could I, I pondered, even share the same species as them? Most the boy's had the IQ of road kill and set there flatulent's alight to amuse there simple minds. And the girls... Don't even get me started. It's not that I didn't find them attractive ( I had been out with a number of attractive female intellectuals, that I meet at science festivals and conferences,) but they were completely oblivious to every thing. I nearly died last term when Sandy (Tiffany Rains bff) asked our RE teacher if Adam and Eve were Jesus' parents, and, and, if NOAH was Jesus' UNCLE. Oh dear lord. I simply died.

I got into St Joseph's on SCHOLARSHIP. So basically, My daddy does not go on business trips to Africa, or drive fast cars. In fact, he doesn't really do much, he works in an office, and that's about all know. My mother also works: in a local salon, a dog salon that is. The concept is ridiculous, and people obviously have too much money to spend. But it makes her happy... So my parents are not rich, and we live in a two bedroom bungalow. But like I cared. I sling on my disgusting green uniform, despising the way it makes me look like a ginger elf, and run down stairs still yawning.

"Hey munch-kin," My mother throws over her shoulder. I hate it when she calls me that.

"Good morning," I yawn. My mother hands me a plate full of burnt toast and kiss's me on the cheek. My father grunts from behind his news paper. I don't think I've ever properly seen his face unless it's poking over the top of one of those damned things...

My mother rushes around the kichen kitchen, manicured hands flying all over place. Long brown hair whirring around her face. She would be really pretty, if she had time to do her hair or make up. And if she wore appropriate clothes for her age. For the first time I notice she is wearing "mum jeans", usually mum jeans just aren't on her ad-gender; apparently they are an "Abomination".

"I thought you said mum jeans were inappropriate cloths for a 30 year old?" I say in a "I-told-you-so" sort of fashion.

"Babe, I am 20 at heart, and have you not read "glamorous housewife" magazine?" I dozed of some where in the middle of her speech, regretting that I'd ever asked her... "Lets just go," I sigh when she's done, and realising I'm not listening, she rolls her eyes, and grabs her keys. "Year nine... that's a big year," Yeah... all I care about is how many more years do I have to get through, until I'm OUT of that god forsaken place??

I was sitting inside my form room, for once early, reading a book called "The creation of electric... pure genius or a curse?" It was very intriguing and debated whether it was enriching a planet and improving science or warping young minds, corrupting the government and polluting the earth... I was leaning towards the second opinion because it seemed more obnoxious... agreeable people never made history.

Then BAM, all the girls were giggling in high pitched voices and running out side, and all the boys were wolf whistleing. Looked like Tiffany was here. Oh goodie.

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