All Kinds of Rainbow

St. Therese Academy, like any other schools, is an academic institution housing in its bosom three categories of teenagers—REJECTS, ACHIEVERS, DOLLS.  Of course, these three categories have sub-categories, otherwise it’ll make you question the integrity of my story.  Anyway, THE REJECTS are made up of the rebels (troublemaker students who want to change the system by protesting, and by protesting, I mean destroying school equipment and defaming the buildings); the depressed (need I say more?); and the Dua Lipas (IDGAF). Now, ACHIEVERS.  This category of students contains the four-eyes (academically-inclined students who live in the library and a teacher suck-ups, and mostly wears glasses coz they become blind from all the reading); ballers (academically-inclined students who also plays ball); and lastly, the jock of all trades (rare kind of students who do it all). And the DOLLS.  Actually, among the three, this category doesn’t have a sub-category.  (I lied, okay?)  Obviously, the dolls are those students who are popular for only one reason—they are extremely handsome and pretty and that’s that.  That’s all they can show about themselves, except maybe how rich they are, coz you know…Or perhaps, I should have called them the…haha…nevermind.   Now that I have introduced you to the different groups of my school, let me introduce myself.  It’s only fair, right? I am Dean Leon Champ, 17 years old, and 10 months away from gleefully flying upwards to college. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I hate my highschool life.  I hate it, because, although I have categorically arranged the students in this school, I don’t belong to any of them…apparently.   It’s 4:25 in the afternoon, I am currently having my Math class with Professor Rothgard—a middle-aged, balding man, whose probably on the verge of divorce with his unsatisfied wife because he’s always late for dinner.  But what can he do?  He doesn’t want to go home immediately because if he does, his crumbling marriage will fire straight at his face.  What a paradox, right? I just made that up coz that’s what I do, when I’m bored.  And trigonometry with Professor Rothgard is always boring.  Anyway, I’m actually just making do with the last five minutes before I go home.  Trying to push my impressions on people that aren’t strangers but then again, they completely are. My eyes were redirected to Hugh Taylor—the absolute fantasy of every gay and girls in our school.  I mean, who wouldn’t?  His face is carved like a Greek god—bushy, black eyebrows; big, animated, blue-green eyes; prominent nose; and rosy, seductive lips; broad shoulders that could seemingly carry a 500-pound woman; muscled body; and his ass…hmmm…his nice, taut, buttocks— Too bad he’s a doll. The dismissal bell finally rang, to which all the students in my class yelled, “Yes!”.  Professor Rothgard was reminding us something about our project but I didn’t catch on for I was too busy packing my things in my bag.  Then, a familiar figure walked up to me. “Hey.  Wanna come with us?” Frigga Hernandez asked.  Frigga belongs to my three-member circle of friends.  Her mother is obsessed with Norse Mythology, hence her name.  Frigga is a four-eye.  She doesn’t wear glasses, though.  Says, gets in the way of her being noticed by Hugh Taylor.  So, she wears contacts instead.  “No, thank you.”  I finally replied, getting up. “I haven’t even told you where.” she complained. I sighed and looked at her condescendingly, “Library, right?” “No!  We’re going to the auditorium.” “Auditorium?  What are you going to do there?  Did they relocate the library there?” I replied, teasing her. “Ha-ha.  But seriously, com’on.  It’ll be fun.  Ash and Wes are waiting there.” she responded enthusiastically, taking my hand, forcing me to go with her.  I guess, I don’t really have a choice.  As much as I dislike social events (eventhough I have friends), I could never really say no to Frigga.  She has this cheerful vibe that never fails to resonate on me. “What’re we going to do there?” I asked again, being that the question wasn’t answered, while she was leading me to the auditorium. “It’s a surprise.” was her only reply.  Ugh!  As if I’ll be more interested if it’s a surprise. Ten minutes later, we finally arrived at the auditorium.  We went inside.  The stage was lit up and there were a number of students on the seats.  Is there going to be a performance from the school’s theater company? Frigga led me to the third row from the front.  I saw Ashley Cunningham and Wesley Riviera sitting awfully close to each other.  Oh, they’re a couple by the way.  Couple of losers.  Haha.  Kidding. Ashley Cunningham, 16 years old, and she belongs to the depressed, or so she says.  Wesley Riviera, 18 years old, belongs to the ballers.  Perhaps that is why Ashley claims she’s depressed.  She doesn’t want Wesley leaving her because he’s a baller.  What more could you ask right? Frigga and I sat beside them. “Ey, Chameleon!  Didn’t think Frigga could persuade you.” Wesley greeted upon noticing me.  He nicknamed me Chameleon because of my name.  He says that my name has all the letters for the word. “I told you never to call me that.” I told him, feigning an irritated manner.  “And I told you never, Chameleon.” was the douchebag’s reply.  I just chuckled and focused my attention at the stage.  Good thing is, Wesley never yells my nickname in front of many.  Perhaps, that’s why I’ve remained friends with him. “Okay, what are we expecting?” I asked, after five minutes of sitting and nothing has emerged from the shadows of the backstage to surprise me. “Nothing.  We’re expecting nothing.” Ash replied with her raspy, ‘suicidal’ voice. “We’re expecting a marvelous entrance.” Frigga answered, smiling like a dog. I frowned.  And then, someone did appear on the stage.  I couldn’t believe my eyes when I realized who it was. “Good afternoon, drama wannabees!” Professor Rothgard greeted with a booming voice completely opposite from his mellow and sleep-inducing Math teacher voice. “What?!” I yelled unknowingly looking questioningly at my friends. “Yes, student from the third row.  I am your director.  And today, I will be your judge whether you deserve a VIP seat in my theater company.  Welcome to your theater auditions.” Oh, what hell is this?!