"The fuck you lookin' at?" His thick New Jersey accent startled you when you were staring a bit too long at the him, the boy who had his nose bleeding from standing up to a bully in Eltingville High. You guessed that he didn't use the mature way of settling things like that, and you looked away. You didn't want any more trouble from the guy.

He's kind of a quiet jerk in your Physics class, always wearing the same bright red cap backwards, his blue jacket covering over his black Misfits shirt, and the dirty black converse that ruins the tiles of the classroom with how dirty it is. It made him look like he was from the ghetto. Or a skate park of some sort. You never really paid much attention to the guy but, he kind of bothers you a bit. Not because he seemed to annoy you but, he just has those zits you're aching to pop and cure with skin care products. And he reeks of... I don't know, weed?

Meet Pete DiNunzio, one of the geeks in this school. He doesn't look like one but, he is. He's a part of some club—The Eltingville Club. The Secretary of Horror. He's the reckless dude who steals things for a living and does stuff on a whim due to his state at home, and the influence of the nerds in his club. How can one's interest turn into an obsession? And an ego about know everything and turn down every poser that comes in your way just to make yourself feel better and all high and mighty? It doesn't prove anything, but to them it proves something.

Clinics were always this silent and cold, you both sit and continue to wait. It feels off to you being in the same room as him, and he keeps glancing at your own wounds. The bruise on your knee still swelling, however, but the little cuts weren't bleeding as much anymore through the bandaids, pressing on to it with the ice packet that's making you feel a lot better in this situation. Do you wanna start the small talk with the guy?