Chapter 1 I’m the new kid Libby Iena "Crap, I’m gonna be so late!" I thought to myself. "Can school be ANY further!?" Well, that’s one way to introduce myself. My name is Libby Iena. I go by many names. Awesome, talented, beautiful (Okay, the last one might be a BIT of an exaggeration). But the main one is Libby the Lesbian. I’m 90% percent sure the name was made up by the homophobes at my old school to make fun of me but honestly, I like it. It has a nice ring to it, no? If it wasn’t clear enough, I am a lesbian. I recently moved from New York to California because, well, let's just say my old school wasn’t so LGBTQ+ friendly and their weren't really any other schools I liked. Now back to the present. I was praying that I’d get a pass for being late to school because I’m new. I’m pretty sure I was experiencing jet lag. Or it could just be me sleeping in perusual. You see, I believe first impressions are EVERYTHING. They determine whether you’ll make friends or if you’ll be that one kid who ends up alone on the bench. Now being an introvert, that’s not the BIGGEST problem for me. But still, bursting into class all sweaty and out of breath? Not the first impression you want to make. I was about to turn the corner that would lead me to school but then heard a scream loud and clear from further down the road. If I squinted, I could make out two kids but I couldn’t tell what was going on. Now I had an important decision to make. Investigate the sound, or goto school. ARGH. Why does life have to be difficult? I decided to follow where the sound came from because what can I say? I love a good mystery and hate cliffhangers. *** When I got to the scene, I saw a kid, about my age, on the floor, with a big, bloody scratch across their left eye. They were wearing jeans, red hightops, and a light brown sweater with a brown cartoon bear wearing a green bow tie graphic. What was once (I’m pretty sure) a cute sweater was now a tear stained, blood splattered wreck. Their long, light brown hair was knotted, out of control, and all around rats' nests. Their beautiful hazel eyes surrounded by a sea of tears. The kid next to them was also my age. He had spiky red hair and amber eyes. He wore a plain light blue tee-shirt and black sweatpants. One of his hands was bloodstained, giving evidence that he hurt the other kid. His yellow sneakers were brighter than he was. I know what you’re thinking, “But Libby, you don’t even know this kid! How do you know how bright they are?” Good question! Here’s your answer: He didn’t know not to be mean let alone hurt someone! That is something kindergarteners learn. KINDERGARTENERS. And let me tell you a little secret. You especially never do these things in front of me. You want to know why? Because when this happens in front of me, the beast comes out. And once the beast is out it’s not going back in until the problem is solved. And trust me, it isn’t afraid to use force if it has too. “HEY YOU!” That got both of their attention. “Go away. I have to deal with this girl,” the Boy said. The kid on the ground winced at the term “girl.” Or it could have been from the pain. I couldn’t tell “Listen here, idiot,” I said as I grabbed the boy by the ear. “I don’t want to have to use force to convince you, but I WILL if I have to. Now SCRAM.” I let go of his ear and he took off down the street. I turned around to face the kid and lent them my hand, “You okay?” I asked. The kid was stunned. They stared at me as if I was a lion that escaped the zoo before finally taking my hand “Y-yeah…” The kid managed. “I-I-I’m Taylor. P-pronouns They/them.” “Nice to meet you. I’m Libby. Pronouns She/her.” There was a moment of silence. Then I said, “I’m gonna call my dad. Tell him I need help.” “N-no. I-it’s okay.” Taylor protested. “That scratch on your eye says otherwise.” Before Taylor could protest, I whipped out my phone and called my dad.
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