"Damn I bet he'd be good in bed.." I murmured to myself, my inner-pervert making way as I passed by a random guy with a pretty face. And such a pretty face indeed. I could just see it contorting in pleasure, a thick blush upon his smexy face..

DAMMIT I WAS DOING IT AGAIN!

Ugh, why did I have to be such a pervert?! Thankfully non of my friends or family knew of this. I was the type of person who was extremely quiet, speaking only when needed. My mind was something else, however. Like a track team, it was always running. I was so perverted, yet I was a virgin. I blame this on being sexually deprived. Then again, I was only 16. And 16-year-old's shouldn't even have a sex-life. Still, that didn't stop me from fantasizing dirty, naughty thoughts..

I blame it on hormones.

Besides! Some teenage girls were making those fantasies a reality and getting pregnant and shit! I've never even had a boyfriend! And no, it wasn't just because all the dudes my age are dickwads. I was a black independent woman. I don't need no man!

Alright, alright, ya caught me. It was because all the dudes my age were dickwads.. well in my opinion. It was quite rare to find the casual nice guy nowadays.

And I'm only half-black, mind you. Some people are confused really when they see me. They often ask what am I, and I usually answer them 'human' sarcastically. This is because my mother's Spanish genes were a lot stronger than my father's. Meaning I had her eyes, lips, nose and hair. Weird right? BUT. See there's always that pesky but, huh? My skin's a dark caramel. Seriously some people thought I was Indian, just because of my hair being naturally curly. It's black by the way.

ANYWAY, off with my confusing appearance, let me tell you, my fine people, what I'm doing at the moment. I am walking home from school. My heavy satchel-like bag slung over my shoulder, and straining it. Another confusing thing about me. I may look sturdy and shit, given my slight pug growing on my abdomen, and thick hips, but I'm sort of a wimp. I'm like hyper sensitive. Meaning if you pinch me, I'll be pouting and inwardly whining at the small pain. Seriously, one time my friend Charlie-horsed me and it hurt for like a week. A week! I hate pain. And blood. Basically, I'm squeamish. Not to the point where I would faint, but just bordering a natural gag-reflex. Yup. I'm awesome, aren't I? Don't answer that. Back to what I'm doing. So here I am, walking home, the whole Goddamn 45 minutes, with a heavy fucking bag. Why? Oh well, I thought I'd need some exercise. Hm. Let me say this more accurately, shall I? My mother thought I needed some exercise. She took my fricken bus pass away! At first, which was yesterday, I had no problem with it, seeing as I thought it was a splendid idea. I'll get rid of this stupid pug, then I'll finally have a boyfriend to cuddle and molest helplessly! Well, that had been my mild inspiration, but it had faded away when I got excess homework from my English teacher, adding pounds to my poor shoulder. She puts too much pressure on me, seriously.

I slipped out one time (ONE TIME!) that I was aspiring to be a writer when I'm older, and she assigns me Goddamn books every week so I may study the different literatures. Pft my ass. This bizach just wants to torture me. Doesn't she know I'm lazy? Were my lates and absences not good enough?! Do I HAVE TO SPELL IT OUT?! No, no. She'd probably like that. Haah.. Really, I like my teachers. And I try not to get on any of their nerves. I'm the damn quiet student in the back of the class with her headphones in her ears and book in hand! I'm not the annoying bitches that feel the need to talk every Goddamn minute!

It's quite annoying really.

Like I'm just sitting in the back chanting 'shut the fuck up' like a mantra in my mind. Though I won't speak these thoughts out. Lord knows I don't need any endless, pointless, brainless drama those airheads might want to start up. I'm too lazy to deal with that shit. Plus, if someone dislikes me, or I to them, I just ignore them. It's simple really. Just act like they don't exist, and pretty soon, in my mind at least, they will permanently cease to exist.

Trust me, it was a whole lot easier than coming to school with a gun and shootin' bitches.

Besides, where would I get a gun? The closest to dangerous thing I owned were firecrackers. They weren't even mine. I sort of swiped them from my grandma's husband, Stephen. Psh. Like hell I could afford firecrackers! Where do you even buy that shit?! I'm broke as can be. Well, me specifically, that is. My single mother works her ass off at Walmart. I couldn't really just bug her every minute for every penny she had. I only got money from her when I was running errands for her, or if I ask her for a simple 5 dollar bill. I ran errands because she worked the night shift at Walmart, meaning she was dead tired when she came home. Not out of the kindness out of my heart, but because I could get anything I want if there was extra change. Can someone say Doritos sweet chilli heat?

I can.

Ah, I also do it because she's real grumpy during the day, so other than school, it was a chance I could get out of the house. Don't worry I'm really a home body when it comes down to it really. The only place I'm truly comfortable if you ask me.

Did I mention that I'm silent the whole time I'm explaining these useless facts? This is what I mean by I'm quiet. I don't mean to be quiet all the time, but that's just a habit. Worry not friend, I'll eventually warm up to you. It usually takes a good month of trust issues first though.

Eh, stupid joke.

Bleh. Anywho, did I not introduce myself yet?

Oh well, I'm Penelope Sanchez. I'm 5'4 feet. In short, I'm a perverted, quiet, aspiring writer. Pleased to meet you.