(Dipper's P.O.V.)

(Monday, June 15th, 2015)(Piedmont High, Piedmont, California)

WHACK!

My eyes shot open instantly. My vision was blurred, but it accommodated to the bright light in only a matter of seconds. An elderly woman stood in front of me. She was petite, maybe about 5' 4", with shoulder-length, frizzy, salt and pepper hair, and she wore small, gold, rectangle eyeglasses over her beady, sapphire-blue eyes. She smelled like hairspray and mothballs, and her teeth were broken Tic Tacs. The vein on her forehead was popping and her entire face was flushed. She held a long, wooden meter stick in her right hand, which I presumed was the source of the noise that woke me up.

I rubbed my eyes, and took a moment to inspect my surroundings. I seemed to be in a large room, with freshly painted beige walls. There were windows completely covering one wall, and "No Talking" signs covering the other. It was lifeless, and kind of pitiful to look at.

What kind of hell was this?

"Mr. Pines," the old woman demanded, "are you paying attention to my lecture?"

Oh yeah. School.

I swallowed and blinked a few times.

"Of course I was paying attention, Miss Van Buren. I've been paying attention all class," I lied, leaning back in my chair. "Why wouldn't I be?"

I'll tell you why. Because her class is fucking boring.

Miss Sally Van Buren was an ancient, dried-up, bitter woman who despised me with a burning intensity. And I truly had no idea why. Now, I'm not trying to be arrogant or anything, and say that everyone should worship me, she just had no logical reason for hating me. I've never done anything to her.

"Alright then," she sneered, "What is the answer to question number 17 in your workbook?"

Well shit.

I peered at the whiteboard behind her for clues. Written there, was a complex chemical equation. 6CO2+6H2O→C6H12O6+6O2. Above it, in virtually illegible cursive, were the words, "What does this represent?"

I thought about it. Carbon dioxide plus water generates glucose and oxygen.

Easy as pie.

"The equation represents photosynthesis."

The entire class erupted in laughter. Van Buren just shook her head.

"Mr. Pines, that was the answer to question 16," she sighed, "the one we just went over."

I glanced around at my classmates. One kid was laughing so hard he fell out of his chair. My face felt hot.

Van Buren swiftly strode back to her desk and pulled a pink notepad out of one of the drawers.

No, I thought to myself. Not again.

She ripped off the front page and scrawled something onto it. She gave me an villainous grin as she slapped it down onto my table.

"You have a two-hour detention. Friday after school."

"You can't give me detention on Friday!" I protested, my eyes widening. "That's the last day of school!"

Her laugh sounded like crackling paper.

"I just did."

I lowered my head in ridicule. She shook hers.

"You're pathetic."

She pivoted on her heel, walked to the board, and began to erase the problem.

"If you all turn to page 618 in your workbooks, we can continue the lesson."

I reluctantly pulled my book out from beneath my desk and turned to the assigned page.

"Today, we will be discussing chemical compounds."

She scribbled "H2O" on the board.

"Can anyone tell me what this is?"

I raised my hand.

"Mr. Pines?"

"Water," I answered with certainty.

"Wrong! Miss Long?"

"Um, water?" the tall blonde, Bailey, replied.

"Correct!"

I squinted my eyes in confusion.

Literally what the actual fuck.

Van Buren erased the board and wrote down a somewhat lengthy, more intricate compound. CHCl3.

"What about this one?"

The entire class was mute, including me. I had never seen that formula before in my life. And I had seen a lot of formulas.

"One carbon atom," I whispered to myself, "one hydrogen atom, and three chlorine atoms."

I honestly had no idea. It wasn't a typical compound, that's for sure.

"Mr. Pines!" the teacher called, snapping me out of my focus. "Would you like to answer this and redeem yourself?"

"But I was correct the first tim-"

"That doesn't sound like an answer to me!" she nagged.

I sighed and slumped my shoulders. I really didn't feel like bickering with her anymore. I already had a detention.

"I don't know the answer," I confessed.

She nodded victoriously.

"I didn't think you would," she said. "Would anyone else like to attempt it?"

Nothing. I was tempted to make cricket noises but decided against it.

She turned back to the board and wrote "chloroform" underneath the formula. The word seemed somewhat familiar to me. I may have heard it once or twice.

"Wasn't that used as an anesthetic?" I asked.

"Actually," Van Buren corrected me, "it was frequently used as an anesthetic."

Is that not what I just said?

"Physicians stopped using it after it was found to cause health problems in large quantities," she explained.

God, this is fucking boring, I thought to myself.

I zoned out once more and began intensely inspecting the pattern on Van Buren's button-down shirt. It was this odd, olive-green paisley design that really washed out her pasty skin tone. God, I hated paisley. If I ever found the inventor of paisley, I would slap them in the face. Then again, paisley has been around for a while. The inventor is probably dead.

Good, I thought. Now they can't invent any more abominable patterns.

I suddenly felt someone punch my right shoulder. I turned around and faced a towering, burly guy with buzzed, yellow-blond hair.

"Hey, Dip-shit," he taunted, "try to pay attention. You don't want another detention from Miss Van Buren."

I clenched my teeth and leaned towards him.

"Fuck you, Chad."

Long story short, Chad LaRouche is an asshole. He moved to Piedmont in September, and everybody began worshiping him the minute he arrived at the school. Like, no. You can't walk in and instantaneously become popular. I've been here my entire life and I'm a fucking loser. It's not fair.

And don't even get me started on the fact that he's been bullying me ever since he got here. Almost ten months of unadulterated torture.

Sitting next to Chad was a short boy with curly, golden hair. His pale-blue eyes were glassy, and he had one line of freckles spanning from one side of his face, over his nose, and to the other side. He giggled.

"If we're lucky, she'll keep him here all summer."

He and Chad high-fived.

Keith Sidney wasn't as awful as Chad, but he wasn't much better either. He used to be my best friend in middle school, before Chad came along.

"Shut up," I snapped.

"MR. PINES!"

I whipped back around to face the front of the room.

"Please, Mr. Pines," Van Buren nagged. "Do be quiet."

Chad and Keith snickered behind me.

I stared at the pink detention slip for the rest of class. It was a light, ballet-slipper pink color. It reminded me of Waddles, my sister's pig.

Sadly, Waddles was in Gravity Falls, Oregon, over 500 miles away. Mabel had won him at a fair when we spent the summer with our Great Uncle Stan three years ago.

What I wouldn't give to be in Gravity Falls right now.

When the bell rang, I quickly sprung out of my seat and bolted to the back of the room, so I could make it out ahead of Chad. Before I could slip out the door, he gripped the top strap of my tiger-orange backpack and pulled me towards him. As I struggled to break free, he draped one arm over my shoulders and started to lead me out of the room.

"Let's take a walk," he suggested. "Shall we?"

"Leave me alone!"

He laughed and rustled my messy, chestnut hair.

"Don't worry! I'd just like to have a quick chat."

We walked to the west wing of the school, which included the locker rooms, the doors which led to the football field, and the gym, or as I liked to call it, "Hell On Earth". As time went on, I felt my anxiety growing. My throat felt dry and my muscles were tensing.

"So," he began, "I have an important question."

"And I guess you're going to force me to answer it," I replied softly.

We stopped walking and he turned to face me. I shoved my hands in my pockets.

"Well, duh!" he chuckled.

He had a deep, throaty laugh, like the sound a dog makes just before it vomits.

He stood there for a minute, just grinning at me. I studied his face for a moment. He was an average-looking football player, 6' tall, and his eyes were this piercing shade of electric blue. Not like the ocean, or the sky, but more like a chemical that you would use to clean the toilet. His teeth were unnecessarily white, like he had been gargling bleach, and his skin was a deep tan color. I was jealous of that. I burned in the sun.

"Well?" I urged him. "I don't have all day."

He folded his hands behind his back.

"Is your sister single?"

It took me a moment to process the question.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he repeated. "Is your sister single?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because I think she's hot," he laughed. "Clearly."

I took my hands out of my pockets and crossed my arms tightly in front of me.

"It doesn't matter whether she's single or not," I snapped. "She wouldn't want to date someone like you, anyways."

"Nobody would ever say no to Chad."

God, he was such a dick. What made him so special? He wasn't even that good-looking. And why was he talking about himself in the third person?

"I can think of a few people," I sassed under my breath.

His smile quickly faded. He gripped me by the collar of my gray Doctor Who t-shirt and shoved me up against the wall. I felt a sharp pain in my upper back as it collided with the brick.

"What did you just say?!"

"N-nothing!" I screamed, gasping for air. "I didn't say anything!"

My heart was in my throat and my ears were ringing. My eyesight began to go blurry and I felt a slight dizziness.

"Are you sure?!" he snarled. "I'm pretty sure I heard you say something!"

His face was inches from mine now, and his breath smelled like eggs.

"Please," I pleaded. "Let me go!"

He let go of my shirt and took a step backwards. We were both silent for a minute.

"You're pathetic."

He turned away from me and started to walk towards the south wing.

"Have fun in detention, Dip-shit."

When he had gone, I slumped to the floor and pulled my knees into my chest.

The hallway was empty now, so I buried my face into my thighs and began to cry.