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Still, follow ToS
I shouldn't have to say this, but the need to idiot proof still lays deep within me

Post in the third person
Please. I know some prefer the first, but for the purpose of this, let's alleviate some of the confusion.

No God-modding, power playing, or killing others' characters
At least without their permission. God-modding is doing DRASTIC things to characters, like hitting them and saying 'so and so falls over.' You can hit them, as far as I'm concerned, but leave them up to how much pain is caused. Please and thank you.

This is a more mature role play
Which means that you are allowed to swear and go a little further with romance, should that occur. But still, remember that we are following ToS here.

Be literate
I'm not even sure I need to say that here, but minimum of five sentences, writer's block does NOT last forever, you know the drill, you must have seen it before.

Try to keep OOC to a minimum
If the want is there, I'll create an OOC thread, so if there is a want, please let me know. If not, then try to keep the conversation to a minimum, or PMs or something.

Character Profiles
You don't need one, just a character. I don't want any profiles posted here. If you need to make one, that's fine, but don't put it here. I want descriptions of characters, their behavior, all of that in your posts.

A droning sound in the background made tired eyes drift further and further closed. The world, which currently consisted of an advanced Calculus classroom, faded and blurred, until only colors could be seen. Any moment now, a crashing of the teacher calling on him for one reason or another would bring the almost sleeping boy's watery brown eyes back open.

This, however, didn't happen, the boy noted, as his eyes closed the final bit and his head dropped down onto the desk, a sound which reverberated quietly throughout the classroom. The sleeping boy's reddish-brown hair splayed along the desk, and no one made a move to try to wake him. They were only worried about their own ability (or lack, thereof) to pass the Calc. class they attended. No one worried about one little sleeping boy.

And little was right. At seventeen years old, Jackson was only five foot nine. At least four inches shorter than the second shortest male in the his senior class. This fact didn't bother Jacks, as he preferred to be called, one bit. He liked his height. It made it possible for him to actually buy the clothes he liked, which were surprisingly different than the other boys in his class. Unlike everyone else, who wore mostly solid colored, name brand shirts and baggy jeans that barely clung to them, even with a proper belt, Jacks preffered a slightly different fashion. His friends called it the 'gay fashion,' a label which Jacks couldn't quite argue with, seeing as how that's simply put what it was. Instead of the dark colors and blue jeans worn by the others, the school's only openly gay senior preferred to wear boot cut jeans and bright tops. One might look at him and call him 'flamboyant,' but Jacks didn't feel that he was. A little maybe, but he had seen those classified as 'emo' wearing almost the same clothes as he was. If he was flamboyant, then what on earth were they?

The bell rang, causing the boy's heart to start again and his eyes to open. Jacks was almost frightened right out of his seat, but managed to catch himself in time, but still blushed at the realization that the entire class (which consisted of four besides himself) was staring. At him. He was unable to look any of them in the eye as a couple of them uttered goodbyes as they walked out of the room. Jacks slowly gathered his books and received a glare from the teacher as he stepped out of the room.

He walked down the hallway, stopping in front of his half-locker an waiting for the girl with the locker under him to finish getting her things together. He opened his locker, which did not have a lock on it, and saw the usual array of hate-mail. It had been happening steadily since freshman year, when he had 'come out of the closet' but it never went any farther than what it was, a note in his locker stating "DIE f*****t."

Crumpling the page, he threw it behind him, where the trash should have been. Instead, he heard,

Brown eyes looked up a half hour later. A bookmark was inserted into the book on his lap, though would probably be ignored later, whenever the next time he had the urge to read the book was. As his eyes scanned the parking lot, the boy was amazed how quickly the school crowd had dissipated. It usually took much longer for the crowds and crowds of stereotypical and not so stereotypical cliques to fully decide what to do, what to drink, who to vandalize, or where to smoke, and finally actually gather the courage or whatever else it took them to assemble to actually leave campus.

Jacks took a deep breath and put the book back into his bag. He released the breath in what one could consider a sigh as a realization caught up with him. All of his friends had after school activities, the memory had finally caught up with him, which left him with a Thursday afternoon filled with boredom and reading, as always. "Damn," he muttered as he hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and proceeded down the steps of the school building, "I wish something would happen in this town that was exciting. Or interesting. Interesting would work too."

He knew he shouldn't be tempting fate, for he didn't have a bad life, just a little boring. People, for the most part, left him alone about the fact that he was gay, he was never picked on incessently, never pushed over the edge, never beat up. Well, never beat up to an extreme, anyway. But even those times he tried not to think about as he continued walking past the basketball court that split up the parking lot.

He reached the edge of the campus and took his MP3 player out of his pocket, putting a headphone in each ear. It had taken him this long to remember that he had it, having only recently received it as a birthday present that March. He looked both ways, like he was always told to, and started across the street. The sound of Panic! at the Disco's "A Fever You Can't Sweat Out" filled his ears, and his head moved in time with the melodies. The next thing he heard was a blaring horn and screeching tires, cutting off the music and sending his brain scattering. He had obviously not looked long enough.

Jacks didn't have time to scream or for his eyes to widen, didn't have time to do much. His life never flashed before his eyes, and if it had, it wouldn't have taken the full few seconds. The car struck him head on, lifting him off the ground and sending him into the windshield, where his head impacted sharply with the glass. So this is how it's gonna end? he thought as he bounced off the car and back onto the ground. He heard the owner of the car, a young man of about twenty-three, get out of the car and yell something into his cell phone before closing and re-opening it quickly. Jacks' vision blurred, and the last thing that he heard was,