College, what a blast!

“If the square root divided by 7…” Mumbling incoherently to himself Sam leaned even closer to the large piece of paper he had been working on for weeks perfecting, in the old abandoned mansion from up the road. The mansion was said to be haunted, but nothing could be worse than this town. This project meant the world to Sam; he had to do this to get out of here.
This town, this place full of snobs and preps, was his personal version of hell, from the cheerleaders and football players to the nerds and outcasts, he was tormenting tool. He wasn’t rich, or as rich, and he wasn’t good at anything it seemed.
But he was smart, oh yes was he smart. And the way he dressed showed he had brains and not fashions sense.
He had shot up over the summer at his grandfather’s farm, at least four inches gained. And he was lean, but completely muscular.
Not that the baggy, holey, band t-shirts he wore showed that. The girls in his class snickered when he walked by, they thought him a beanpole.
His wild hair was now around his shoulders, too long, his mother said. It was loosely curly, and wildly red, another thing they made fun of him for.
Fire-head, who thought of insults like that, Sam had asked himself these pointless questions a million and one times.
All the more reason for him to get out of this place, his mother would never even notice, it wasn’t like he was ever home anyway; Ruby, his mom, was just as clueless, and silicone filled as the next person in this town over 20.
Sam shook his head to rid himself of those thoughts and set back to work. The paper he was working on, and had been working on for months was nearly finished. Covered in crayon markings, to anyone else it would look like a child’s coloring, but to Sam it was the map to escape.
Two years ago he had moved to this place, and started getting picked on. He hadn’t even been able to find refuge in the public library. So he had started sneaking into one of the old abandoned mansions.
It was said that the place was haunted with the spirits of the murdered occupants of old, but Sam had yet to see any ghosts. Especially any mortally wounded ghosts yearning for his brains, as the kids at school exaggerated it to be.
A rat or two scurried across the floor every now and then, but other than that, nothing besides the spiders in their webs, and the food they caught.
The floors were covered in dust, all except the attic room Sam constantly occupied, because he used it so much, and he clean it regularly.
The books in the room were very old, some over a hundred years, Sam had stumbled upon them one day and that was how he had learned of an alternate escape; his very own haven from this place.