Saving the Reject | Michael Clifford | Editing

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| s y d n e y |

Whether he wanted it to or not, Friday, the last day to present speeches, came, as it always seemed to, uninterrupted.

Michael sat in the back of his History class, trying his hardest to fade into the background. He was very aware of the dwindling number of presentations, of the ticking of the clock (still a half and hour left), and of Charli Sparks, sitting behind him, intently listening to his peer's speeches. It was really just something about her that interested him, though he had absolutely no idea what it was. Whatever it was, it distracted him. He was trying to get a glimpse of her in his peripheral when his name was called.

"Mr. Clifford," addressed Mr. Duke. He hated being called that. "Your presentation, please."

Michael huffed, and didn't move from his seat. "We all know you're just gonna fail me anyway," he mumbled, though everyone heard him, even Charli, who sat up a little in her seat.

"Come on, Michael," Mr. Duke continued, leaning against his desk. "Everyone's gotta do it. You come up here, and the lowest you can get is a fifty percent. If you stay there, I won't hesitate to give you a zero."

He gave half a glance to the ginger behind him (forgetting to be discrete), sighed, and stood. What would she, the fucking valedictorian, think of him if he got that kind of grade, directly in front of her? It was bad enough that they were on complete opposite sides of the spectrum, but that would only add more distance.

"Ah," sighed the teacher in victory, sitting at his desk, and preparing for the worst. He knew it. Michael knew it. The whole goddamn class knew it. Everyone but the new TA knew it; Michael would fail no matter what he said up there.

Having no note cards to go off of, Michael tried to bring forth any information he might have, from the half-lectures he had sat in on, to the presentations before him, that he didn't pay attention to. The French Revolution, he thought. What do I know about the French Revolution? He looked up at Charli, and began to speak. "For a war that started over bread," that got a chuckle from the class, "the French Revolution was one hell of a fight." From the back of the class, Charli held his gaze, and from his spot in the front of the class, Michael thought she looked almost supportive. "But it was a fight that went nowhere. The Third Estate revolted to get out a monarchy, but ended up right back where they started. They had the power to get rid of their king, but they didn't have the stamina to actually get what they wanted from it. And so they settled - and because they were too weak to keep going, they left themselves vulnerable to a short dictator named Napoleon, who would go on to lead them into countless stupid wars that basically caused all of Europe to hate them." He didn't really know at what point he had made it obvious that he wasn't just talking about the French Revolution. He couldn't look at Charli, who was smiling at him now, encouraging him that he was doing well, that he was right. But he wasn't. He was so, so wrong. He looked to Calum, who, though silent, understood. Michael was done. "And that's the French Revolution," he concluded.

"Well," said Mr. Duke. "You were getting there, with the material. I'll give you a fifty-five."

"What?" Michael practically screamed. "That's an F!"

"I'm sorry Michael. The guidelines were to have a five minute speech that covers the entire revolution. You just barely scraped the surface. I can't help that you were acting retarded and didn't prepare."

The class held it's breath at Duke's phrasing. Michael could see Charli open her mouth, as if to say something, but Michael beat her to it. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You can't just call someone that! That's a fucking serious mental disability!"

"Watch your language!" That's what he was worried about?

"No, I will not fucking watch my language! You have no right - "

"I have every right!" exploded the history teacher, very much resembling Napoleon in that moment. "Just as I have every right to send you to the office! Ms. Sparks," the attention of everyone seeped to the redhead in the back of the classroom, who was shocked. There was still, however, a ghost of a glare across her features. "Will you please escort Mr. Clifford - "

"Don't fucking call me that!" 

" - to the office?"

Unmoved for a moment, Charli nodded her head in confirmation, standing as Michael charged out of the room. She had to run to catch up to him. "Michael," she started when she reached him.

"Just don't fucking say anything," Michael cut in, shutting her down. She seemed to either respect his space, or just knew from experience that talking to someone that angry would just cause them to project their anger onto you. He knew, however, that she was showing amazing restraint by walking quietly beside him towards the office. She was dying to say something, just as she had when Duke had belittled Michael and disrespected anyone who was actually mentally retarded. By the time they had stepped out into the courtyard, Michael just wanted to get the conversation over with. He turned to the girl walking in step with him, anxiously biting her bottom lip. "What?"

Charli looked shocked, as if she didn't expect him to let her speak (honestly, if it were anyone else, he probably wouldn't have). "I - I, um - " she stuttered, not being able to hold eye contact. "I just wanted to say thank you."

His eyes narrowed slightly in confusion. "For what?"

"For speaking up," Charli quickly clarified, her eyes tightly shut. They slowly opened, finally looking into Michael's unblinking green eyes. "A lot of people don't have the courage to do that, but you did."

"Do what?" asked Michael, kicking a pebble at his feet. "Stand up for myself?"

She wasn't sure if he was being humble, or if his intentions really were only self-concerning. Maybe it was a little of both. "Well, yes, but that's not what I meant," Charli shuffled a little, crossing her arms over her school uniform. "What you said concerning the disabled community - it meant a lot. I - um," he looked up to see just how nervous she had gotten over the course of the conversation, and was surprised to see a broken, scared little girl standing in place of the arrogant, confident redhead he thought he knew. "Thanks."

When her icy blue eyes hit his, he felt a kind of rush, which only strengthened with the small smile that followed. He mirrored her. "You don't need to thank me," Michael assured her. "That sad excuse for a teacher needed to be called out on his shit. If I didn't do it, I'm sure someone else would've."  

But you were the one to do it, thought Charli. Anyone could have, but Michael did. That makes all the difference. She took a deep breath, calming herself down. "So what are you going to do?" asked she, changing the subject before it got too far. "You know, about Mr. Duke?"

"Oh, that?" he clarified casually. "I think I'm just gonna drop out." 

"What?"