Sympathy for the Devil

4

I crouched beneath the bleachers next to the football field of Lincoln Prep High and filled my lungs with pleasant pollutants that would lead to lung cancer down the line, no doubt. I let the high elate inside of me until I felt something again. It never made me feel happy, but it did let me feel calming clarity, which I craved these days.

I placed the joint beneath my lips as my body was scorched, igniting a vicious flame within. I sputtered a cough until I got used to the sensation of not being able to breathe. I spread out, making ground angels as the bleacher stairs reflected in the light making stars form in my vision.

Beneath the cracks, I saw the clouds move and swarm together as the world tinted gray. My world was not only tinted with the vicious shade, it was enveloped in it. I exhaled a shaky breath as I took another hit of the joint. Each time, I slipped further away, almost falling asleep. Until the moment the body hit the pavement. The moment her body hit the pavement in my mind beneath the squeezed shut blinds, that was the moment I woke up as if thousands of electric volts coursed through my veins. Each volt zapped me to the world of the living.

Reality is a fucking bitch.

My hair fell out of my topknot, spilling along my shoulders, and dancing on my torn fabric viciously. Jaggedly cut midnight hair full of too much hairspray to mat it down straight. My curls still wanted to come out to play. Peaks of ruby red were mixed into the dark shade. I could never truly escape the color. My hair was as fussy and stubborn as I was.

Sometimes I wish that I lived in Bumfuck nowhere with no sign of civilization. A ghost town where I wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb. Even living in a crowded city, people noticed me. I'd like to blame it on the unfortunate hair, but it primarily has to do with the fact that everyone knows my dad.

Since everyone knows my dad as the Sheriff of the 20th precinct in Manhattan, everyone knows the tragedy my family faced last Spring. Even the national news covered our story.

I popped a stick of winter fresh in my mouth and chewed ferociously until the taste of weed became faint. Each flavorless piece of gum was stuck beneath the bleacher where the permanent words Ellie Lucas is a fucking slut were written, visible for the naked eye's viewing pleasure. Maybe Dad was right to worry if he knew that I was falling down an all too familiar path of the sadistically depressed. I was just like her after all. That's why mom left me the note. It was the blueprint.

...

By the time I finally headed into school, it was already time for sixth-period Chemistry.

I saw Julian's blonde head of hair bobbing in the distance in the hallway by his locker with his black headphones on, but he ignored me and headed in the opposite direction before I could get a word in edge wise.

"Juli-" My voice caught in my throat as he glared at me all the way down the hall. I had to wonder if he was listening to music at all or using the headphones as a shield.

I sulked into Science with heavy footfalls.

I handed my pink slip to Mr. Florian who had his legs sprawled along his desk, preparing for a nap. His baseball cap was slouched forward on his head with tufts of brown hair peaking through. His hands were propped on the back of his chair.

Wren shot me a dirty look as I headed towards my seat, my fist clenched my maroon backpack as Wren refocused on getting Bennett's attention. Her bruising, courtesy of my handiwork was nearly cleared up. Bennett didn't seem to notice her, but his eyes instantly fell to me as I shoved my bag in between us at the table. I used my bag as a pillow as I rested my chin on the bag.

Mr. Florian's class is designed in modules where we teach ourselves and he can't be bothered to demonstrate what it is we are learning and apply our learning to something that we can relate to whatsoever. It's a student led class. Bennett paired up with me because no one else would and he's too nice to reject me. Even though Wren practically threw herself at Bennett to get him to partner with her. I would have preferred working independently. It wasn't an option.