Why are dreams better than reality? Why do people go to sleep every night, knowing they're just going to be ripped away from a magical paradise? I have no fucking clue. I'm sick and tired of people walking all over me, and saying 'It'll be fine!' and 'You're being dramatic' because no one understands. Hell, that's what my life is. "Jay! You're going to be late for school, hurry up!" Came the frustrated voice of not-quite-stranger. "Shut the fuck up, I'm working on it!" I yelled back, slipping on a dark purple hoodie and fixing my glasses. As long as I kept playing and pretending, no one would notice a thing.
At least, that'd been working for me so far. I raced down the stairs and out the front door. I swung the car door open, shoving my backpack under the seat. "You were kinda mean to dad." Came the stupid annoying voice of my little brother. "He's NOT my dad!" I snarled, narrowing my eyes. "JJ, you know better than to scare him." Devin chided from the driver's seat. I rolled my eyes, blowing a strand of blue hair out of my face. After a short moment of silence, Devin tapped on the steering wheel to a rhythm we used to use all the time when we were younger.
Tap tap, TAP, pause. Tap, tap tap, pause. TAP, tap tap tap.
Townes hummed along from the back, green eyes shining with enthusiasm. "UGH, FINE!" I growled, crossing my arms over my chest. I tapped my feet to the rhythm, closing my eyes and just listening. It felt...nice. The car came to a stop, parked in front of one of the WORST places by far, school. "Alright, everyone out!" Devin laughed, stepping out of the car. I groaned, putting my feet onto the pavement and standing up, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. My older brother locked the car, stuffed the keys into his pocket, and started towards the school doors. As I entered the building, I could feel the glances in my direction. I growled, glaring around before going right to my locker. I shoved my stuff in locker 15, walked into the classroom, and plopped down at my desk. I listened the teacher drone on about long division and junk for about forty-five minutes. "Hey, JJ!" Sophie whispered from beside me, her beautiful brown eyes shimmering with kindness.
I smiled softly. "Hey, Soaps. Have a good trip? Anyone in need of being beat up?" I asked, popping my knuckles. She laughed quietly, shaking her head. "Sadly not, I'm afraid they've all been spared due to MATH clogging my judgement!" She punched my shoulder lightly, handing me a pencil and nodding her head at the chalkboard. Mr. Haywood paused, glancing in our direction. "Ms. Gleason, is there something you'd like to share, or are you just wasting our time chatting?" Sophie opened her mouth, then closed it, glancing at me. I cleared my throat. "Ahem, sir, I spoke to her first, she didn't do anything wrong." I interjected, adjusting my blue glasses. "Well, perhaps you'd like to solve this problem on the board then, Mr. Storm?" He said pointedly, dropping a piece of chalk on my desk. "Gladly," I muttered, snatching it and marching up to the front of the room. "Sixteen hundred divided by five, please." I thought for a moment, then started writing.
"Five goes into sixteen three times," I murmured as I worked. "Sixteen minus fifteen is one," I took a final glance at the problem I'd solved, then turned to the rest of the class. "One thousand six hundred divided by five is three-twenty, you're welcome." I tossed Mr. Haywood the chalk, and sat back down. The teacher looked at the clock; 8:50 am, ten minutes to next class. "I must say, I'm impressed. Everyone work on any homework you have unfinished until 9:00, Mr. Storm, a word?"
I nodded, puzzled, but followed him out to the hallway. "Your talents are being wasted, Jay. These people you hang out with keep you in line by being kind to you and making you believe that only with them will you be happy. I understand things have been rough for you, and I hope you know that there are people here who can help you. You're holding yourself back, Jay." I looked up at him, my eyes glittering with anger. "No. You don't know what you're talking about, my friends care about me! They understand me, and these 'people' you talk about? Where were they when my parents died, hm? Where were they when I needed them?" He opened his mouth to protest. "No! I'm done with people thinking they're better than me, Haywood! The school had their chance, and they didn't take it! Just...don't pretend that you understand me, ok?"
Time taken: seven days
Word count: 808
YOU ARE READING
Eye of the Storm
Подростковая литератураNo one's the same. No one feels the same. No one looks the same, talks the same, or thinks the same. Everyone changes, usually for the better. From negative to positive, like a light switch. Except for fourteen-year-old Jay Storm, who went from po...
