My face should be a warning sign, yet everyone is always talking at me, trying to get in my head. Everyone always wants to know what the basket case is thinking, but there's one thing that people don't realize: I'm not a basket case. I understand the things that are going on around me, I understand the things that people say, that people do, but I choose not to share the information that I receive.
If you ask me, it's everyone else who is the basket case. My face, its painted with every color of the rainbow, battered with scars, and doused in bruises. My face, it's a warning sign, a mask that hides who I am, what I am.
"Tyler." I don't respond to my name because Tyler isn't who I am anymore, I don't deserve the name. I light the cigarette, careful not to drop it from my bruised hands, and look towards the face that called me by the name that I've chosen to forget. The tall boy standing in front of me stares at the cigarette dangling from my lips, the light of the bud playing in his eyes. "You can't smoke on school property," he says, but his eyes don't leave the bud.
I take a long, deep drag on the cigarette, and offer it to the boy. His eyes meet mine, almost in an instant, and he reaches a shaky hand to take the cancer stick away from me.
It's an unhealthy habit, I know, but I'm already in the pits of hell. What's the harm in sinking a little deeper?
The boy noticeably relaxes as the harmful substances fill his lungs. He's trying to stop, I've seen it a million times, but he's weak. He's not strong enough to tell the disgusting mixture to fuck off.
Yeah, the kid is weak, but he reminds me so much of myself. He stands by the table for at least twenty minutes, taking long drags of the cigarette, until every breath he breathes reeks of the compound and then he leaves. He doesn't say thank you or even acknowledge my presence.
Fuck you too, man.
It doesn't bother me that the boy knows my name. Hell, everyone in this county knows my name. I can't say that I'm proud of it, but I can't say that I'm ashamed, either. It is what it is, really.
The bell for the next class period rings, but I don't move from my spot under the tree. I've been late for three classes already, a fourth tardy won't hurt.
Punctuality has never been my cup of tea. I move through life at my own pace, a pace that I've realized is entirely too fast for most. School, though, it's never been something that I've been fond of. The idea of school, the whole institution, it's outdated.
Hell, I know my folks only send me here to get me out of their hair.
"You can't smoke on school property, you know." It's a girl's voice this time, a authoritative one. A teacher, shit. I throw the bud on the ground beside me, awkwardly squashing it with my sneaker, and look up at the body that has positioned itself in front of me.
It's not a teacher, though, more like a girl. She's relatively average sized, but her thighs don't form a gap that so many other girls strive for. "Hm." The small sound escapes my lips, and she cocks her head to the side.
"So you're not a mute," she says, kneeling down in front of me.
Ah, she's like everyone else. Judgemental. I look past her while I light another cigarette, not paying her any attention anymore. I expect her to leave, like so many others do after I cease speaking, but she just stares. "What." It's more of a statement, than a question, but she doesn't seem to notice.
"Didn't mean to offend you." She says, taking the lit cigarette from my hand and squashing it on the ground beside me, "but you can't smoke on school grounds."
I smirk, "and whose going to stop me?"
She shrugs, "I'm pretty sure I just did." She sits down beside me, resting her head on the bark of the tree and rolling her head towards me, "if I'm going to be your tutor, I need you to follow school rules."
"Since when are you my tutor?"
She looks at her wrist, pretending that a watch exists there. "Since ten minutes ago when principal Richards called me to her office."
And the story begins.
A/N: I hope that this first chapter wasn't too horrible! I'm trying something new! So please vote and comment on what you thought!
~Much Love, AJ.
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Bridging The Gap
Kısa Hikaye"There are dreamers and there are realists in this world, you think the dreamers would find the dreamers and the realists would find the realists, but more often than not the opposite is true. See the dreamers need the realists to keep the dreamer...
