Chapter 1: When It Rains...
This is hereby dedicated to Sazzy, my older sister since February 7th, 2015.
As much as she probably, maybe, possibly excessively and unnecessarily overplayed the song, she never got tired of it. The lyrics had the meaning it had each hundredth time she replayed it: zero. And yet all the littler infinities between negative twelve million and that same zero. She had no one to project into the mental music video with her because she had no one outside of her mental images to begin with. But for what it was worth, she had always hoped that one day, someone would poof!, huzzah!, or boom! out of mere, thin air, requiring no effort whatsoever on her part, and she could easily and almost painlessly let the song be for and about them. Alas, for now, she remained focused on a single verse that she had found herself content with. It didn't need another soul, another real person (on that note, what did?). It was truth. Truth didn't need anything. It simply was.
When it rains, it pours
Stay thirsty like before
Don't you know that the kids aren't al,
Kids aren't alright
On the entire menu of kinds of rain, what do you know? It was thunder-storming. Pouring rain streamed down the sides of Hawkins High School, where a mischievous teenager was pulling a victorious grin across her face as she patiently listened to her favorite lyric to pass by like the minutes spent in the overly tidy, decidedly gloomy classroom. She tentatively raised her hand to start twisting a good tuft of blue-black hair between her fingers, a thumb behind her ear, guarding the pair of large, black headphones, and letting the remaining strands of hair fall in front of her eyes.
It took her a while, though not long, to realize that her professor was staring pointedly at her from the front of her school desk. She quickly hit her leg against the bottom of the wooden desk, shutting her phone off immediately (she needed a new one as it was, why not?) and rushed to pull the headphones off her ears.
"Yes, sir?" Song asked, raising her voice pitch to hint ever so cleverly at her annoyance, glancing up at Mr. Arles. She turned pink in humiliation at her classmates' glare. "I fell asleep, that's all. I got up at four A.M., you see."
While it wasn't exactly a lie, her heart still beat in her throat as she came up with all the ways her parents would let loose hell on her for getting into even more trouble at school, and possibly getting her phone and headphones confiscated for good. The idea turned her stomach on top of itself.
Mr. Arles rubbed his forehead between his thumb and index finger and looked down at her. He didn't seem angry, but he did seem disappointed, which made the urge to snap back next to irresistible.
Mr. Arles said, "Do me a favour, Ms. Dires and remain conscious for at least the rest of my lesson. And meet with me afterwards. I just want to talk. No detention, no calling your parents, we'll just talk."
"I highly doubt that..." she muttered under her breath, turning her book back to face her and slamming her hands on it. The guy beside her leaned over the aisle.
"Look, I know Mr. Arles seems awful to you, but he's actually a great teacher." he said. He was Jamaican by looks, but by his voice, Song could tell he was Earl, the Italian student. "I'm Earl by the way. Earl de Avenir. Nice to meet you." He was holding a hand out to shake with her, but she didn't accept it.
"Yeah, I'm Song. What a pleasure to meet you too," she snapped back, and then she stared at her book for the rest of the lesson, not even paying attention to what Mr. Arles was saying. The freeing sound of the school bell, reminding her of her childhood favourite movie, High School Musical, came to her ears and she quickly packed up her things, sweeping her blue and black hair over her shoulder.
"Class dismissed," said Mr. Arles, clapping his hands and grinning at them all. "Except you, Miss Freeman. Don't think I've forgotten that I need to speak with you." Song was grateful her hair was long enough to cover her face, otherwise he would have seen her bite her lip in anger, and then the look of disgust that followed when she realised she tasted blood.
Song smiled sarcastically to herself, and slung her bag over her shoulder. "Of course not, sir. What do you need? Extra homework, want me to change my hair back, what? What now?" He didn't seem affected by her rude manners, but he did seem irritated by her negativity.
"I want you to meet my children." he told her, slowly. She rolled her eyes, sure she could get herself out of this one with the right lies. But he went on, "Rudy and Gavin. They're twins, they're your age but I don't think you share any classes. I can easily rearrange that though, and don't worry. It isn't to help you 'make friends,' or any of that cliche movie junk. You're going to be tutored, since you don't seem to be interested in my classes."
Song huffed. "What, and getting the same crap from your kids is going to make me enjoy it more?" She shook her head, trying her best not to cringe at her use of language. "No, sir-ree. I'm not going to learn anything. All it'll do is take time out of my studying time, alone. I do my homework. I hand it in. I get it right every time."
"True, true. I can't accuse you of not paying attention in classes entirely since you do, after all, get straight A's on everything." Mr. Arles nodded, as if to say Alas, I am wrong. At least, that's what Song took it to be, and she nodded. "But I cannot be sure if you're safe at home. When are your parents around?"
Song froze from her subtle shuffling and fidgeting. Even her hand, which was running itself up her backpack strap, froze in place. "Well... Enough to give me three meals a day." It was a lie. Most of her meals came from her older sister, and if not, her parents would give her just enough cash for a burger and a drink. She had some of it stashed away with other things she would someday use for something she wanted for herself. "We have movie nights every Friday," she declared.
He stared at her for a moment. "You will meet my children at lunch today. No excuses. But, speaking of excuses, here's an excuse letter for Miss Kopp. Off to her class, Miss Freeman. Don't want to fail her pop quiz." He winked at her, knowing he just gave her a high schooler's cheat code. She bit her cheek hoping he wouldn't catch her smile, and ran out the door.
The smile disappeared, and the scowl returned. She whipped out her phone and turned it back on, ready to ignore yet another class.
1215 words edited
998 words unedited
24/12/2015
04/08/2018 (edited)
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Teen FictionSong Freeman isn't depressed. She just isn't. So, what, her grades spiralled after sophomore year and her parents resolve their conflicts by slamming doors and throwing things and she's become skilled at following suit in her own little ways, like s...
