Road to Someplace

Chapter Two

 I shared my second class with Raveena, which was photography. I had wanted to take Home Ec in place of it, but my parents refused to sign off on my registration if I signed up for it.

"Oh hon, don't take Home Economics!" My mother had exclaimed when she was reading it over. When I asked why, my father jutted in, saying it was a "gay" subject for women. When I made the argument that when I moved out, I would need to know how to cook, my father waved it off. "Don't worry, son. When you move out, you can find a nice wife who can cook for you!" My mother nodded in agreement, and I could feel my patience cracking, rage bubbling underneath it. I bit my tongue hard, and curled my hands up into fists under the table. I forced out a strained smile, resisting every part of my body just to smile.

The conversation didn't get any better, and I managed to convince the two of them to let me take photography for my fine arts credit. It wasn't my first choice, not by far, but at least it wasn't another gym class.

When I came into the class, Raveena was already at her seat. She sat at my table, along with a freshman boy. I set my backpack down on the tile next to my seat. I then hopped up on the rung of the stool and from there, scrambled onto the seat. Raveena snorted, and I gave her a dirty look. "Stuff it Raveena, you'd do the same if you were short," She snickered. She stretched out, extending her long arms above her head, revealing a small roll of gauze wrapped around her forearm. I raised an eyebrow. "What's that from?" I asked. She looked around for a second, before realizing what I was talking about. She pointed to her arm. "Oh, this?" She laughed. "Yeah, my cello string snapped on me and f-ed up my arm," She grinned. "Nice," I muttered, still half-asleep.

"Oh, by the way," I added. "I read-" I didn't even finish my sentence before she threw her hands up in the air, letting out an incredibly loud, "YES!", drawing attention to us. I cringed a little as people stared at us, but Raveena didn't seem affected at all. "Soooo...." She said playfully, a smirk on her face. "What didya think?" She asked. I shrugged, staring at the scuffed white tile on the ground. "It was all right," I said. When I glanced up, there was a triumphant smile on her face. "Is that Marcas-speak for hella amazing?" She asked. I snorted. I stayed silent, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of winning, knowing she'd hold anything she could over my head for many days to come.

Before she could open her mouth to say something else, there was a loud burst of sound, a large group of kids rushing in, out of breath and tired. They showed up a few seconds before the bell rang, as their preceding class was two floors up, and on the opposite side of the school. The long din of the bell could barely be heard over the kids scrambling to their seats.

Our teacher's name was Ms. Holt, an extremely cheerful, optimistic woman who was incredibly excited by everything. She had big doe eyes, and was prone to shaking in excitement. Whenever she talked about the basic parts of the camera, she looked so thrilled that she was going to start hop up and down, letting out one of her trademark "I'm so enthusiastic about everything and I'm losing my grip on reality" squeals. She was either wearing jumpers or overalls, and I doubt her wardrobe consisted of anything else. She was coupled with a neon yellow camera, as well as an unenthusiastic student teacher. I don't think anyone actually knows his name. He just sits in the back of the room on his phone. Whenever Ms. Holt is sick or gone, he just let us do whatever we wanted. That morning, he was sleeping behind Ms. Holt's desk, his dirty sneakers poking out from under it.

Class was pretty boring, and Ms. Holt looked like she was going to foam from the mouth from excitement, seeing as how learning to change lenses on a camera was truly an intriguing topic. When the bell finally rang, putting an end to the torture that was photography class, Raveena hopped out of her seat, strolling out the door, a bounce in her step. She was clearly happy at her victory, probably because she knew I liked The Songbirds more than I said I did. She had a huge, dopey smile on her face, her dimples so deep they were consuming most of her cheeks.