- Adrenaline -

Chapter 14: Individuality and Indulgant fantasies.

     John started his drive back home. Soon enough he was back in his room, laying on his bed, and facing a ceiling with no more big stinking mirror on it. You've got to wonder what made him take it down.
     Could be maturity. He's seemed to mature a lot these past few days. Dumping Cleo, treating his interest with love and respect. It's weird. He thinks, I should text Vincent and tell him thanks.

~*~

     Bzz bzz. Already?
     I lift my phone.

Stupid Jock, 9:21 PM,
            thanks 4 coming out w me. i had a lot of fun
Stupid Jock, 9:21 PM,
            we should do this again :)

     I stare at the message for a second. And then a hand full of seconds. I click the info button on the messages and go to his contact, hitting edit and changing his name.

Me, 9:23 PM,
I would really like that, John. :)

John Kennedy, 9:23 PM,
            me too, good night 💤

Me, 9:24 PM
Goodnight.

~*~

     Sometimes I wonder why my internet only reaches people within our town. Mom works for the government, so she gets to leave town and come back without any problem, but I can't. She must be really important.
     My slowly blossoming relationship with John has left me touchier than ever on the clone subject. Obviously the real Van Gogh and President Kennedy lived in two different eras and probably didn't even like guys that much, so us... dating. Oh gosh- can I say that? It's just so strange. Ethereal. You get to used to thinking of yourself as a completely different person, or the same person- we're supposed to be the same, but that doesn't mean we are.
     In my whole academic career, something I've noticed is that none of the clones are perfect replicas of who we are clones of. Gandhi's revenge driven, Abe is a horrible listener, I think I even watched Buddha encourage a fight down at the Grassy Knoll.

     I'm not sure what I'm getting at here. I'm not even sure why I'm so upset about it. Most days I just want to be Vincent, to be my own person, and others, I'd give anything to be more like Van Gogh. I wonder if people outside of town feel this way too? Or if it's strictly something only clones experience.

~*~

     11:23 AM, Monday, principal Scudworths office. Scudworthless would be more suiting.

     I wonder if it's also a universal experience to be tied to a chair by your principals robotic butler. Every principal has one, right?

     "Mr Van Gogh,"
     "You're lucky I'm tied down here."
     "It appears you've been in an altercation! Very fascinating, I would have never imagined you to be the type to pick a fight."
     "I didn't pick the fight."
     "The report says you, quote, cracked a classmate in the groin?"
     "I told him not to call me that."
     "And what did he call you? Out of pure curiosity and not because I care. Which I don't."
      I bite the inside of my cheek. "Van Gogh."
     The look on his stupid face was a mixture of surprise and confusion.
     "Get you let me go now? I have a lab in science I need to finish."
     Mr. Scudworth put his greasy yellow-dishwasher-gloved hand to his chin, feigning thoughtfulness. "I suppose. But you'll have to serve detention."

     And for the first time in my life, people actually stayed out of my way. All the little guy has to do is rough someone up and suddenly no one wants to bother you. I'm fine with that.
     Word spreads fast here. Winter break is only 20 days away, so I've got 20 more days of bullshit gossiping.
     Man, I'd give anything to just be with John right now. He would understand. At least, I hope he would. I pop the vanilla scented chapstick out of my pocket. It seems it's all I've got to hold on to until after school.