Ray gets kicked out of La Bitch's class and meets Greasy with the principle. Just guess who he is. x)
BlacknWhiteRainbow- Hope you review on this one, thanks a ton. =D I checked some of your work, I think it's real unique, love it.
Ray didn’t reach school until ten past eleven.
Surprising as in being late?
It was complicated, and as he reached the classroom of which he called Mme ‘La bitch’, no doubt it was French; he felt all 30 eyes on him. It was uncomfortable, extremely uncomfortable, yet he managed to stride to the back of the class without any complaints from La Bitch.
Until she found out that he forgot his late slip. Mostly at this point, he would pull out his portable music player. Was that what they called them?
He cared less on what their name was; 3mp was the only thing that rang a bell in his mind—but he made it easy on himself. Portable music player. Short, straight to the point.
But then he remembered. Late slip. It filled in his ears, and it made it impossible to conjure whether he said it in his mind or someone told him so.
Who still had late slips? Why the fuck—
”Mr.Toro, incase you haven’t heard me, as I stated… you have no late slip to show me?”
“Then would you like to inform me and the class on why you decided to disrupt us?”
No other than La Bitch, making a fool out of one of her favourite students. Hah.
It was the opposite. Ever since freshman year when he first had her, she found something incredibly horrible in him. It seemed to be more than an invitation to make his life a living hell. Why? He didn’t know. Only possible reason in his mind was that this chick had some serious issues with his afro.
But let’s not get into the afro; he could go on forever about it. Let’s just say it’s a trademark and something that was known fairly well around the school.
Ray sunk into the hard plastic top of the chair that connected to the desk, a short remembrance that reminded him as “NO FREEDOM EVEN IF YOU HAVE A FUCKING STOMACH”. He didn’t feel inclined (or in the mood) to answer her, but in the goodness of his heart (dig deep down there, baby) he decided to comment.
“I was fucking tired this morning and didn’t feel like rolling my ass out of bed. But just to make myself happy and complete, I made sure I could be attended in this gay French class.”
He said it like it was one big sentence, and without having to know what came next (his ‘cussing’ was a shame to boys with afros, he translated La Bitch’s words) he slid out of the chair contently. This was not like usual morning would go, for sure, as all the students around the classroom had their jaws hung down in awe.
“Excuse me? Go straight t-“
”To the office.” He finished her sentence cheerfully with a smug smirk. A small wave was acquainted with it (Ray felt extra gleeful today, not as introvert as he usually would).
It seemed to be a huge relief to walk out of the classroom though, despite under the raw circumstances. Usually (normal kids) would feel as if a weight was crushing down on their shoulders as they walked down the halls to the principles office. For Ray, it wasn’t bad. There wasn’t a word to describe it, actually, in his view. He only had a slight bounce in his step as he went.
Understandably, he and the principle (he nicknamed him ‘My job BLOWS’) seemed to have a negative bond—brought together by a strange force. Backstabbing best friends was a way you could… comprehend it better. While Ray would usually sit down in his office, he would laugh at how red his face could get as he yelled. Sometimes he caused Ray a head ache; sometimes he caused him so much humor he cried from laughing so hard, other times he felt like punching the shit out of him.
There you go, mixed emotions from Ray Toro.
He was the boy all about it. Sometimes he was a kiss ass, sometimes he just didn’t’ say anything at all. He was different like that.
Ray didn’t have friends, and acted like he didn’t have parents. Connection with the social world? He pretended like he didn’t know it. The only things he relied on were comic books, guitars, and music. The only way he got around high school was guitar. The only way he got out of boredom was comic books. The only way he could find a reason to ignore his parents was music. It all seemed to fit.
He wasn’t above averge, if that was what you were thinking.
Sadly, he went downhill most of the time.
He didn’t appeal to girls very much (only the ones with frizzy hair and glasses, sorry Amanda), and his way of telling “your hot” to them was by either eating a crayon or stuffing runts up his nose. Again, sorry Amanda.
But he had to stop saying sorry to Amanda. She, no doubt, was the only one that looked at him in a “lets have sex” way, and it was only so she could score a little more cash. This was the time where Ray ran away from her—avoiding her every glance.
Upon arriving the office door, he gave a little ‘knickity knack’ on the wood (he and My Job Blows have special calls they did to each other). And then not even waiting for an answer, he twisted the knob and stepped into the room—only to find My Job Blows not alone.
There was another boy there, his own age Ray presumed, and he (take this from Ray, subjective judgment on appearance, as if he would know any better) found that the boy had the greasiest hair in the world. What made it worse was that it was long, mid neck length—jet black.
Ray’s eyes settled on Greasy, noticing that the boy talked to him. His lips snaked into a smirk again, though he had to hide it. He felt like replying ‘Thanks. Nice hair, what shampoo do you use?’, but My Job Blows managed to give him a firm look.
He knew Ray too well.
Instead, he gave a nod towards the other boy. “Thanks.” He replied, and without permission, sat down beside on a different chair with Greasy. Somehow he thought that this visit with My Job Blows was going to be extra fun.
And not just because Greasy was here.