FicWad

"Hey, those are nice legs. When do they open?"

I sat completely still and focused on my MP3 player's tiny square screen, making sure it was on. Then I jabbed my finger to the VOLUME button. And held it.

The guy resisted a smile and the kids around him snickered again. He'd been cracking the same cheesy pickup lines ever since he'd plopped down on my seat and nearly crushed my hand, which had been resting there so 'carelessly'.

I stared mildly out the window and hoped he could tell from the metallic banging of Taking Back Sunday seeping through my earphones he had no hope of being heard, even with a bullhorn and a microphone.

I felt someone's hot breath grazing my ear and suddenly my earbud had been yanked out, threatening to take my ear with it. I didn't need to turn my head to know who it was.

"Is there a mirror in your pants? Because I could so see myself in-"

SMACK.

I turned my head, confused, and looked around.
My fist was inches from his face. He was cross-eyed staring at it, seconds from breaking his nose.

I grit my teeth and whirled in my seat, preparing to chew whoever it was out.

Another guy.

This one had shaggy, tangled hair in a wild shade of red; he leaned over the seat with a steady-fast hold on my wrist. And he was glaring in such a skilled way at the douche bag sitting across from me, I knew this wasn't uncommon.

"Gary, pizz off." He said almost lazily, locking steely eyes with the kid. The others around pretended to be mildly interested in the scene, but the anticipation in the air was a dead giveaway.

Gary's face went still for a moment; then he assumed what he obviously hoped was a nonchalant gaze and flipped the bird to the other one behind me hastily. All the same, he moved his sorry ass out of my space, clutching his bookbag, and scooted off to the middle section of the bus to terrorize more people.

I didn't say a word to Gary-Eater, nor did I look at him again. I shook my hand free irritably from his, staring at the knee of my black jeans, and was about to slam my bag down on the vacancy to ward off newcomers when Gary-Eater slid himself smoothly across the cheap vinyl.

"Hey," He said, extending his hand again, this time in friendly exchange. "Sorry. He picks on all the new kids. Just need to--"--he paused a moment, as if searching for the right words--
"--to keep them in line. I'm Andy. Call me what you like; I get a lot of that."

"I didn't need help." I pulled my hoodie up and over my eyes and turned to the window with my bag propped on my knees and my head mashed against my bag.

"Well, did you want to break his nose?"

I realized when I could still hear him I was missing an earbud. I raised my head and searched the front of my hoodie, using this opportunity to answer him.

"Yes."

"On your first day and all?" He asked with a tiny smile.

I looked at him with my face set hard. "What're you--stalking me--"

"Looking for this?" He twirled the earbud close to his face and grinned. He had several pierecings, including one shining in the middle of his chin.

"No." I snatched it back and shoved it a little too hard in my ear, trying to collapse into my own self again.
This time he let me.

A few minutes later, I felt the bus slow and screech abruptly to a stop. I grabbed my bag, stuffed my MP3 out of sight, and prepared to move quickly. I wanted to find someplace to hide out where I wouldn't be bothered--at least until first hour.

Andy was right in front of me when I stepped off, jostled by other kids anxious to meet their friends and holdup from other buses unloading their occupants.

He walked barley three steps and then turned around right in the thong of busflow and stepped haltingly in front of me, arms crossed over a Misfits concert shirt.

"Wanna come hang out with me and my guys? I mean, it being your virgin experience to--"

I pushed past him with an impatient sigh.



Things didn't seem to be getting any better by seventh hour, last hour of the day. I sat in the very back of the class with my feet propped on the book gate under the chair before me and was staring at the scarred desk with my arms crossed, hoping I looked intimidating enough to be left alone.


Fuck you alllll


It stared up at me from where it was scrawled on the corner of the desk and I found myself tracing the black stone of my ring along it.

"Marquee? Is there a Sabrina Marquee here?"

The sub was standing timidly near the board, as if she thought that one of the kids that had actually made it into a senior Civics class would leap up without warning and start gnawing her over-tanned leg.

I looked up, realizing she was talking to me. I shook back my bangs and stared defiantly back at her.

"Er, here."

"Here? Oh-yes-here." She fumbled with her attendance book and dropped a pen on the floor. She bent at once, and her knee-length skirt rode up to show muscular legs that were somewhat disturbing. The class tithered.

"Here." She declared with her pencap between her teeth, marking my name off. She promptly dropped it again.

Another group tither, this time accompanied with hushed snickers as she bent and her obtrusive tan line was featured almost blindingly on a sliver of skin near her neck.

"Nice tan." Someone coughed.

The sub went enormously crimson; she'd heard, and finished the attendance in short huffs of breath.

"Sabrina, you'll need to speak with Mrs. Kitzer when she comes back from her sick day. I understand you're-uh-new and um..."

Her voice trailed weakly away. "...Yes." She was obviously struggling to get her thread back.

Her face burst into another wave of flush and she turned her attention to the VCR and small TV mounted in the corner of the room.

"You have a video scheduled today on Business in our society today. You are to take at least a two pages of notes and turn them into tomorrow for a class grade. No-no talking." She had braved an order to us and exhaled a deep breath as she disappeared behind her desk with her head down.

The students snapped into unisoned action as someone cut the lights. A few had unclipped paper and pen from their binders but most turned in their seats to begin the inevitable Ignoring of The Sub.

I was in between. I dug a notepad from my shoulder bag and without delay began a doodle in the corner.

Several dirty blond lines fell across my scribbles, making me notice the waterfall of hair across the top of my desk and I raised my eyes slowly.

The girl turned in her seat and shook out her hair. "Sorry." She gave a apologetic smile and leaned forward in her seat, dragging her hair with her.

Her bright smile returned as the lead of my pencil snapped in two and I was forced to sponge one of hers.

"I'm Christie." She said, turning permanently around in her chair. "Homework?"

I slapped my hand automatically over the first few lines of my notebook when I noticed her clear brown eyes ravanging my paper and felt my cheeks heat.

"Not really."

"New here? I haven't seen you around before." Christie went on.

"Yeah." I mumbled. I flattened my hand wider over the lined pages, covering more area.

Christie seemed a bit miffed. She weaved her eyebrows and turned around once more.

The sub dropped her pen again. This time when she leaned she showed off a bra that suggested she was a bit too ambitious.

I let out a tiny snicker that caused Christie to twist far enough in her seat to show me the corners of her mouth curling up.

"A-cup."



Autopilot carried me halfway to the park that evening.
I was turning the corner on the street when at last realized where I was going...and who was probably going to be waiting for me.

I grabbed the stop sign as I went by and curled my fingers around it, trying to tell my feet to stop. Ha. Ironic.

I plopped down on the curb and massaged my forefinger where it'd had been stuck unforgivingly by a splinter on the sign. For a moment I wondered how odd it was that the stop sign could even have a splinter, then reminded myself I wasn't in suburbia anymore.

In suburbia, splinters were forbidden.

Here, they were expected.

My feet started walking again. They'd apparently decided for me I wasn't going to let some anorexic little kid stand in my way.

Hell, if wanted to swing on the kiddie swings, or slide down a ramp that could barley hold my weight, or even teeter-totter when there was no one to totter, I would.

I stopped using my eyes and let my feet control me.


I opened them warily when my Converse hit the coarse excuse for grass instead of the cracked pavement.

The park was, thank God, empty. The swings swayed lightly in a breeze and the metal teeter-totter unbalanced itself with a thud into the hollow created by so many little feet. The Merry-go-round was caught by the fingers of the wind and twirled on its mount.

Empty.

I grabbed the chain of a swing as it creaked in the wind and wrapped it around my wrist. The rusty chain dug into my knuckles until it drew blood. For some reason, I couldn't feel it. I eased into the swing and let the chain uncoil from my fist.

I'm not sure how long I sat there, my feet suspended a few inches from the dirt, watching the stubbly grass bend and twist in the wind.

When the sun was eaten alive by the rooftops and dark trees in the distance I decided it was time to go back to the real world.

"You're bleeding blood," said a voice all of a sudden.

I twisted in my swing and looked down instinctively. It was Shorty, walking slowly to the pole that held up a corner of the swing set. He stood by it and looked at my hand.

The knot in my stomach that had been sitting with me all day returned from where I'd left it on the bus. It tightened, then loosened its grip suddenly.

"Oh-yeah." I looked down. The blood had dried in runnels down my fingers and I wiped at it with my thumb.

"Doesn't it hurt?" Hayden said. He looked listlessly at the swing and for the first time I saw a dull flicker behind his pupils.
His eyes focused on the permanent crimson stain on the chain link.

"Kid, are you okay?" I said nervously, using my feet to twist my entire swing around. He tottered over and put his hands on my knees and tried to boost himself up.

"You want up?" I took my hands out of my hoodie pocket and put them on the chains. "There's already someone kinda in this one."

Hayden shook his head and tried to get up again.
I blew out, lifting him up into my lap and he scooted himself in and put his tiny palms over the backs of my hands. I leaned forward and tried to look him in the face.
"Wassamatter, kid, why aren't you all...hyper? And clingy? Is something wrong?"

Hayden shook his head gently. "No."

"Hayden! Hayden!"

We both looked up at the same time.

A silhouette emerged quickly from the shadows of the street and came under the soft orange glow circle supplied by the park's sole overhead light.

I recognized Lump only by the way his hat was mashed down over his hair, this one a Broncs cap. He slowed to a trot and then stopped, panting slightly.

"Dammit, Hayden, didn't I tell you to stay in the house?!" He asked furiously, pulling up his jeans as he came closer. Then he saw what the swing was supporting--and who was supporting Hayden.

I stood quickly and blushed as I put my hands under Hayden's twig-like arms and held him out. Hayden held his arms straight out forward.

"Patrick!"

"Is this--erm--yours?" I said, extending the kid.

Patrick's eyes threatened to engulf the part of his face I could see as he pulled his hat down with one hand as if to hide them from me, and let his little brother wrap his arms around his neck.
His face softened when Hayden clung to him and he shifted Hayden to his other arm.

"Hi." My voice sounded foregin in my own ears, ringing in the silence like something that wasn't quite in it's place.

Hayden buried his face in Patrick's neck and almost skewed his hat off. He yanked the brim back down with his other hand and glanced nervously at me.

I considered making a break for it, considering the circumstances of our last meeting, but as I started to slide my left foot back he spoke again.

"Sorry, he kinda got out." Patrick assured, like that made everything easier, swirling his dusty navy New Balance in the dirt awkwardly.

"Yeah, I've noticed." I said, knowing my tone was shift with uncomfort, shoving my hands back into their customary home, my hoodie pocket, hiding my scarred knucled from his conscience. It was bad enough if he thought I was constantly hanging around his younger brother, worse if he knew what I really was, which the sight of blood usually predetermines the worst.

I don't know if both he and I were deciding to choose this moment in time to contemplate--or if his tongue had just gotten tied, kind of like the one I was trying to hide.

Twisted, is more like it.

"Mehfg."

I crooked my neck and set my shoulders back defensivley. "Huh?"

His face lit up like a Christmas tree; he was obviously wondering what his tongue had been trying on it's own. "Nothing."

Ungh. Silence. Just what we needed. And this wasn't your everyday silence, it was defined in only one word:

Hell.

"Bye lady." Hayden's muffled voice whispered abruptly from Patrick's neck. That seemed to be a cue for time to start moving again.

Patrick adjusted his hat for the sake of occupying himself and started to back away.

"See-see ya around, I guess."

I swallowed a bit belatedly and backed away as well, to even up the score.

"See ya."

---
author's note:
As of June 26 2008:
More chapters on the way. Just please try to be patient, and don't give up on this Fic just yet. If I, the Ficwad Story Abortionist, is asking you not to give up on it, then you know you probabaly should. Please continue to show support so that this story can actually (hypothetically) get its full 9 months in the oven.
Ahem.