Author's note: Zomg I'm so pissed. I can't find my jump drive. It has EVERYTHING I've ever written on it. EVERYTHING. And I most likely lost it at school, which means the odds that I'll get it back are pretty cosmic. So I have no idea where I left off typing this, but fortunately the whole thing is handwritten. I'm also upset because I lost TYTED, but fortunately I have most of what was completely done. I'm very thankful for that. I didn't lose much, in the end.
I'm still mad, though.
Ahoy Insanity:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
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3: Sleeping During School Hours
Trevor wasn’t in school on Monday.
Carolina could have thrown a party. One less of her tormentors meant that she had one more class period of peace, even if it was just Hanesworth’s.
It wasn’t until third period History, though, that Carolina realized why. It was Homecoming week -- the five days of pure hell where the football dunderheads and school spirit! got all of the attention. Trevor’s girlfriend was a cheerleader -- therefore excused from her classes to run amok on campus and “pep up” the classes.
In Trevor’s case, a week full of extra time to bang his girlfriend behind the bleachers.
It was only a matter of time before she gets pregnant, Carolina mused from her customary seat in the back of the room, surrounded by giggling freshmen girls, decked out in their pyjamas -- the theme of the day. Pyjama Day. Each day was a different theme for school spirit, although how pyjamas promoted school spirit, Carolina would never know.
She really just wanted to puke.
Mrs. Thorne, who taught Carolina’s history class, was one of her favourite teachers -- not in the sense that she was kind or whatnot (she had a short temper and smelled of fish constantly), but in the sense that she was one of the rare teachers who left Carolina alone. And she could count on one hand the teachers who didn’t try to force her to “participate.”
Mrs. Thorne took attendance and took up her usual position at the front of the room. Today’s subject was the French Revolution. There was a teacher a few doors down the hall who would wear a funny paper hat while talking about Napoleon. Carolina had a brief debate -- suffer through a bland teacher who generally left her alone, or suffer through a teacher who would wear a funny hat for a few days and would refuse to leaver her alone.
Carolina barely had time to consider her options before the classroom door opened. As reliable as clockwork, everybody’s head turned to see what Something Interesting would dare interrupt the enthralling lesson that ninety-five percent of the class was ignoring.
The words “new kid” spread like a whispered wildfire through the classroom. Carolina took one look at him and decided she didn’t like him. Long black hair hiding half of his face, a depressed expression, not to mention highly attractive. No doubt with a monster of an ego and a complete whiner. And a lack of concern for others, but those were nuances.
The girls surrounding Carolina giggled in that sickening way they had. Two of them -- one directly to Carolina’s right and the other in front of that girl -- put their heads together for a mad whispering session behind their hands. Carolina entertained herself momentarily by narrating their conversation in her head.
Hey, look at that cute new kid who just walked in. You think he has a girlfriend?
He’s new, probably not. He’s so darn cute, I think I want him as my boyfriend. Imagine what Cynthia would say when she saw him on my arm, the little slut.
Think he would mind having two girlfriends?
They giggled. Carolina smirked. What timing.
Let’s try and get his attention. Come on, tomorrow we can dress like sluts. You know, tight shirts, low-riding jeans, everything you can think of. Wear it.
Yeah, no boy can resist these racks.
Let’s have a bit of a contest, shall we? Whoever he fucks first wins.
It might not have been word for word, but it was probably the truth of what they were saying.
Carolina glanced left and nearly jumped six feet in the air, into the corkboard ceiling, when she saw that said new kid had been assigned the seat next to her.
The whores on Carolina’s right giggled and batted their eyelashes at him. Carolina felt nauseous.
“Hi. I’m Ronald,” he said to Carolina.
She just stared at him.
“Um, I don’t bite, pretty thing,” he said, grinning in what Carolina assumed was supposed to be a suave manner, but really just made him look stupid. She snorted.
Oh, he’s hitting on me. How cute, she thought bitterly. She pulled out her trusty notebook and started a fresh page of doodles. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, her face mostly shielded by her long brown hair. He looked slightly confused, as if a girl had never shunned him before, but he was a determined little bugger, because he reached out and tapped her on the shoulder.
“Hey, why are you ignoring me? I may be new, but I’m not poisonous or anything like that. I mean, I know new kids aren’t, like, cool to talk to or whatever, but… hey, are you even listening to me?”
Carolina just glared at him from behind her curtain of hair, but the girl on her right leaned over, talking behind Carolina’s back -- literally.
“Hey, Ronald is it? You don’t want to talk to her, she’s stupid and nobody likes her. If you want to have friends here, you’ll talk to me. My name is Brenna. This is my friend Joyce.”
Ronald nodded politely at the girls. They giggled yet again, and Carolina felt her stomach heave slightly.
“Thank you for your kind advice, ladies,” he said.
Carolina felt her heart sinking and did a double take at herself. Had she really been subconsciously hoping that this egotistical punk would have liked her?
She really needed to get a reality check.
Without anything better to occupy her mind, she tuned back into the conversation going on behind her.
“So why is this girl so unpopular? Does she have a name?” Ronald was saying.
“She’s stupid, and I dunno her name. She’s got some sort of speech impediment or something. I’ve never heard her talk, but I’ve talked to people who have, and they say it’s really bad. So no one talks to her ‘cause she can’t talk back.”
Carolina wanted to smack the girl. It wasn’t her information to share. But something held her back, even as her hand twitched longingly. There really was no other way for him to know -- another moral debate.
Ronald blinked at Brenna as Carolina had a civil war take place in her mind.
“Has anyone ever tried to get to know her?” he asked. Carolina blinked. Was he… no. He couldn’t be. She wasn’t going to get her hopes up like that.
Brenna wrinkled her nose.
“I dunno. Like it matters anyway. She’s probably a bitch, she never like, makes eye contact or anything. But really, enough about her. What about you? Where’d you move from? Do you have a girlfriend?”
Carolina was briefly amused at the apparent accuracy of the way she had imagined Brenna and Joyce’s whispered conversation, but she remembered that she was angry and banished the thought.
They do realise that I’m sitting right here, don’t they? she wondered to herself. As if he was listening to her thoughts, Ronald said, “You do realise she’s right there, don’t you? Unless she’s deaf too, I think you might be hurting her feelings. And I don’t think I want to… how did you phrase it? Talk to you? You know, I think I’d rather talk to her, even if it is a one-way thing. At least she won’t be horribly rude and judgmental.”
Carolina froze. Had he actually… stood up for her? She nearly dropped her pencil in shock. No one had ever done that for her before… at least, not that she could remember.
Brenna and Joyce looked horrified. They turned away, scooted their desks to the right a little, and hunched together again, whispering madly.
Ronald shot them a dirty glance before looking at Carolina, who by now had gotten the sense to look up and stare in wonder at him.
“So… uh… hi.”
Carolina couldn’t help but let out a derisive snort of laughter at how awkward his statement was, and after such a lovely monologue, too.
Ronald grinned sheepishly. “So, uh, what’s your name? You can just write it down, if that’s easier for you.”
Feeling like she was having an out-of-body experience, Carolina tore a clean page out of her notebook and wrote Carolina Smith on it. She showed it to Ronald, whose grin widened.
“Hi Carolina. I’m obviously Ronald, Ronald Lynch. I just moved here from New Mexico.”
Carolina blinked at him. On the paper, she wrote That’s a long way away. Why such a big jump? Your dad change jobs or something?
She felt horrified as she watched his expression turn from a look of awkward happiness to a look of equally awkward discomfort.
Oh no, I’m going to scare him away, after all that he’s done today for me. I’m gonna scare off the one potential friend I’ve had in years, oh fucking hell this isn’t good, she thought in a rising panic.
“My… uh, my mother thought it’d be a nice… a nice change,” he lied lamely.
He glanced around the room as if casting about for something to change the subject with.
“So… why is everyone dressed in their pyjamas? Do we get like, a nap time or something? Sleeping during school hours? Hot dog, if you ask me.”
It’s Homecoming Week, Carolina scrawled. You know, a different theme every day. Today’s Pyjama Day. Some teachers give out extra credit if you dress up.
“Oh” was all he said after reading Carolina’s hasty message. She withdrew the paper and started writing a slightly longer message. He read it aloud as she handed it to him.
“Thanks for what you did earlier. It’s been a long time since someone has been nice to me. Do you have lunch next or after another class?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a white, crinkled piece of paper. Unfolding it, he said, “I have it… period after next. Hey, where’s this room at?” He held up his schedule, indicating his next classroom number.
Portables down by the football field. Follow the small river of people, you’ll find it.
“Thanks,” he said as the bell rang and a mad dash for the exit occurred.
I have the same lunch as you. Come find me and we’ll talk more, Carolina expressed, except this time, she didn’t write it.
Out of sheer habit and a sudden panic to get to her next class (Spanish), she had reverted to sign language. She used it at home with her family so that they could communicate. Her dad and brother had learned it for that very reason. She often forgot that not everyone understood it.
But to her utter amazement, Ronald nodded as he stood up to leave the room.
“Okay, see you there.”
He left, leaving Carolina gobsmacked.
