A/N: Before the story begins, I have a bit of a disclaimer: this is one of the dreaded "Characters From _ In High School" stories.
Before you close the tab, let me explain a few things. I knew when I started writing this that I'd have a hard time getting past the reputation this type of story has gained. For the most part, these types of stories consist of hordes of self-inserts, legions of Mary Sues, and a plague of Bad Grammar. These are all things that are terrible, which is why (at this point in time) I have no OCs, my self-insert lives halfway around the world and never shows up in the story, and...well...bad grammar is purely incidental, since I don't have a beta. I want to write this type of story, and I don't want to fall back on the idea that a fanfic cliche excuses bad writing.
So, please, take a risk. Read this first chapter at least. If you hate it, and you feel I have ruined my fanfiction innocence, then review and tell me never to speak of this story again. But if you think it's not half bad, and I avoid the traps that befall most fanfic authors, let me know.
When the announcement is made, I turn my head to look at the new arrival, as does most of the school. She's fairly pretty - black hair, exotic features - and just when I'm set to dismiss her as just another new student, I hear the phrase "selective mutism" and my attention is immediately drawn back.
She moves through the cafeteria, looking for a place to sit, when Rick approaches her. He's one of the popular football players at Aperture Junior College; I dated him for a few weeks. When he tried to grope me, I soldered his braces to the wall. It marked the end of our relationship, and when he finally managed to get free, word got around that I was a crazy bitch.
Which I am, of course.
"Hey, there," Rick says. The new girl looks at him questioningly. "I'm Rick. You're gonna want to sit with me and my friends."
The girl looks at his table, which is filled with strapping football players and cheerleaders who have breasts larger than their brains. She tries to move past him.
"What's wrong?" Rick asks, trying to block her way. The girl rolls her eyes and shoves him to the side. One corner of my mouth twitches in appreciation.
"She's hot," comments Pendleton. He still has a forkful of spaghetti halfway to his mouth, ignored in favor of watching the new girl.
I sigh in irritation and kick him under the table. "Moron. Just because she doesn't talk doesn't mean she can't hear perfectly well."
I ignore Pendleton's muttered "I am not a moron," and watch as the new girl continues walking through the cafeteria. Her gaze lands at my table, and my burgeoning appreciation for her nose-dives when she makes her way in my direction.
"She's coming this way," Pendleton says excitedly, and I kick him again. It's obvious that she's going to try to sit by me, and the last thing I need is someone else who thinks that I'm their "friend."
Please don't sit down, I think repeatedly, please walk by.
She sits down at my table, of course.
"You're Michelle, right?" asks Pendleton, as soon as she's halfway into her seat. He doesn't get an answer, of course, and continues anyway. "I'm Pendleton, and these are my friends Doug and Gladys."
"We're not friends," I say. I've tried saying it before, and I doubt he'll listen this time, but hopefully Michelle will get the message and go away. "You're a moron who insists on occupying space near me."
I don't even bother talking about Doug, who's currently mixing whispering and humming into an off-key song that not even a mother could love. He's eating with one hand, and holding a plush cube in the other. Doug's a paranoid shit, who only sticks around me for Pendleton's sake. I scare a lot of people – I'm the crazy bitch of Aperture Junior College, after all – and Doug's more scared of me than most, which says a lot about how much he likes Pendleton.
I once again ignore Pendleton's denials and turn back to Michelle, who's doing nothing but looking at me. I decide to make myself clear. "And you're just a mute lunatic. So go away."
She doesn't budge, just smiles and starts eating, and I groan, turning to Pendleton.
"Maybe she really is deaf," I tell him, and he nods.
"She's hot, though," he says, and I kick him again.
The girl follows me when I leave the cafeteria, like she's a duckling following its mother. I get pretty frustrated when she follows me down two flights of stairs and through seven different corridors, and eventually turn.
"Do you have nothing better to do than follow me around? Because I have actual classes to go to - you know, since I'm a normal person who can talk."
Michelle stands there. I'm impressed despite myself - not many people are willing to put up with my verbal abuse. It doesn't mean I like her at all, though. Definitely not. Being better than worthless trash isn't very impressive, after all.
"Maybe you should find some friends to hang out with. Oh, right. You don't have any."
She still doesn't leave.
I'd enjoy her tenacity were it directed elsewhere. As it stands, it's simply annoying. There's no way I like the fact that she can stand up to me. I don't like anyone.
"Did your parents abandon you? Do you expect me to take care of you?" I ask. "Because I won't. I don't care about you. I don't even like you."
She doesn't move.
"Did you know that birds feed their children their own vomit? I wouldn't even do that for you if you were a bird. I would shove you out of my nest and laugh as you were eaten by wolves. So go away."
The minute-bell rings, and I give up, turning around and stalking off towards my next class, ignoring the shadow I've obtained.
Did I say "give up?" I meant "try a different approach." I'm not about to let some mute lunatic beat me in anything, after all. But the instructor should be able to tell Michelle where she needs to go, and I'll finally be free of her unwanted presence.
Plus, this next class is Science. And as much as I may hate other people, science is the best thing I've ever studied.
The science teacher is Cave Johnson, a thin man with long sideburns and who uses his entire body to talk when he gets excited about his subject. He stalks the front of the room when he lectures, rarely using the whiteboard or the projector, preferring to let his speech stand on its own. Somehow it's more memorable than any visual aids other teachers love to use.
Unfortunately, he makes no comment when the new girl sits in the front row.
"The administrators told me that the classroom was not a place to do experiments," he begins. "Which gave me an idea: do some more experiments in the classroom!"
He motions to a lit Bunsen burner on his desk, and a bowl of something next to it. A straw sticks out of the bowl.
"I've been fabricating this for a few weeks, and I think it's ready to show you. I'm pretty sure the reaction's stabilized. If it hasn't…you'll know. Especially you in the front row."
He sucks through the straw to bring the powder into it, and then rotates it until it's pointing at the flames. He makes an exaggerated inhalation through his nose, and then jerks forwards without warning. Half the class jumps, and the other laughs. Except for Michelle – who's just sitting there, smiling.
Then, without warning, he blows through the straw. The powder flows through the flame, ignites, and then scatters, forming a cloud of flame in front of the straw.
Michelle doesn't bat an eye even as the flames come within a foot of her face. Despite myself, I'm impressed by her stoicism in the face of our science teacher's makeshift flamethrower.
"Alright, you've got your labs set up in the back. Make sure you don't get this stuff in your mouth. Not entirely sure why, but if you can't get the taste of feces out of your mouth, I warned you."
Usually I work alone during science. There are an odd number of students, and nobody wants to partner with the crazy bitch. Unfortunately, Michelle's just become my new lab partner. I let her have the straw first. Then, when she messes up, I can make sure I don't make the same mistake.
She doesn't inhale too much, which is mildly disappointing. Even if I'm pretty sure Mr. Johnson was kidding about the powder tasting like feces, it's probably not the best thing to have in your mouth. She turns to the Bunsen burner and exhales sharply. The flames shoot from the straw, and get inches away from the back of our nearest neighbor before dissipating.
"Hey!" the neighbor shouts, and I can hardly keep the grin off my face when I see that Michelle has already rolled the straw over to me, neatly diverting the blame. I won't get in trouble, of course, but the deviousness is still very much appreciated.
I might have misjudged the rest of the human race.
A/N 2: Pendleton was one of Valve's first-draft names for Wheatley, by the way. Hopefully this fic isn't as awful as most of the others I've had the misfortune of reading.