Finally! I upload a Whistle! fic. This one's slightly AU. Instead of taking place in Japan, this takes place in Toronto because I have a sudden infatuation with Canada. More will be explained in later chapters (hopefully). Leave a review please.
Disclaimer: Own Whistle I do not. If I did, I wouldn't be posting fan fiction about it on the net. It would just be....fiction. Evangeline/Rei is mine, though. Steal her and I will find you and plant a horse head in your bed on Christmas Eve. Don't think I won't!
Senseless
Caught in the Act
I don't know why I noticed her. At first glance she didn't seem like anything special, aside from being a little short. Light brown hair, thick rimmed glasses. Beat up jeans and scruffy tennis shoes. Not much unlike other girls our age. The only thing was that she was so quiet. So deathly quiet. I could barely hear her breathe.
We both sat in the guidance office, me twiddling my thumbs, her scanning the room constantly. It made me nervous because she acted like she was expecting something to happen. A fight or something. While on the lookout for any bit of commotion she plucked at the loose threads of her jeans. Once or twice I caught eye contact with her. Clear, piercing green – a pretty color for her. Her skin was pale and she wore long sleeves even though it was early September. Abuse? Cutting herself? Just ran out of clean clothes? Who knows. It's not like it's my business anyway.
"Evangeline, Mr. Ballantine will see you now," Ms. O'Brien announces. Hm. We have the same counselor.
Taking one last nervous sweep around the office, Evangeline stands up and hesitantly walks into Ballantine's office. I can hear the low murmur of his voice through the heavy wood door, but when he pauses to let Evangeline speak, there's nothing but silence. I can only hear the scratchy transmission of the hand radios and the taka-taka-taka of Ms. O's keyboard. My English teacher, Ms. Tartaglia, passes by, carrying a stack of papers fresh from the printer, flouncing in her dangerously short "business" skirt. Right by me. Close enough for me to catch a whiff of her perfume and very nearly sneak a peek.
"Hello, Tatsuya. How are you?" She offers me a friendly smile, and I grin back stupidly.
"I'm fine, Ms. Tartaglia." I'm probably drooling. In fact, I know I am. But this woman is like a goddess among teachers. "And you?"
"I'm lovely. Thank you for asking. What are you in here for?"
"I'm waiting on my new schedule," I answer, still grinning. In the back of my mind, though, I'm hoping I don't make a fool out of myself by getting stiff in the guidance office.
"Oh. Hopefully you'll still be in my English class." Another brilliant smile. My mouth dries up. My fingers are restless. My eyes are dying to look down at her legs again. Perfectly smooth. Perfectly shaped. God knows I'd love to strip her down to nothing and then –
"Tatsuya, Mr. Ballantine will see you now," Ms. O's irritated squawk shatters my fantasy before it has a chance to start. I stand up, and Rei brushes past me silently. It was less than a second, but her eyes met mine, cold lime green, and I felt like she could read every scattered and disconnected thought in my mind. Every image of Ms. Tartaglia in various states of undress, practically giving herself to me. All the lust that had bottled up inside of me subsided and was replaced by guilt.
You're just like the rest of the pretty boys, aren't you?
With my schedule rectified so that I wasn't in all honors classes (I dropped world history), I went to lunch, then English. Once again Ms. Tartaglia flashed me a friendly smile, making me feel special. To my surprise, when I sit down, I realize that Evangeline is in this very class, a few seats down from me. She was just always so silent. I never heard her talk. Ever.
"Alright, class." Ms. Tartaglia quickly catches the class's attention when the bell rings, and the few stragglers shuffle to their seats. "I believe you have poems due today. Please take them out." Picking up her grade book, Ms. Tartaglia circles the room, marking down who had the poem and who didn't. My neatly typed copy sits on top of my books for all to see, but it doesn't quite invoke the reaction from my teacher that I thought it would. Rather than praise me, she just looks over it, nods, and writes down my completion points in her book, leaving me dejected and staring at her perfectly round butt. Does she know what she's doing to every guy in this class? To me? All I can think about is how much I'd love it if just a few more buttons on her blouse were undone. I wouldn't mind taking the liberty of undoing them myself – maybe unbuttoning her shirt all the way. Why not? I'm sure she wouldn't mind. In fact, she might even egg me on, leading me into a kiss. A french kiss at that. My hands gravitate toward her ass and slowly creep up her skirt, preparing to pull down her panties just to find that she isn't wearing any!
"Tatsuya..." Her voice is barely above a dangerous whisper. I kiss her again, but she's resisting me.
"Tatsuya!"
I must have jumped at least an inch or two out of my chair. The whole class is staring at me, Shige snickering behind his notebook. I look at Evangeline, and her face is nearly emotionless. I look at Ms. Tartaglia, and she looks rather annoyed.
"I'm sure you'd like to read your poem to the class, wouldn't you?" If it wasn't so hard for me to deny her, I'd have said no, but she put me on the spot. Sheepishly, I walk up to the front of the class with my sheet in hand. She leans against the edge of her desk and nods at me. Clearing my throat, I look down at my printed page and read. It's nothing special, really. Just some lyrics I threw together a while ago, actually. Only Shige knows this melody-less song. I was kind of thinking about Ms. Tartaglia when I wrote it. When I finish, the class claps and I return to my seat, slightly red. Normally, reading something aloud to the class isn't embarrassing, but considering I just made an ass out of myself and this actually has some personal meaning to me, I think it's understandable. When Ms. Tartaglia isn't looking, Shige shows me a crude drawing he scribbled into his notebook of me and Ms. T...sitting in a tree. It's my turn to flip him the bird, and Ms. Tartaglia calls on more people to read their poems aloud. A lot of them suck.
"Rei, please read your poem to the class."
Evangeline stands up, flipping to a page in her notebook that's covered in lines of text and crossed out sections. The entire class is silent as she takes her time looking over the page before walking up towards the whiteboard.
Someone tell me who I am, 'cause I don't think I know
Someone tell me who I am and where I ought to go
I've been waiting a long time for you to come along
I've been waiting a long time to hear you play that same old song
That same old song on your guitarNo matter if you're near or far
I hear it
I hear it
I feel it
I feel it
I want it
I want you to come and take me away
I want it
I want to know that you're really here to stay
'Cause if you leave one more time
I just might die
I just might die
I'm giving my all to you
Don't let me go
Don't let me go
If you can hear my shattered screams
Let me know
Just let me know
The class applauds as a whole, Evangeline/Rei takes her seat, and Ms. Tartaglia stands behind her podium, getting ready to lecture us on the grammatical half of the day's lesson. Rei returns to being her invisible self. The only difference is that this time I notice her.
After school I wait for Shige by his locker. We usually meet up before soccer practice and he gets homework assignments from me. While I'm waiting, I see Rei again. Her hair and shoulders are soaked, and she looks ready to cry. Cautiously, I approach her and gently touch her shoulder.
"Are you okay?" It's obvious that she's not, but there's no harm in asking.
If she answered me, I couldn't hear her because Shige shouted at me from down the hallway at that very moment, and his voice overpowers hers any day. I turn around and Rei escapes me, breaking out into a sprint. I want to chase after her and find out what happened, but Shige drags me to his locker and bullies the homework assignments out of me.
So you're not blind like everyone else. You see me. But can you hear me? Can you hear all the fucked up thoughts inside my head?
For a second I thought I heard her softspoken voice say that to me, but it must be my imagination.