Double Physics on a Friday afternoon- disgusting!
If you'd asked me a few minutes ago, I would have said that there couldn't be anything worse- two hours of sitting slumped in a stuffy room filled with obnoxious, braindead teenagers while I attempted to NOT look too bored…but when there's a knock at the door, and it opens, and I see my mother outside- I mentally kick myself, because life can always get worse.
When a parent, particularly one of mine, shows up unexpectedly, it generally means one of two things: either someone close to you has died, or you're in serious trouble. My immediate reaction to this unexpected situation: Well, I couldn't be in trouble, being the goody-two-shoes I am, so…please don't let anyone be dead!
I think of Dad, my brothers and sisters, my Aunt Kim, all my cousins- it could be anyone. Alive and well this morning. Now stiff and cold, blood pooling at the backs of arms, thighs, buttocks. Eyes open and glassy.
Not that I've ever seen anyone dead. I haven't. Can you imagine someone like me even going near a dead body? Ugh, I can't imagine anything worse. But my Biology teacher told me once- what happens to a body once the heart stops beating, I mean. How the…ugh, do I really have to think about this? Please don't let anyone be dead! Please don't let anyone be dead! Plea-
Then I see my mother's face, white with rage, and I knew she was here to punish, not comfort. My heart sinks. Who's on the receiving end of her rage? Not me, surely…
I exhale noisily and roll my eyes. "Somebody's going to die," I murmur.
XxX
The principal's office. It turns out that I'm not in trouble, which doesn't surprise me in the slightest. Why would I, Noah Andrews, be in trouble? I admit that while I have a slight reputation around the school as a 'Trashmouth', I am never the instigator of any fights. It's like instinct, you know? I see an opportunity, and I open my mouth, and…well, the rest is history. I've been beaten up enough times to know that it's probably in my best interest to shut up occasionally, but I'm like a recovering drug addict. Sometimes I can't help myself.
But I can at least say that I have never been the instigator in such fights. Not intentionally, anyway, and who would the teachers rather believe? A dimwit, or me?
Mom's raving about Chris Maclean. Of course she is. He's an idiot. A sick, twisted man with a warped- VERY warped- sense of humour. Forget Tobin Bell, they should have just gotten Chris to play Jigsaw instead. They more or less did the same thing- torture people, primarily teenagers, and sit back and laugh their asses off. But I'm rambling- I tend to do that-, so back to the situation at hand:
Mom's like me. Or, as I should say, I look very much like her. Deeply tanned skin, dark hair and eyes. All eight of my siblings are just the same. But that's as far as resemblance goes in my family; my siblings prefer to lounge around in jeans and ripped t-shirts, doing whatever they can to keep their heads above water. It's this reason why I despise my family so. My brothers and sisters weren't stupid by any means- but they like to pretend to be so, and this irritates me to no end. Then again, they weren't labelled a 'child prodigy', as I was, so I suppose they can afford to be absolute slobs.
Being somewhat more intelligent than the average teenager, I took all the advanced classes at school, and would be on my way to college right now if I hadn't taken the time off for Total Drama Island, or World Tour. My scores easily match those in their final year of college, but I've missed too much of school to really go anywhere. I might even have to repeat a year. Since my parents tested my IQ at the age of five (which, by the way, is easily around the 170 mark), they've been encouraging me to do well at school. They only let me go on Total Drama because of the possibility of winning a million dollars, with which I could safely secure myself a place at Harvard. Well, that was their plan, anyway. But I had expectations to meet, and my scores meant everything to me.
Which was why my mother was screaming at Mr. O'Toole, the principal.
"Chris Maclean!" she exploded, slamming a suspicious stack of papers on his desk so hard that his pencil-holder fell off. I fell a stirring of something like sympathy for the man- my mother could be damned scary sometimes- but I bit it back. Me, sympathetic? Sympathy was not part of my genetic makeup. Sarcasm, however…
"What does our sick, perverted psychopath want now?" I ask dryly, twisting my lips into the smirk I frequently wore, "'Let's humiliate the teenager, part three?'"
"That's EXACTLY what he wants!" Mom snarled.
I raise an eyebrow, my smirk quickly fading. "Uh, excuse me?" I'd been joking, so for Mom to say this…I suddenly felt ill.
"Mrs Andrews…please," Mr. O'Toole pleads. He hates it when people yell- my mother especially. But they're good friends, so if anyone can calm her down, he can. Before my eyes, she starts to deflate. Most of the rage disappears- most of it. That beastly expression slides off her face, and she begins to look somewhat human again. Can you believe this? That this screaming woman is my mother? She once picked me up from school- I'd been beaten to a pulp that day for screaming 'Nice one, banana heels!' to the current school bully- and everyone stared. See, I'm generally apathetic. Not much fazes me, unless you ask me to participate in gym. I DON'T exercise. It's not my thing, and I've made sure to make that perfectly clear since I've started here. They never even got me to do sport when I was a child.
So you can see how surprised Mr. O'Toole was. I usually wandered around with my nose in a book, never paying anyone the time of day, whilst my mother…if there was such a thing as a job as a professional screamer, that would be her thing. She only ever stops when she's sad, around my principal, or when she's asleep. If there was anything positive about Total Drama Island, it was that I finally got away from the chaos that is my family. Not that the contestants on that damned show were any better…
"I'm sorry," she murmurs, and gives me a sad smile. "Noah, I have some bad news."
"I gathered that." My tone is icy. She's annoyed me, and I want her to know that.
She flinches a little. Good. "This came in the mail for you today," she says, gesturing to the huge stack of papers. I raise an eyebrow, curiosity getting the better of me.
"Do you always make a habit of opening my mail?" I snap, snatching the paper off the desk before she can take it back. Before she can defend herself (she was more than used to my quips), the principal takes over.
"Tone it down, Noah," he says sternly, fixing me with an intense stare. I meet his eyes evenly, keeping my expression carefully neutral- this is the expression I wear when I turn up to his office with a black eye for pointing out the blatantly obvious. This time, he's not fazed by it. "You need to get your mouth in check," he says, wagging a finger in my direction. "That's what gets you in trouble, you know?"
"Whatever," I mutter, and turn my attention to these papers which have caused so much trouble. TOTAL DRAMA RELOADED, the headline reads, and I groan. Again? Really? Has Chris not had enough of torturing us poor souls who have endured his insufferable schemes and ploys? Chris was like a rat covered in dirt and swimming in sewerage. Damned smart, but slippery. Slimy. Smarmy. There are millions of words I could use to describe him, but doing so would be a waste of my breath.
Mom seems a little calmer, if not subdued. Now that I take the time to look her over properly, I notice that she seems more sad than anything. The red-rimmed eyes. Mismatched clothes. Hair sticking up in places where she's clearly grabbed at it. She tries to speak, doesn't manage it, tries again. "Noah- Chris wants you as a contestant on Total Drama again."
I knew this was coming, but her saying makes it final, and my heart literally feels like its' sinking. I purse my lips, consider a way to respond to this without blowing her to bits. I'm not good at controlling myself. Trying not to be nasty and snarky is actually very difficult for me. But I manage to sound somewhat civil: "And if I say no?"
I mean, there's no way I'm doing this again. Granted, World Tour was a lot better than the original, but I miss the stability that school provides. If it was perhaps a more private affair, maybe I wouldn't feel so ruffled. But the fact that this show is aired across the world is the deal-breaker. I don't want people seeing me make a fool out of myself on international television. I'm getting beaten up enough as it is.
Mom sighs. "That's just it," she whispers, looking more miserable than ever, "You can't say no."
"What?!" I'm done with being civil. Mom's just dropped a bombshell- one that I HATE. You can ALWAYS say no to these things…it's not like they can FORCE you into doing anything…right? Right?
She pats my shoulder gently. Now I'm the one who needs calming down. "Noah, you didn't read the fine print, did you?" She smiles sadly. "You should have. Because you've been signed on for three seasons, not two. And since you didn't take part in Action or Revenge of the Island…"
"No!" I shout, not wanting to believe, yet accepting it at the same time. Damn Chris Maclean! Damn him! Damn him and his stupid fine print! Who the hell READS fine print, anyway?!
And this, ladies and gentleman, is how I come to participate in Chris Maclean's latest torture: Total Drama Reloaded.
A/N: Hey, everyone! This is my first TDI Fanfiction, so go easy on me, okay? By the way, Noah is naturally condescending and rude, so I tried to stay as much to his character as possible. Reviews would be greatly appreciated. Cheers.