[anything but that]
[by mondie]
[started on may 4, 2003]
[disclaimer: Mondie owns Pinhead. Disney and
respective families own the newsies. Their portrayal is Mondie's, and the
dialogue and plot are Mondie's. But don't sue me. The characters actually
belong to Disney. Disney. DISNEY. Not Mondie. Disney.
therapist!skittery: You're getting good at that.
Mondie: I know.]
[chapter one: pinhead]
[chapter written: may 4, 2003]
[author's note: if you didn't read "pretend," then you won't know about pinhead. see, the poor boy swears a lot. since this story is in first-person, there is a lot of cussing in this first chapter. i'm very sorry if it offends you, and if it does, please stop reading. the other chapters will be from the point of view of different boys, and since they'll each have their own personalities and way of speech, the cussing will be present in varying degrees.]
]*[
September 22, 2003
What a piece of shit.
I stared at the building in horrified awe. The red bricks looked so old that I was afraid to touch them, predicting the collapse of the entire ancient ass establishment. How was this possible? How had I ended up here, at this excuse for a high school? And why, oh, Lord fucking God, why was that kid—the only kid in sight—waving at me?
The boy had a huge afro of brown curls, though his skin wasn't chocolate-colored, but instead the tone of honey. I was vaguely unsure – I had never seen a kid with an afro who wasn't black before. Walking a bit closer to the school, I became newly appreciative of my trademark slouching walk, so that at least I didn't appear tense. I frowned at my feet as they sliced their way through the dew-covered grass. It was a bit cold for my Birkenstocks, I realized now. But who would have thought it'd be so cold here? I'd never gone a day the last three years without wearing these sandals.
The waving boy had sparkling brown eyes, and a contagious smile. He grinned at me. "You're Charles, right?" I nodded, grinning back. I couldn't help it. The kid was pretty damn contagious. "I'm Micah, but everyone calls me Mush."
"Mush?" I questioned, my smile slipping a bit. What kind of fucking nickname is Mush?
"Yeah. I used to eat the stuff all the time when I was younger—even brought it in for lunch on occasion. So the nickname started." He shrugged. "Mush fits me better than 'Micah', anyhow."
"I guess so," I said slowly. The kid was kinda scary, and I wasn't sure if he was bullshitting me or not.
"So! Come on in. I'm the official tour guide for your school day today. And it just so happens that your class schedule is identical to mine!" Mush reached into his backpack, a one-shouldered, bulky yellow mass stuffed to the exploding point with books (though he didn't really look the academic type), and drew out a piece of paper. "Here's the printout of your schedule." He handed it to me happily, as if his life had now come to its climax.
"Hey… quick question…" I said, as Mush turned to enter the school. "Why isn't anyone out here?" I motioned to the deserted grounds. No one was outside—not even a school bus sat in sight. It was really fucking strange. 8:00, and no one was here. Were all they all late or something?
Mush gave a laugh, so loud and boisterous that I stared. People really shouldn't be that loud, even when there's really no one around to hear them. "School started like twenty minutes ago, ya pinhead," Mush told me. "7:40. On the dot."
"Oh," I answered. "Sorry. Have you been waiting long?"
"Oh, not that long—hey!" Mush suddenly lost interest in answering, looking over my shoulder. "YOO-HOO! COWBOY!"
"Yoo-hoo?" I said incredulously, unable to stop myself. I felt bad about it immediately afterward, but then again I was starting to doubt Mush's sanity.
The boy Mush had called Cowboy was glaring as he approached the building and us. "I don't got any time to talk to you today, Pussy," he scowled. The cowboy hat on his head looked really fucking out of place next to his impeccably in-style clothing. He appeared a total damned contradiction! I wondered if this was on purpose.
Mush didn't seem to mind the verbal assault, but kept smiling. As Cowboy passed, he reached out and caught his arm, spinning him to face me. I prayed the cowboy wouldn't kick my ass. "This is Charles, Cowboy," he said happily.
"Hello," Cowboy said, in mock-courtesy. He rolled his eyes and tried to leave again. Mush pinched his ass, which made Cowboy look all the angrier.
Mush continued talking, as if unaware of the burning glares from Cowboy. "But I've decided to call him Pinhead."
"Pinhead?" I started to question, but suddenly the large black double-doors leading into the school burst open.
"MICAH MEYERS!"
Mush seemed to lose half of his coloring beneath his tanned skin. "Hiya, Mr. Pulitzer, sir," he said genially, his voice not matching the petrified look on his face.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
Cowboy eased behind the older man into the decaying building, a grin suddenly lighting up his face. He snickered as he got inside undetected. I suddenly wished I could go along with the strange Cowboy-themed prep.
"I'm leading around our new student, Mr. Pulitzer, sir," Mush answered, his voice only shaking mildly.
Another boy stepped out from behind Mr. Pulitzer. "That's not your job, Mush," he said accusingly, his voice nothing but a fucking whine through his nose. "It's my job!"
"Crutchy!" Mush whined. "You always get to lead around the new students. All I get to do is make copies of tests for teachers." He suddenly laughed. "I figured that if I got to him first, I'd get to lead him around. I heard Mr. Pulitzer telling you about him earlier."
"But how could you lead him around?" Mr. Pulitzer demanded. "You haven't got his schedule!"
"Minor detail," Mush scoffed.
But I shook my head. "He gave me a schedule, though, Sir," I spoke up. Even if this Mush kid was losing his sanity, he certainly seemed more fun than the rightful greeter, Crutchy, who looked and sounded as though his nose had been pinched so long it had, no shit, closed itself off. The kid was also leaning on a crude crutch, and while I don't have anything against people less-abled than me, I sure as hell didn't want to be the cause of this poor crutched kid hobbling around throughout the school building all day after me.
"What?" Mr. Pulitzer asked. "How'd you get his schedule, Micah?"
"Well, uh… see…" Mush suddenly turned bright crimson, grinding his foot in the ground uncomfortably.
I looked down at my schedule for the first time. I read the name at the top, my suspicion growing. "Micah Meyers."
Mush laughed weakly.
Mr. Pulitzer stared at him. "Why would you give him your own schedule?"
"Like I had any others on me!" Mush scoffed. He edged toward the school's doors. "Anyway, now he's got it." He looked pointedly at me. "My phone number's at the top. My locker number's right under it." He winked. "See ya, Pinhead!" He blew me a kiss, then darted merrily into the school building.
"Fairy," scoffed Crutchy.
"Carlton!" Mr. Pulitzer said, sounding shocked. Crutchy looked at him indifferently. Mr. Pulitzer suddenly gave a loud laugh. "The correct term is 'queer,' or 'faggot'."
I hate fucking bigots, okay? My eyes must've bulged. I felt the anger boiling up inside me, right near my stomach, but fought my urges and kept my big-ass mouth closed for once. "Did you say you had my schedule?" I asked stiffly.
Crutchy turned to me, smiling. I didn't smile back. "Yeah. And we saved you from having to follow around Little Miss Flaming Mush all day." I merely stared at him, remaining silent, stony-faced. Crutchy seemed to lose some of his pizzazz. "C'mon, Charles," he said.
My shoulders tightened. "The name is Pinhead," I said angrily, pushing past the principal and the boy with the crutch into the building.
Mr. Pulitzer shouted after me, "Welcome to Apollo's High School for Boys!"
I sighed. It was going to be one fucking hell of a damn long day. Apollo High School. AHS. Looked an awful lot like ASS to me.
]*[
As it turned out, Mush wasn't in any of my classes all morning. Several other boys with strange names were, though. Cowboy was in my gourmet cooking class, along with a boy called Pie Eater and another known as Snitch. Dutchy, and Racetrack were in other classes, as were Swifty and Bumlets and Itey. It seemed commonplace at the school, and no one seemed to think anything of the fact that I was now calling myself Pinhead. This was strange and fucking disconcerting—no shit.
Lunchtime finally came, and I followed Crutchy into the cafeteria, looking anxiously about for a chance to lose the fucker. I didn't really know any of the other kids yet, but Racetrack had been just piss-your-pants funny in my calculus class, and seemed to be a lot like me. I flitted my eyes around, looking for the black-and-blue-haired youth. It took a while, but I finally found him, and was surprised to see another familiar head of hair—a large, brown afro—and its owner sitting across from him. I hadn't thought that Mush and Racetrack would be friends. Racetrack had spent the entire calculus period describing his weekend with his girlfriend. At my old school, the gays and the straights had never sat together, and never would. No way in hell.
To lose the asshole, I cut my pace to nearly crawling. Crutchy didn't notice, he was so enthralled by his own fucking story! Fuckhead. Soon, he was halfway across the room, still talking to himself. I breathed a sigh of relief and headed over to the Racetrack's table.
Mush saw me approaching, and elbowed the blond boy beside him happily. The blond boy was Dutchy, I realized, from my literature class. No one said anything as I approached, Mush watching me expectantly. I looked around, then finally cleared my throat as fucking loud as I could.
"Hi," I said, as the others looked up expectantly. "Mind if I join you?"
Racetrack looked up and grinned. "Hell, yeah. Dude, your hair fuckin' rocks. Didn't get the chance to tell you in calc."
Relieved, I sat down and smiled. "Thanks. I haven't combed it in two years," I offered. My hair's curly—long, red curls. I'd grown them out last year. My ma hates it, that's why I keep it long. Unlike Mush's curls, however, which sprang out every which way into a large dome shape, my own curls had grown more limp and more stretched out. They brushed my shoulders now.
"Really." Racetrack nodded his head, looking impressed. "That's the shit." Race's own hair looked naturally black, though I decided it could have been dyed. The tips of the short locks were bright blue.
"So. Calc fuckin' sucks, huh?" I offered, immediately feeling at ease with this boy.
"Oh, hell yeah," Racetrack answered.
Mush was watching us jealously. "So how are you getting along with Crutchy?" he interjected loudly. At the sound of the name, the other boys at the table groaned.
"Man, what a fuckin' prick," Racetrack vocalized.
"Yeah. No tolerance whatsoever, man," Dutchy said. He was very soft-spoken, but now that I was getting a closer look at him and his half-closed, heavily-lidded eyes, I wondered if instead he was into drugs.
"I can't stand him." I searched the cafeteria, finally spotting Crutchy seated next to the cowboyesque boy from before school. Cowboy was talking halfheartedly to him. A few other boys were seated with them that I recognized—David, from calc, and Jake and Spot, from PE. "Thank God I got rid of him for lunch, at least."
"Let's see your real schedule," Mush said, holding out his hand expectantly. I handed it to him cautiously. "Ooh! We have choir together! That's fun, Mrs. Drizzle is a real pushover. Oh, and band, too! What instrument do you play?"
"Percussion," I answered, looking at his plate. I wasn't too damn sure that I wanted Mush bringing up the fact that I'm in band. What if all these people—the only real hope of friends that I had—thought me an ultimate fucking geek like Crutchy?
"Hey, percussion? Me too," Racetrack said, hitting me on the shoulder.
"Me, too!" Mush said, glaring a little at Racetrack.
"I'm a tuba," offered Pie Eater, who'd just joined the table with his plate.
"Clarinet," Dutchy said slowly.
I grinned. "Is band cool around here and shit?" I asked hopefully.
"Aw, hell no!" Racetrack answered. "But that's why we like it."
"Exactly," Mush said, nodding emphatically. "Everyone who sits at this table's in band."
"Hey," I said, dropping my voice. Mush and Racetrack drew closer to me to hear. "What's with the stupid kid with one eye?" I pointed at this total dweeb kid wearing an eyepatch, who'd just entered the cafeteria. "I bet he's friends with that shithead Crutchy. They probably compare their injuries and whine about it to each other." I smirked at the two, expecting them to do the same.
Racetrack's eyebrows shot upwards, and Mush pushed back away, looking a bit angry. "We don't make judgments around here, Pinhead," he said nastily. I was taken aback by how downright fucking mean he could sound. "And you'd be wise to do the same." He shoved back his chair and stood up, walking from the table to the dark-golden haired, one-eyed boy.
"What'd I say?" I asked Racetrack.
Race shrugged. "You just made fun of the love of his life, that's all."
"Oh." My face fucking burned hot red. "If he's so in love though, then why is he hitting on me?"
Racetrack snorted in laughter. "Cuz Kid Blink's straight. Mush has decided, though, that if he gets a boyfriend and parades around in front of Blink, Blink will suddenly realize that he too is gay and they can live a nice, long—though not federally recognized—unified life together."
"You mean he doesn't really like me?" I asked, for a moment feeling kinda deflated. Then I thought about what I'd just said. "What the hell am I saying? I'm fucking straight!"
Racetrack, Dutchy, and Pie Eater burst into laughter. Mush came running back over, dragging Kid Blink with him. "What'd I miss?" he asked eagerly.
"Nothin', Mush," Race answered.
Mush shoved Kid Blink down in a chair, and sat on his lap.
"Get offa me!" Blink insisted, halfheartedly attempting to push Mush away. He held the air of defeat about him, as if he was so fucking sick of this act that he was now putting up with it.
Race turned to me. "Mush and Blink are best friends."
"And future boyfriends!" Mush sang out, as Blink succeeded in shoving him off his lap. Mush landed with an "oomph!" on the floor. He pulled himself back to a standing position.
Kid Blink lowered his head so that it was level with the tabletop, and began pounding it upon the cheap plastic surface. "Shaddup, Mush," he moaned. "I've got a girlfriend."
"Not for long!" Mush insisted. He caught ahold of his own tshirt and pulled it teasingly upwards, exposing his lower torso, which was covered in bulging abs. I stared. Mush certainly hadn't looked so good-Lord-fucking ripped earlier. "How can you not want this?" Mush demanded, grabbing hold of Blink's head by the hair and pulling it up so that Blink had to look at his chiseled stomach.
Blink shook his head loose from Mush's grip. "Mush, I don't like you like that," he said, exasperated.
Mush was staring at him in adoration. "Whatever, darling."
"Don't call me darling."
"Fine!" Mush yelled, finally seeming to get annoyed with Blink's stand-offish behavior. "I'll call Pinhead darling, then!" He flashed his terrific smile at me again. Shit, that kid can smile. "Heya, darling."
"…Mush, I'm straight," I told him.
Mush let out a brief scream, as if being strangled, and grabbed the ends of his hair. It was meant to be a show of how exasperated he was, but it was really just really, really fucking funny. This guy was just about the most hilarious guy I'd ever met. "You're not even bi?" he asked. I shook my head. He let out another of his short screams. "What's with all you boys and your love of… girls?" He said the word 'girls' as if it were a sin. "Good gracious, Dutchy, we're about in the minority now."
"Guess so," Dutchy answered, yawning.
"Speaking of which, Dutchy, where's your bitch?" Racetrack asked.
"I dunno," Dutchy answered, looking around as if he hadn't noticed the absence of his lover before. "I haven't seen him."
"There he is," Mush said, sounding relieved. He looked at me, sniffing, and said, "This is the proof that I am not the ultimate flamer here at AHS. Behold… Specs!" He pointed across the room. I turned to look.
A boy who looked only slightly interested in what others were thinking of him was striding toward the table. He had on black leather pants and a light pink tank top, the collar and sleeve-lines of which were glittery and shiny with pink sparkles. "New York City" was written in fancy white script, and those words too were sparkly. Oakley sunglasses were shoved neatly up into his hair, and Banana Republic flip-flops decorated his feet. Sparkly pink eyeshadow stretched from his eyelashes to his eyebrows, and he had dark pink lipstick on. His brown curly hair was highlighted with pink and green streaks, and he was sashaying as if for a runway in Paris.
"Good fucking God," I couldn't help exclaiming.
Beside me, Racetrack grinned. "Exactly what I say every fuckin' time I see him," he laughed.
Specs made his way around the table, planting himself in Dutchy's lap and giving him a long, lingering kiss. People at other tables immediately began whispering to each other. Dutchy and Specs appeared oblivious. Mush looked at the whispering crowds and looked incredibly jealous.
"What'd Pulitzer say to you this time about your makeup?" Snitch, from my gourmet class, and who'd joined the table not long before, asked with a huge grin. Sitting next to him was a boy with heavy eyeliner on, in dark raccoon-related circles around and around his eyes. He was wearing all black, with lots of silver jewelry. He had a barbell going through his chin, and roughly twelve more piercings that I could see. Snitch called him "Skittery". I couldn't decide whether they were with each other, or just with each other.
Specs shrugged indifferently. "Who cares about what Pulitzer said?" he asked, and he had a very fake British accent. He kissed Dutchy again, his hands teasing the blond's hair. He turned to Mush. "Don't you think his hair would just look adorable with red bangs?"
"And the rest spiked?" Mush chipped in, sounding excited.
Blink rolled his eye. "Here they go again," he sighed.
"I am not dying my hair," Dutchy put in.
Specs suddenly caught sight of me. "Good Lord," he breathed. "Fresh meat?" He looked sideways at Mush. "He looks your type, Mush."
Mush shook his head sadly. "Straight."
Specs shook his head, too. "What a sin. He would look so good next to you, too. Try again."
"Be my lover?" Mush asked me sweetly.
"And I'll cover you," Specs murmured. This distracted me so much that I didn't even answer Mush.
"Huh?" I asked, real eloquently.
"Specs can relate like everything back to a Broadway play," Pie Eater explained.
"Rent, 'I'll Cover You,'" Specs said lightly. Then he rested those pink-ringed eyes on me again, looking satisfied. "And your answer?"
"Oh!" I answered. "Like he said. I'm a fucking straight guy." I grinned, looking as friendly as I could.
"Shame," Specs said dryly. He turned back to Mush. "He really would look cute on your arm, ya know?"
"I know," Mush sighed. "Can you imagine playing with those curls of his?"
"Yeah," Specs agreed. "I wish Dutchy would get a perm." Dutchy looked half-asleep and didn't comment. "And so red, too. I love redheads. I wonder if he's feisty in bed."
"I'm fucking right here!" I couldn't help but exclaim.
Both boys ignored me, continuing to talk about how cute Mush and my prom pictures would be. "But what color flowers would you get that would go with both your complexion and his hair?" Specs wondered.
Racetrack grinned. "Mush said you're in choir next, right?" he asked, standing up.
"Yeah," I said.
Race laughed. "You can come with me. Let's ditch Crutchy… not to mention the HomoBrigade here."
"I heard that!" Mush squawked. Beside him, Dutchy had suddenly gone into a rendition of "We're Off to See the Wizard". Snitch and Skittery were looking at a notebook of chemistry notes together. Pie Eater, who I supposed got his weird-ass name from liking the dessert, was looking at a piece of cake on Mush's tray with reckless abandon. Now Specs had joined in singing with Dutchy, but in harmony. Mush got up to do a little jig to the a capella song, while Kid Blink rolled his eyes to high heaven and sighed as though he was releasing his entire fucking soul.
I couldn't help but laugh the shit outta me. This day was starting to look a hell of a lot brighter.
Race and I headed for the doors, but Mush let out a shout. "Wait! Wait!" I turned around. "I've still got your schedule," he said, and ran toward me. I held out my hand, and he handed it to me, then fucking kissed my cheek! I burst into laughter.
"Queer!" I yelled after him jokingly, as he skipped back to his table.
"Jackass!" he yelled back, grinning madly at me.
And, God damn it all, that kid can smile.
]*[
Before you jump to conclusions
About all the friends I have
Just remember they were born that way
[new found glory's something i call personality]
]*[
[please review!]