Vanity

-

"Michele!"

Cast the light away from my eyes. Shh . . .

"Michele!"

Don't listen. Pretend. Sleep. Refuse to open to her cries. The dawn is an illusion, and it is still night – the window full of stars.

"Michele!"

Ignore . . . this figment of imagination. Pestering fairy! Blasted sprite dressed in a mademoiselle's garb of glistened rose blessed silk and butterfly breathed pearls! Her sapphire jewels will waste to grains upon a glass seashore, and she will search a lifetime to gather the pieces to make it whole once more. Just a single look once again at her elderly image in its hued mirror shall birth her motivation.

"Humph . . ."

My head throbbed as I opened my eyes to an upside-down world of plaid sheets and cold wood, my side aching slightly as if I had landed upon a stony ground. The light was painful and I groaned as it hit my pupils. For that period of time my lids refused to obey my will that they open, that is, until a shrill voice stung the depths of my ears.

"Michele, get up! Now! Your mother is having a fit yelling for you! You have slept long enough. Up, boy, up!"

The world spun as I jutted up at the cries of Nana, who shook me and chuckled as I peeled the thin strip of daze from my eyelids, only to peer up at her well worn face.

"It's your first day of school!"

She grinned as I inconspicuously grimaced and longed to duck beneath the covers. Swooshing sounds filled my ears and air drafted across the nape of my neck, and I turned to witness Nana tossing various articles of clothing from the closet onto my barren bed. Black shirt – Cobalt shirt – Scarlet tie – Madras jacket – Grey sweater – Raven pants – Brown pants - it was all spread daintily across the silk covers.

"Well, I think your mother will approve of any of these." She touched her lip and drummed her finger across her chin. "Just choose one and be quick about it; you still have to pass her grooming test before she will allow you to step half of a foot out of this house." I mumbled inaudibly into the covers still wrapped about my shoulders.

"Good Lord, boy, get up. It is not like you have never been to school before!" I did not move. "Get up or else I will send in Antonio to HELP you dress and then allocate him to drive you to your new school." Hearing his name was like a glass of thawed ice tossed into the face in the dead dawn of winter – stinging and aggravatingly uncomfortable. Nana exited the room, most likely due to the notion that the threat was valid and terrifying enough to rouse me from morning's last sleepy grip – her fingers with orange painted nails slowly uncurling their grasp upon my pulsating brain. It was always an awkward sensation to be shocked from drowsiness into reality.

Untangling myself from the thick covers, my feet, still humid from their nightly hibernation, stuck to the floor panels. Each step gushed glopping noises. I stood before the bed and the wide display of outfits, pondering which would be the wisest choice.

Black shirt – scarlet tie – black pants. No, much too sophisticated for just one measly day at a new public school. Brown pants – black shirt – no – it does not fit together. Cobalt shirt – black pants – no . . .

Frustrated, I pulled on the grey sweater, fingered the black pants before choosing the deep brown, and yanked the Madras jacket over my head. I stared into the mirror, satisfied (at least to the greatest extent possible) of my appearance. However, my hair had tangled at odd obtuse angles during the night, so I found myself before the navy bathroom mirror, slopping freezing water over my head while pulling at the tangles with a thin comb. "Oomph," I grunted and grimaced as the comb sported a rather large chunk of black hair. Looking up tentatively I studied my complexion.

Raven locks, raven eyes, brown skin, and brown lips – everything is so utterly dark – I may as well have been painted black. Black – like the starless nights – like those figures who sit in the upper movie balcony – like the porcelain dolls no child wishes for holiday gifts. If they made such a doll of me, would a child take one with black locks, not tawny or dusky blonde, or with crow eyes instead of cerulean or emerald? The answer is always quite simple. No. 'Tis not desirable. Italiano . . . they whisper it in the streets . . .Ellis Island immigrant . . . where is his green card . . . blast the tiny spirals of DNA that course through my veins . . . curse the hereditary dominance of darkness over light! If a child so presumed to be color blind bemoans a dim doll unsightly, what prevents those who await my presence in the mathematical classroom? Do they know of Father's ranking in their gleeful society of champagne and cocktails, or will it be the habitual process of acceptance – half-hearted – half-disgusted -greetings – blunt rejection – giddy gossip flooded with 'spick' titles – lips salivating in the taste of a lamb ready for the slaughter – then the superhero rescue - high society standing. Father's profile flitting through the halls; soon 'spick' will be replaced with an actual name, a 'good ol' chap,' and I will be welcomed into their club of elites. It's is always the same. Repetition at its finest accord; it's little wonder I despise with the utmost hate any traditional values . . .

The icy liquid swam the length of my face as it dripped from my head. Tear stained trails recorded their path until the clear drops committed suicide from the edge of my chin. It was refreshing and shocking to sense something so bitter in the early hours.

Footsteps thudded below and shouts traveled through the many halls; some were the shrill demands of Mother, but most were "Yes Ma'ams" from various voices of a feast of possibilities. Emptying the comb and applying necessary toiletries, I supposed I was presentable. At least, I prayed I was . . .

The heavy scent of bacon suffocated the shimmering kitchen, all the while churning my stomach in an unusual repulsion and want. It growled uncontrollably, but when Nana ushered the bacon before my face, it lurched and I shoved the plate across the navy table – far from my nostrils.

"Why aren't you eating," Nana spoke, picking at the sizzling eggs. I shrugged at her back and held my stomach as the yellow masses sent air bubbles bursting around them. The smell was nauseating. Part of my mind cleverly planned an excuse to remain in bed for the day, yet the other reasoned that it was not tiny bacteria invaders that cast my intestines into a frenzy. She peppered the globs and set them on a plate, but instead of placing them before me, she stood still and peered at the bacon set across the table, one eyebrow irked. "Nerves?"

I didn't need to nod for her to know the answer. She bobbed her head, set the plate a good distance from me, and motioned for me to stand so that she may critique my appearance.

"Very nice. I do not think your mother can disapprove of your choice. "

I grinned, bitingly. "I think you might be surprised. She is like a hawk; one little imperfection and the whole world may as well shrivel up because it is no longer worth living within. I swear," I breathed, "sometimes I hate living within the same house. It's like a prison that has been painted to look like a home." I swigged the glass of milk Nana handed me and stood as Mother and Father entered the room, immediately checking my reflection in the glass. Mother, dazzling in a sapphire suit, grinned proudly as she grasped my shoulders and turned me around in her inspection.

"Ah, very good. This will surely impress the Sheldons. What do you think, dear, will your boss approve?" Her grin melted away my sentiments of frustration, and I relaxed my shoulders. "I am glad you approve, Mother."

Father peered from the paper, surveyed me with his eyes and approved with a curt nod and shrug. "I will finish reading the paper in the office," he growled as he turned to leave the room. I moved to grab the backpack Nana held out to me, but his voice froze my movements. "Michele, don't forget what we discussed – image is everything. Get on Sheldon's good terms." He left with little more than a sneer disguised as a grin, focusing upon the black and white print's report on the economy.

"Listen to your father. He is a wise man, and to think, you will one day be like him! Exciting, is it not." I wanted to shake her – to shudder and scream "No!" But, the bitter smile pleased her enough, and she quickly followed Father into the mouth of halls.

"I hate them sometimes."

"Don't say that. They mean well . . . deep, deep down they really do mean well. I know more about that mother of yours than you do, and much of her life would surprise you. You and her are alike on so many accounts. She hated this fictitious lifestyle when she was an adolescent." Nana sighed as she rinsed a coffee mug. "She was a handful, that child. Always sneaking around, determined to defy her parents at all costs. It must have been like a cage to her as well. I declare, she must have been grounded half of her life!" She placed the cup in the cabinet and walked towards me, her hands outstretched. While straitening the collar of the jacket, she closely inspected every inch of me, dusting the shoulders and tugging the sweater to a proper length. "Don't be so hard on her," she whispered as she brushed stray strands across my forehead. "They really do love and care for you, and like any parent, she wants the best, but I presume the definition of 'best' remains unique for each person."

-

The air was cool as it combed my hair. The car rumbled beneath my body and Nana grinned when I glanced at her, all the while keeping my hands firmly planted upon my stomach as it sloshed back and forth, occasionally side to side. My mind whirled at the thoughts of the building that loomed a ways towards the eastern side of town. The day, to my utter displeasure, was bright and warmer than expected; however, the nipping wind demanded the protection of a jacket. When Nana turned a rather sharp left, my breath hitched and a dull pounding commenced on my temples – the brown roofs and stairs of the school jutted towards the sky in the distance. The traffic slowed and Nana hummed gently to herself while I attempted to keep the few nibbles of banana in my stomach.

Looking at me, Nana ceased mid-hum and frowned. "Your nerves cannot be that bad! Honestly, it is just a building filled with boys like yourself; what has gotten into you these past few days, it is as if you have lost all confidence in who you are. Sit up, now, and breathe – it is only school."

School . . . a place filled with more than boys . . . it was a pond of piranhas amiss unfortunate minnows . . . they never stand a chance in comparison to the higher rank. The strongest always survived, but I'm entering the pond at a slightly higher rank than minnow. And what of confidence – is it wrong to be proud? Pride – like Father and Mother – like that bastard Antonio? Or, pride like the old chaperon beside me and the ancient Scotsman back at the house? Was it pride at all . . . surely there must be another bloody name for their aura of repulsive arrogance when juxtaposed to humble confidence!

My fingers massaged my temples as the car lurched forward.

"We are almost there, do you have all of your things ready? Nothing is missing correct? It would be quite awful to be unprepared the first day, not to mention the irresponsible first impression it would leave . . ."

"I get the picture," I mumbled. Nana raised her brows at my tone, but I did not apologized. I focused upon the building as it drew ever nearer, and thanks to her ignorance, I mentally and silently went over every material I may need for the day, making certain that it was in the bag at my feet. "I know why you are so anxious."

Her words temporarily paralyzed me, but I shrugged it off carelessly and leered at the approaching structure, waiting for the cars to unload students while studying those that were already giggling and patting each others' backs as they walked up the stairs. "Believe me, this is not foreign to an old woman . . ."

Her words were drained, getting further and further away, blurred and distant, as if I was being sucked within a deep tunnel. The pain burned as I madly blinked in hope that it would ease the tension. You don't have a clue what it is like! It's madness in there, and I am suppose to play multiple roles like a clown. . . Father's role . . . their role . . . is there time or room enough for my own decided role to be chosen . . . my own choices to be made by my own mind rather than 'superior' others?

The pain cooled as the car slowed within walking distance of the Edison High School entrance. Part of me wanted to firmly remain seated, refusing to budge an inch like I had so many years ago as a terrified child, but despite the urgings to retreat I perfunctorily grabbed the bag, opened the door, and was standing outside before the voice shouting and waving a white flag could be thoroughly listened or rationalized with. The wind caused goose bumps and Nana smiled sympathetically in a poor attempt to cheer me up. She means well, so smile back!

She knew the robotic grin was fake.

"Michele, you listen to me. Obey your Father-" Mentally, I groaned and began to tune her out and watched as a gaggle of plaid skirts scurried together in a fit of laughter, a tantalizing redhead amongst them . . .

"Michele!"

My neck cracked as I stared into her flaming eyes. When she wanted to be heard, by God or death, she was going to be heard!

"Try to listen this time. You must listen to your Father, for so much is riding upon your behavior and with whom you find friendship." Her voice was pleading, almost desperate. "Now I know you. Don't think for a moment I am demanding something so harsh without compassion, but obeying that man is the greatest advice I can give you. It is wise, and I trust that the crowd he seeks for you to reflect is just as wise a suggestion."

My eyes roamed over the gathering crowd, a slight chasm was already noticeable. Fine leather and wool jackets conjugated at the top of the stairs while smoke colored and patched over shirts loomed around the edges and streets, grinning and sparing suspicious sneers at the pack of wolves who were simpering right back at them. One boy laughed loudly, and my thoughts returned to Nana.

"Look," she softly chided, "make whatever friends you wish, but keep the ones you know are not well esteemed far from your father."

I nodded mutely, head still slightly spinning as the thick atmosphere cast beads of sweat on my forehead. Certain figures peered curiously at me as I stood before the open car door, and a heat rose within my cheeks. Bestowing a comforting smile to Nana, I pulled away from the vehicle and closed the door.

"Well, I suppose it is time for you to get going. Chin up, and remember, stay who you are!" She mimicked her advice, and for once that day I naturally revealed my teeth. Leaning in the window, I hushed, "Nana, I don't think you know a thing about how awful this day could - probably will – go - not the slightest notion in the world." With that said, I moved from the car as she sped away.

Various faces passed and bumped into me as I veered towards the steps, mind set on claiming my class schedule, directions to those classes, and a wonderful first impression with each professor. Those at the bottom of the steps glared accusingly while I brushed past them, and many cleared a path as if I was plagued by malaria. I don't look sick, so why the hell are they acting like it? You would think they lacked any proper social skills! Is a 'hello' too damn hard to utter, or have they all taken an early morning vow of silence!

But the only silence that existed was when I passed them . . .

Heels clopped on the cement steps and those at the top studied me, even more so as I rested my hand on the door handle, more than ready to shove it open and be engulfed by the seemingly protective walls. One boy with dark curls and wearing a Bleeding Madras jacket glanced at my clothes before offering a small smile. His hand extended from his pockets and he offered it casually. "Name's Randy. You're new, aren't you?"

The sigh that escaped my lips sent his eyebrows rising, but in an understanding fashion.

"Yeah, I am. My name is –" My mouth ran dry as I scrambled for the words to say, my mind twisting between deceit and convenience. Michele or Michael . . . is there much of a difference? In all honesty, the are not Italian, so how can I expect them to pronounce it in Italian form? A name is a name, and the bearer of it should control it fully . . .

I licked my lips. "My name is Michael. Nice to meet you." He grinned again and quickly introduced the cropped brunette beside him, while instinctively placing a hand upon her hip, and several others who crowded the area. Their names were forgotten as soon as they were heard, but it was safe to presume, to the best of my abilities as a psychic, that I would have opportunities to learn them again.

"How do I get to the office?"

He pointed. "Go straight, then turn two lefts. It is right there. The lady is a bitch, so don't expect much help from her. Find me if you are lost – the locker is straight ahead next to Bob's," he spoke while thrusting a thumb at a blonde headed kid leaning against the wall, laughing at a silent joke between the red-headed beauty and he. I nodded in thanks and Randy waved me off, saying, "Just watch your back in there. Some of the trash ain't so friendly." I didn't understand what he meant, and frankly, interpreting his lingo was the furthest thing from the long list in my mind.

The school was nicely heated with not many students crowding the halls. I found the office in a nice enough time, but to my unhappiness, found that Randy's words about the lady, Ms. Loughlin, to be true. Too true. She idly and lazily handed me the slip of classes. "Didn't fit into Spanish so we had to put you in French. I sincerely hope that meets your satisfaction," she nasally rasped with narrowed eyes.

"It's -"

SLAM!

The upper, clear portion of the whitewashed door banged closed as she turned away before I could even think about asking another question. How convenient for her . . . I glared at her hunched back as she slurped steaming coffee and spun around the corner, immediately toppling over someone. Each of us landed in curses, but I, being the oddly larger of the two, sprung to my feet as the boy scurried to his. Inklike pupils fixed their slant on the cuffs of my jacket before meeting my own obsidian eyes. My mouth opened to apologize to the sable-haired, coal dust complexioned boy, but I never had the chance A fist grasped my neck and pushed me into the nearby wall with the force of an anvil.

"What the hell do you think you are doin' you goddamn Soc," the invisible boy hissed loudly. While holding my head against the wall, he addressed the boy I had tripped, but my head spun with the force of his attack, and the familiar throb in my temples resurfaced with hurricane-like furry. What the hell now? What could shatter this day more – he could throttle me to death – I bet Nana would never hold such assurance as to how 'well' she 'knew' high school.

The pain blinded my eyes and I forced myself back, twisting from his grip. Cold eyes met mine and the rusty side-burned boy pursed his lips, a third one standing nearby beside the dark one. They do travel in packs . . .

I grinned acidly at the three, reaching down and retrieving my slip, now crumpled. "Thanks," I muttered sarcastically as I held it in mock bow to them. Sideburns turned to the Raven. "Did he hurt you, kid?" Raven shook his head and scraped his foot along the tiles until they squeaked their protest. Sideburns nodded and glared at me. "Good."

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," I nipped straight back.

"Who are you, Mr. SuperSoc?"

I did not understand the obviously intended insult, but I accepted the challenge with savoring relish.

"The name's Michael." I folded my arms haughtily. "I don't need to know yours; I think I already have an idea of what you are. They warned me already about you-" I never had the chance to finish before the boy smiled and cackled. I stood, completely confused. Holding his sides, he peered up. "Boy, they sure sink their teeth in quickly don't they?" He directed it at the two boys who were grinning along with him. "Vampires, all of them. You sure do talk like a regular Social. By God, if you are gonna insult me I don't need a formal introduction." Any pride melted in the flush of my cheeks and I slumped against the wall. "You ain't a normal one are ya?"

"What do you mean by that – uh," I stammered, at a loss for names.

"Two-bit." He smiled at my scrunched face. "Shoot, that ain't nothing. This here is Ponyboy, and the one you bulldozed is Johnny. Michael, right?" I confirmed with a bob of my head. "What did you mean by saying I ain't normal. A normal what?"

"A normal Soc," he sighed, bored. "They travel in groups. It's a tradition – always travel together or risk a blade. Socs don't have to worry about the blade part so much; if any of us tried to stick one of them we could kiss our days of freedom goodbye."

My mouth formed an 'O,' and I pretended to understand his gibberish. Flinging an arm about Johnny, he messed up his hair and tugged the kid down the hall. "Catch you later Pon," he shouted at the auburn headed kid who lagged behind.

"I'll see you all later," I called after him, but he turned back and shook his head with a frown, his eyes flaming like they had when I first saw him.

The bell rang loudly and I swore beneath my breath. Looking at the list, I read:

Algebra II - - - Mr. Thurmond - - - B2

B2 – am I suppose to know where that is? So much for first impressions!

The kid peered at the list. "It's down that hall, on the right," he quietly said and pointed towards the southern wing of the building. "Thanks," I breathed in relief, shrugging on the backpack. He smiled warmly, but his eyes betrayed the fake trust. Students flocked the caramel toned halls with shouts, screams, whoops, and hollers that bounced from wall to wall. Finely clothed boys quirked their brows as they passed us.

"I'll see you around then, maybe?" My stomach lurched as his eyes drooped when a troop of Madras jackets passed. I followed the exchange of glares, studied the contrasts, and the reality hit like lightening.

His green eyes flared. "No, I don't think you really will see me." He shrugged and rushed swiftly in the opposite direction.

"Some meeting," I murmured half-heartedly. A large hand landed on my shoulder and Randy grasped my slip.

"We have the same class! Let's go." He looked at the path Ponyboy had taken. His arm looped across my shoulders. He sneered vague insults, the repulsive vanity of his tone was threatening, commanding, and admirable.

"I think we need to talk . . ."

Ah, I told you updates would be slow. Long, but slow. Please, offer any criticism or even suggestions you may like me to incorporate into this story. (i.e. characters, a situation, etc.) I will stick with this, promise. As a small insight, this will follow the events of the book (i.e. movies, park, trial, etc.) I hope you enjoyed this chapter, for some reason it was difficult to write . . . perhaps because of deciding how everyone meets . . . who knows . . . just enjoy the ride!