Whoa man, look who's updating quickly! Das right! Hammstahs mothatrucka! Not my best chapter, but hey, it's written. I hope you guys'll like it more than I do.
I try to dart into a seat beside Julia before Mrs. Brennan can notice me, but Mrs. Brennan always had a tendency to be blind except for when I was trying to be sneaky, so before I've even so much as pulled out the chair she's called me to the front of the classroom.
"Instead of morning meeting, today I'd like for you and these nice boys to introduce yourselves to the class," she says in that sweet old lady way of hers. You know, the sweet old lady who is totally trying too hard to seem like a sweet old lady? Yeah, that's the way. I look over the classroom and find twenty one pairs of eyes staring straight back at me. My tongue begins clicking on the roof of my mouth and the vibrations soon follow into my jaw.
"B-But Mrs. B-Brennan," I stammer nervously, stumbling for words. "I've g-gone here since pre-school. Everyone knows m-m-me." One of the unfamiliar faces at the back of the room chuckles at my stutter, and when I blush Fiona personally pushes him out of his chair.
"But we have two newcomers to our class," she says, sounding amazed that one of her prized honor roll students couldn't figure this out on her own. "Christian and Jared, could you please stand?" The two boys stand and identify themselves, Christian a smiley Filipino boy who I noticed bothering Julia about something or the other just a moment before, and Jared being the boy who laughed at my speech. I make a note to never lend him a pencil or pen. That's right folks, we got ourselves a badass right here. "Good, now why don't you all introduce yourselves?" I look to Maurice, who looks to Robert, who looks to Roger, who smirks at me.
"Ladies first," he says, his voice dripping with his gentlemanly sarcasm. Mrs. Bergman doesn't catch his tone and beams at his manners. I sigh and speak up again.
"I'm Erin F-FitzGerald," I say softly. I try to go to my seat, but the she-witch stops me.
"Tell them something about yourself!" she urges me. I sigh. What could there be that they don't know? I've seen the broadcasts they showed when the media proclaimed us dead. I was the honor roll student who played tennis on the weekends and sang in the church choir. I was the one who wrote stories for their pre-school teacher as a kid and was the favorite babysitter of my neighbors and relatives. What else is there to tell?
"I'm Erin FitzGerald," I repeat, slightly louder this time. "And both my tibia and fibula are broken. The end." I try once again to sit down, but Mrs. Bergman tells me I'm not to sit until each of the boys has introduced himself as well. I sigh and lean back against the chalkboard, not caring if it turns the back of my navy blue school issued sweater white. I never cared for it anyway.
"My name is Maurice Briner, and I sing in St. Thomas' show choir in Brookfield," he says, grinning proudly as he always does. I catch the looks on my classmates' faces and I know what's in store for Maurice. If he plays his cards right, the dorky but sweet guy he is, he'll be in league with Will Paton, a seventh grade choirboy who's got more talent in his left pinkie than the whole school combined. He sang at Carnegie Hall over the summer, or so I'm told. Attention is turned to Robert now. He adjusts his empty frames before speaking.
"My name is Robert Keller, and I don't care what you say, I am most definitely not a hipster," he says proudly. I nearly snort. Not a hipster my ass, I saw the guy two weeks ago in a Twenty One Pilots tee shirt and even now he's wearing fake glasses. Roger smirks when everyone's eyes land on him, and he straightens his posture slightly.
"J'est ma pelle Roger McAllister et j'ai pris merdes qui sont plus attrayants que la plupart d'entre vous," he says in an impeccable French accent. Great, not only is he good looking, but he speaks French? My poor female classmates won't know what hit them. The guys in my class all seem horribly confused, but the girls all stare at him in awe as if it was the all mighty Taylor Lautner standing there in his shirtless glory instead of a fourteen year old with black eyes and an untucked middle school uniform. Meanwhile, Maurice stifles a laugh and Robert rolls his eyes. Luckily, Mrs. Brennan doesn't seem quite so amused.
"Try again, Mr. McAllister, and in English please." He only smirks more before proceeding.
"My name is Roger McAllister, and obviously I speak French," he says. Robert rolls his eyes and is about to say something sarcastic when Mrs. Brennan sends us to our seats, which, oh so luckily for me, are all next to each other in the very last row. Lovely. I take my seat, which is between Roger and a boy I've known since first grade, Andy Morgan. The girls sitting in front of us, Tessa Sully, Cara Culton, and Natalia Hansen, all turn around and immediately begin batting their eyes at Roger.
"Have you ever been to France?" Natalia asks cutely, causing me to gag.
"Lived there for a year," Roger replies. Robert finally gets his word in.
"Lived there my ass!" he leans in closer to the girls. "We all went there on a choir trip two years ago. Rog here, along with a few other guys, just learned French to pick up girls." Tessa barely stifles a giggle.
"I like your glasses," she says sweetly. Roger seems a little frustrated that he has left their affections so quickly, but Robert's milking the hipster thing for all it's worth.
"Can I try them on?" Cara asks, twirling her long red hair around her fingertips. Across the room, Julia is rambling about how 'it's like Sixteen and Pregnant, live and in person.' At the front of the classroom, Mrs. Brennan is fully absorbed by Fiona's enthralling tales of choir practice. As she is barely finished describing the first five minutes of said practice, the entire class knows they're in the clear to talk their little hearts away.
In the corner, Cole Harding, Grayson Dunne, and that new kid Christian are in a deep discussion about the best way to survive a Saw movie. A few rows behind Seamus MacIntyre and Gavin Donnegy are doing their own rendition of "Epic Rap Battles of History: Cleopatra vs. Marilyn Monroe" as Lissie Rogers and Dani Fells giggle to themselves about how 'totes hot' Gavin's new haircut is. Meanwhile, the only thing on my mind is how amazing how little has changed with my classmates in a year. That, and how incredibly right Lissie and Dani are about Gavin's hair.
"Hey Erin," Andy calls me back out of my bubble. I look up and smile. I very strongly dislike most of the airheads in my grade, but Andy is a genuine, bonafied sweetheart, albeit being a little naive most of the time.
"Hi Andy," I reply. He cocks his head to the side a little bit.
"What happened to your leg?" he asks. "And your arms?" The three boys on my other side freeze. Maurice's head snaps very inconspicously in our direction, away from the doodle of SpongeBob he was tracing into the desk. Robert's jaw sets and his fist clenches on his glasses, which he was just passing on to Cara when he stopped. Roger is hunched over slightly, looking deliberately at the Swiss Army knife he was using to carve 'Simon likes dick' into the desktop. From far away he might just seem focused, but looking closely, his fingers are shaking where they grip his knife and his other hand grips the edge of his desk so tightly that his knuckles have turned white. At first I think he's pissed, but there's something different about the way his jaw hangs. He's not angry; he's terrified.
This could be my chance, I think. If I tell anyone now, there's nothing Roger could do to hurt me. I'd be safe, from him, from Jack, from all of them. But for some reason, I hesitate.
From that point on I trick him into believing I'm asleep, something I have a talent for. I toss a bit, and every time one of my forming bruises makes contact with him I groan softly. That's how I know he's not asleep; every time he loosens his hold on me, trying to make me comfortable. Then I let out a particularly pitiful moan and he pulls me closer, kissing the top of my head a few times and whispering repeatedly, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
Damn it, do I really have to remember that now?
"You know how I am," I say eventually, smiling softly. "I am such a clutz, I fell when I was climbing a tree and landed on my leg. The scratches are from the branches." All around me, my classmates and fellow castaways let out a sigh I doubt anyone realized they were holding. This is Saint Francis. This is the nice happy place rich people send their clean, pretty little kids to hide them away from the lesser beings. No room for tragedy here. Andy grins goofily.
"You shouldn't have been climbing trees Erin," he says. "You're too old for that." I smile a little more.
"I really am, aren't I?" Lucky for me, and for the boy next to me who accidentally tore a hole through his desk in shock, the bell rings for second period to start and we're all racing off to our 'Special,' which today, is art.
To my shock and amazement, I survive to recess with few mishaps. In Spanish I zoned out and when the teacher called on me, I accidentally mixed up some words in the sentence I was translating from English. So apparently, my cousin likes to fuck dogs. My teacher wasn't pleased. I blame my cousin Haley for teaching me how to swear in Spanish in the first place. But besides that, and being placed in a seat next to Roger not only in Religion, but in Art and Social Studies as well, my day is going surprisingly well.
As I'm walking out to recess, I'm hoping it'll only get better. Hopefully, the world will deem fit for my luck to last for once, and I will get to the playground and find out Anna hasn't signed away her recess to help in the library, Stella won't be in the middle of "The Mob" with the uber bitches, and Mackenzie and Alexis for once in their lives will not feel the need to "elbow and run," a felony which I was stupid enough to introduce them to.
"Erin!" I hear someone scream from behind me as I'm walking towards of the parking lot which we have marked as our own private territory. For a second time that day, I'm nearly tackled to the ground. Only this fury his 5'6" and the healthy weight for someone of that height is 130 pounds, not 90. And Mackenzie Manger has always been healthy as a horse. I cough as her arms fly around my neck and begin inadvertantly choking me.
"MC," I cough. "You're killing me." She releases me, then spins me around to look her in the eye.
"Duh, that was the point," she deadpans. I roll my eyes and hug her. It's then that her two best friends approach, a presence I am made aware of by a painful thump on the back.
"Thanks Alexis," I rasp, sounding winded. "I needed that." She shrugs.
"It's been nine months, I thought you might," she replies, nodding to affirm her point. "Everyone does sometimes, y'know?" I grab her and pull her into the hug.
"Giiiirl, don't hug her!" The whitest of my friends says in a sassy black girl voice. "She been surrounded by men for nine. Months. She could have all kinds of AIDs by now." I release my other friends and grin at her.
"Oh Stella," I say patronizingly. "Hun, you know I'm careful. Everything's done orally." It's then that I notice two people standing behind the three of them: a big blonde kid whose childish face does not belong on his tall, intimidatingly muscular body, and a comparatively scrawny black haired boy with green eyes. Some new kid and Simon. The new kid is smiling pervertedly and Simon coughs uncomfortably. I turn bright red, realizing they just heard me make a blow job joke. I stare at the two of them in embarrassed silence for a while.
"Um, Erin," Julia says from behind me, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "This is Leo Carter, he's in Mackenzie, Alexis, and Stella's class, and I don't know who this other kid is."
"Simon," I say. "That would be Simon." Simon turns red when I mention it. She nods, not noticing his embarrassment.
"All right. This is Leo Carter, and that apparently is Simon. Yay, we're all friends now." Leo giggles a little bit at Simon's expression, sounding strangely like a pedophile.
"Look guys! Simon wants the teeeee, Simon wants the teeeee," he sings. My friends groan.
"You're disgusting Sunshine," Alexis says, although she's grinning in spite of herself. Stella whacks her and scolds her for "being all pro-voc-a-tive with Hulesy's man." Simon looks just as confused as I feel.
"What's the T?" I ask. They all look uncomfortable, except Julia, who is physically incapable of discomfort.
"The Tits," she replies simply. "He's implying that Simon wants your tits." Simon looks like he might drop dead on the spot, the poor guy, but I just look Leo up and down analytically, then say aside to Julia, "I'm not going to like him, am I?" She shakes her head.
"Probably not." I nod.
"Good, I need someone to dislike both publically and privately," I say. "According to the press, me and the guys from the island are all besties, even the annoying ones." I make a face. "But anyway, onto serious business." I turn to Mackenzie and put my hands on both her shoulders. She jumps away.
"Rape!" she cries, cowering behind Alexis. Anna chooses this moment to appear.
"Actually Mackenze, you're taller than her. So it's okay," she says as if people randomly screaming rape is a regular occurence. Knowing my classmates, it very well might be. I look to Julia once again for translation.
"Grayson Dunne decided that if you touch someone's shoulder and you're taller than them, it's rape. But if you're shorter, it's totally okay." Grayson Dunne is the shortest boy in our grade, and possibly the weirdest, so this somehow does not surprise me.
"Got it. I shall refrain from touching Fiona's, Stella's, Alexis' and Anna's shoulders," I announce. "Now back to business. What's the DL about Mcyler?" I ask very seriously. Stella shakes her head.
"Homewreckers man," she says sadly. I gasp.
"No! Someone has stolen Tyra?!" Alexis nods.
"Natalia Hansen," she says. I shake my head.
"The slut. Shoulda guessed it. My money was on Nicolette. Everyone wants Nicolette. Even girls want Nicolette. It's a thing," I rant. Simon looks up at Leo.
"Should I be scared?" he asks. Leo nods.
"Extremely."
Lunch is only marked by one event. As I sit, drinking my skim milk (because 2% is for chumps) all casual like a normal person, Leo pulls up a seat in between me and Julia (who at this point is debating whether or not it would be possible for Jake March to cut Canada in half with a pair of scissors if the scissors were the size of Russia) and stares at me for a moment. Then, as I'm starting to gulp down a sip, he speaks.
"Swaaaaallow," he says, grinning that pedophile grin. I spit. On him.
"I'm really not gonna like you, am I?"
By some miracle, I survive the day. I sit next to Roger in five classes and Leo in Science, but I survive. Oh praise the Lord I survived. I'm just thinking I'm in the homestretch as I cross Ogden Avenue and start heading home, when I feel an arm take up residence over my shoulders. I look to my right and see Roger grinning down at me.
"Afternoon Shitbrains, mind if I walk you home?" he asks in a mockingly sweet voice. I shrug his arm off and pick up my pace.
"I would mind. Terribly so," I reply. He puts his arm right back.
"Walk me home then," he says. "I'm new in town, this is my first day. What if I get lost?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Our street is six blocks from here. That's not even half a mile," I say in disbelief. "Besides, can't your brother walk you home if you're that worried?"
"He's got basketball practice. He made A team and their last tournament is coming up," he replies. "C'mon Shitbrains, if you don't walk me home I might accidentally wander into the ghetto! I could be molested!"
"First off, this is La Grange. We have no ghetto," I deadpan. "Second, I don't recall you ever opposing sexual assault before." He feigns a wince, but keeps smirking at me. Man I'd love to wipe the smile off his face.
"You wound me," he says, holding a hand to his heart. His other hand, however, tightens painfully on my shoulder and he leans over to whisper in my ear, "Don't piss me off. I can easily make this current conversation look extremely sexual, and we all know the families you babysit for that live on this street wouldn't be pleased to see that. Also, one phone call from me, and all the buzz will be about our sexual involvement on the island." He leans away again. "So, walk home?" I feign a smile.
"I'd love to.," I lie. He keeps his arm around my shoulder and guides me across the street as we pass Ogden Avenue School and through the alley into the only somewhat ghetto part of La Grange. I give him a strange look. "Actually, I walk all the way down Waiola to Richmond. We keep going."
"Not today we don't," he replies, grinning. "You're all mine now girlie." I swallow hard.
"And what are you going to do with me?" I ask nervously. He smiles that devilish smile that shows off his overly sharp canines.
"This." He pulls me down to the ground just before we reach the parking lot across from Park Junior High and I find myself lying on the ground by a tree and behind some bushes, effectively out of sight of anyone on the street. Great. He's practically on top of me, hovering over me on his hands and knees, still smiling. He reaches down and tilts my neck up. "You've still got my letters," he says, gently brushing his finger over the R and the M just barely concealed below my jawline.
"They're not exactly washable," I whisper. He chuckles and leans down and kisses both of them, sending shivers up and down my neck. He notices this and grins more.
"Glad you still have a healthy fear," he murmurs, moving upwards and kissing my lips now. He stays there for a minute or so, but when he gets bored, he returns to an old habit of his, unzipping my winter jacket, unbuttoning the top of my blouse, and then chomping down on my shoulder. I wince and jump into him slightly, making him chuckle. Blood begins to show up in dots over where he's bitten me.
"You really shouldn't d-do that," I stutter, now from the cold instead of nervousness. "P-P-People will notice." He thinks about this for a moment, then smiles at me.
"Good thinking Shitbrains," he says, messing up my hair condescendingly. For the rest of the time that we spend lying in a heap on the snow, he refrains from biting me, other than on my lips and occasionally nipping at my jaw. At first I struggle, but just like on the island, it's hopeless. At least here I know I have nothing to fear from him. It's not like he can rape me in someone's backyard, especially not in this cold. Once I stop fighting him, he loses interest and before I know it he stands, gives me a light kick in the leg and starts walking. He looks back at me, still smiling like the Cheshire cat. "You coming?" Reluctantly, I stand and walk with him the rest of the way back to our houses. Once we get to our street, he walks me all the way to my front door and kisses me on both cheeks. "Jusqu'à la prochaine fois ma chère." I try not to gag as I pull my hands out of his and dart into my house, locking the door behind me. I see my brother standing at the window, looking like he doesn't know what to do with himself.
"Who was that?" he demands. I shrug.
"Neighbor," I reply before running upstairs.
"I hate neighbors," he mutters, and I can't help but laugh. Once I reach my room, I slam the door shut and begin fishing around my box-o-books until I pull out a blank journal that I swear to God must date back to circa 1943. After a whole day keeping it in, I have to tell someone- or something.
"Dear fucking diary,
Okay Chuckles, you win. As you read this- and I think we both know that you will- I'll begin to make more sense to you. On a serious note, though, I have to warn you. This is no happy story. This isn't the brave tale of survival the media's been harking our nine months of isolation to be. This is a war between people who shouldn't have been allowed to own knives yet. These are boys who were hunting and breaking and killing before they could shave. This is the reason those kiddies cry in their sleep, and I can't stand to look at myself, why Ralph is so tormented and Samneric barely speak- not because of what they've seen but what they've done. This is humanity at its very worst, and I hope you have a strong stomach and a lot of time, because I'm taking you through every fucking moment. Now let's take it from the top.
"Erin, it's time to wake up." I hear a voice...
Da end! Of this chapter anyway. Damn, nearly 4,000 words and I didn't even use a song. You guys who didn't think last chapter was very long satisfied? Cuz I'm sure as hell not! I seriously need to work on this, because until I get to the MAJOR PLOT TWIST OF DOOM I have nothing to do. Other than make my characters sing. And they're going to be doing a lot of that XD Aaaanywhooo, if you liked it, review. If you hated it? Fantastic, let me know! I'll send you pasta, like a boss. Wait, that's a pun most people won't get! Gah, I'm too clever for my own good. Anyway, you get my point, review or I'll sic Roger on you. Peace!