Chapter 03: Forte
Donatello grimaced at his flip phone. He hated looking at it, even if he had fifteen minutes before Third Period started, and had half a mind to turn it off. The first six texts he could ignore in his pocket, but once the vibrating grew constant, he had to remove it from his jeans.
Of course they were all from Mikey. The youngest's art class was about to start, and for some reason, he felt a need to express his excitement through all kinds of emoticons. Half of which were animals.
'What does a turtle eating cake have to do with anything?' the brunette thought, eye twitching. 'I swear if he sends one more—'
Beep!
"We're in class, idiot," Don snarled at the phone.
"Someone giving you issues?"
A teasing voice lured Donny's attention upwards—thankfully, before his super-strength could damage his cell's keypad. He met a pair of green eyes, whose brilliance almost choked him when their owner flashed a smile. It lit up the young woman's face with amusement as she took a seat beside the Hamato.
"Cat got your tongue?" she asked.
"Oh, no, I, just, uh"—Don shook his head—"I'm Donatello."
"Unique name," the redhead noted, taking his offered hand. "Old fashioned, too."
"I am?" His eyes fell on their joined hands. "Is this weird? I'm sorry." The brunette took back his hand with a nervous chuckle, yet the redhead never stopped smiling.
"I'm April, April O'Neil," she added.
"Y—yeah, I remember. You're the teacher's assistant."
"That right. Get special college credit for this."
"College?"
"Yup; I'm a junior at OSCA."
"You mean Oswald's School for Cybernetic Advancement?"
"Surprised, eh?" April raised an eyebrow at the brunette's gawk then laughed. "They only accept a handful of students each year. Had to work my ass off to get in."
"I bet."
"Anyways, you were here a little late yesterday, so I didn't get much of a chance to introduce myself. I make it a personal goal to know the whole class."
Stiffly, Don shrugged. "I was sort'a helping my younger brother find his bearings."
"That's sweet."
"He tends to get…distracted. And only half-reads things."
"ADD?"
"It's not diagnosed, but I'm pretty sure he has a degree of it."
"Well," April leaned against the desk table, "you shouldn't let that go on too long without medication. It can only get worse."
"I'll, uh, keep that in mind. It's up to my father, though."
"Huh?" Eyebrow quirked, the redhead tucked her long bangs behind one ear. "Why wouldn't your father take him to a doctor?"
"Alright, you bunch of ingrates, take your seats."
Saved by the teacher!
Donatello gave an inward sigh of relief as the class shuffled to the seats they had claimed yesterday. April flashed another smile before heading towards the front of the class, and since Don stuck to the back row in apprehension, she had a ways to go. He watched her near Professor Stockman—their AP Computer Science mentor—although another redhead at Stockman's side soon caught his attention.
She resembled April's polar opposite. Instead of a smile, she wore a sneer, and her grungy hair was twirled into dreadlocks that barely met her shoulders. Her pale eyes glossed over the quiet classroom as if she loathed being there, but she remained still, arms cross over her loose sweater.
'Is this the "cave woman" Raph mentioned yesterday?'
"Oh, you showed up," April noted dryly.
Stockman sent the paler redhead a strained grin. "Melody Gray is aware this course is necessary to graduate and plans to attend from now on. Isn't that right, Miss Gray?"
Melody snorted in return. Silent, she stalked towards Donatello's row with heavy footsteps.
Had the genius sat in her seat? She glared at him like he had. Then again, she wasn't there the first day to stake claims. Guess she knew as much, since she simply rolled her eyes then turned to an empty seat two desks to his right.
The student at Don's left shifted, his voice deep yet timid. "M—m—morning, Melody."
"Whatever, Lucas," the tan redhead grumbled. Somehow, her dismissive reply did little to dampen her classmate's spirit. He chuckled, which Don found odd.
"What's she mad about?" the brunette whispered.
Lucas smiled then hunched his broad figure further. The desk looked so small with him in it; Don couldn't help fearing it would break when Lucus learned over.
"She usually sits beside me."
"Oh. You friends?"
Lucas shrugged. "She, uh, usually copies my work."
"Like someone else I know," Don said, straight-faced.
"Just warning you now."
"If she does anything, I can always report her."
"Please, do not."
"Why?"
"Trust me." Lucas glanced at Melody then lowered his voice. "It is a bad idea for everyone."
Donny doubted that, yet nodded anyway.
"I am Lucas Harrison, by the way. Known mostly as LH."
"I'm Donatello. U—uh, don't take this the wrong way, but…why are you smiling so much?"
"S—sorry." The large teen sat back to place his hands in his lap. "Y—you do not seem intimidated by my size. That is…rare."
"Honestly," Don flashed a crooked grin, "the thought never entered my mind. I have two older brothers who're half your size and, well, they can frighten me with one look."
"Mister Harrison, Hamato"—Stockman's drawl brought the teen's attention forward—"since you seem so chatty, why not come up here and demonstrate the error is this programming?"
"Uh, s—sure," Donny answered. "Programming's my forté."
Lucas met Don's grin when they walked down the desk aisle. "Is it?"
"Just wait and see."
They ignored them. Every. Single. One.
The jerks!
What good were brothers if they didn't share in each other's joys? Michelangelo expected Donatello to at least respond with one emoticon. But the genius was just as bad as Leonardo and Raphael!
The honey blonde glared at his phone, yet the results remained the same.
"Mister Hamato?"
Mikey glanced up and stuffed his phone inside his jeans' pocket at a record-breaking speed—literally. "Yes, Miss Mercer?"
"Please, concentrate."
"Oh, you bet I am! Wanna see what I have so far?"
"Huh?" The middle-age woman knitted her eyebrows together, turning away from her desk. "We just started. How could you have—"
"I'm fast," the teen interjected with a smile. "Always have been, always will be. It's sort'a my thing, my forté. Like art. Just ask my brothers. But I kind'a stopped because I was a little unclear on what we're supposed to be doing next."
"I explained in detail what I expected."
"Uh-huh." Mikey stared blankly at the heavy-set teacher. Was that supposed to mean something? He stopped listening after she mentioned gestures, so he couldn't be faulted if he were wrong. Right?
Miss Mercer sighed then straightened her skirt, perhaps from habit. She crossed the well-lit art room to approach his easel and sent him a pointed look behind her glasses after glancing over his charcoal lines. "The subject is supposed to be the statue in the room's center."
"That's boring," countered Mikey with an exaggerated groan. "These are more fun."
"I can't even tell what 'these' are! They're too many pictures and this one—"
Cutting in front of Miss Mercer, Mikey stuck out his tongue, half-lidded eyes set on the offensive middle finger visible at the page's center. "That's my brother Raph's hand. Got practice with this one, see it a lot. I call it 'crude gesture'."
"No"—Misses Mercer glared—"I call it at an 'F' if you continue. Switch to a new page and draw a gesture of the statue. Remember: I want to feel the volume in it."
"I wanna feel the volume in it," Mikey mocked behind the thick woman's back. He scoffed as she returned to her desk, removing the fourteen-by-seventeen sketch pad from the easel's tray to flip it over. He stared at the new page for all of a second before leaning towards his right and invading his neighbor's personal space. "Woah, Dudette. You can concentrate way better than I ever could. You even got the shadow detail!"
Said neighbor—a pale young woman who hid behind her black bangs—did everything in her power to avoid his stare.
Why? Did he smell? The blonde sniffed his pits. Nope. Did he push her without knowing? A quick glance confirmed he remained where he had been since class started.
Hum. Then was he simply too awesome? Nonsense! Maybe she was just deaf.
"Oi!" He jumped before the teen's easel so her charcoal never finished the line she had started. "I said your work is awe-some."
"You're wasting your breath, Cutie," someone else butted in.
Mike glanced across his easel to meet his second neighbor: another brunette with flawless skin and natural makeup. Dressed in designer clothes, she flipped her hair without ever touching it then flashed her piercing blue eyes in the blonde's direction. They were pretty, yes, but a coldness lay behind their steely color—a coldness for the silent teen.
"I'm Mellissa Heart," the beauty added. "That's Nia Anders. Not that her name means much; you probably won't see her for the next few weeks anyway."
"Why?"
Mellissa snorted. Was his honest concern that terrible?
"She's sick, Hun. And rarely talks. You should be careful because you might catch something."
"So teasing sick people is acceptable?" What injustice; the idea alone brought a frown to Mikey's face.
Mellissa rolled her eyes, though, as if he had missed some glaring point. "We go way back. Kindergarten times. Tried making friends once and she would have nothing of it. Thinks she's too good for us lower class kids, just because her mom sells mansions and her dad is a scientist. How's the complexion, by the way, Two-Face? Are you Indian or Chinese today?"
Mellissa's girlish chuckle was followed by a few others, mostly from students flanking Nia's and Michelangelo's easels. He didn't like it one bit. But he didn't want confrontation either.
"Please, let me work…"
Such a small voice—it sounded hollow and strained. Mikey blinked at Nia after she had spoken and hesitated before complying with her plea. He got a good look at her face as he did so; her eyes glanced up at him like she expected some kind of relation. What struck him most about them was that one was light and the other dark, just like the skin around them.
Was it right to call her a human calico? Or did others consider that derogatory? It's the only term to come to his mind as she continued the impressive gesture he had commented on earlier. With a huff, Mellissa did likewise, although the blonde had a gut feeling her sketchbook didn't look nearly as epic.
In fact, he wouldn't even give it chance.
"Eh, don't listen to her," Mikey told Nia in an undertone. "I know sometimes people just don't want to talk. It's not their thing. But they don't mind listening. So, can I tell you some stories? Maybe about comics?"
Nia's head twisted his way slightly, enough to insinuate intrigue. I was all the encouragement Mikey needed to let loose the floodgates of his imagination.