Disclaimer: You know it and I know it, I don't own Higher Ground or it's
characters. By the way people- you know what's fun? How about getting
reviews? I'm getting maybe one or two every 5 or 6 days. That's just wrong.
PLEASE R&R!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Outside
Alby ran to catch up with his friend. Fun as it was to check out the hot girls and read their lips as they made comments about him and his cuteness, the friendship between him and Rowan came first. It could be a pain in the ass sometimes, but it still came first. He tapped Rowan on the shoulder and ducked the punch he had guessed was coming. Rowan turned breathing hard his face a mask, although, when Alby thought about it, his face was always a mask. They had been friends since age 11 and Alby still knew only the bare bones of Rowan's earlier life. He didn't mind so much; Rowan was more of the strong silent type. He didn't fit the normal Aries model, as he had told Alby one time, half drunk. Alby disagreed though, secretly. Rowan was brave and would rush into fights without a regard for himself. When he wanted to he could be funnier than anyone and talk more than Arby's sister Leeann.
"Sorry, I'm- I'm not in the most sociable mood at the moment," signed and said Rowan. Alby remembered how when they first met Rowan had spoken slowly and made an attempt to learn how to sign, unlike other would be friends who forgot or didn't care. Rowan had treated him like a real person, never condescending.
"Is it me?"
"No! You'd be the last person to annoy me! It's just…" Rowan ran his fingers through his hair and fiddled with the dog tags on his neck. It was a nervous habit Alby knew well.
"Dwayne?"
"Partly. The foster too. Both at the same time does not make for a happy Rowan."
"Does anything?"
"Hey!" Rowan good-naturedly hit him on the shoulder. "Look, you better get going. Tell your parents and Leann I said hey. K?"
"Yeah, sure. Are the colored pencils alright?"
"Better than. Thanks for the sketch pad too."
"Hey, no prob. Keep doing your angry art thing and then when we turn 18 I'll be your manager and we'll sell it."
"You are so going to Wall Street."
"Yeah, maybe. Stay cool man."
"Slán," said Rowan while signing Good-Bye. Alby nodded and went to go sit in the car where a very pissed-off looking Dwayne waited. Something tells me this won't be a fun ride back, he thought to himself.
Daisy looked at Rowan who sitting on the steps out side Peter's office, waiting for something. Gathering up her courage she walked over to the boy she thought was cute but couldn't decide whether punk or Goth or what. Even though his headphones covered his ears and music trickled out his head still turned when she sat down by him cautiously. "What music are you listening to?" she asked, trying to keep her voice level.
"Bob Marley."
"What?" She couldn't help laughing. Of all the possible bands… He smiled exposing his dimples.
"What can I say, it's a classic? Buffalo Soldier is a kick ass song."
"Are all your CDs classics?" She couldn't help asking.
"Some like The Sex Pistols and the Ramones. I've got other stuff too, from Nirvana and Pearl Jam to Green Day and The Offspring."
"Do you like Placebo?"
"Yeah, they're ok. Them and The Dropkick Murphys, Unwritten Law, Adema. They're all all right. Come with me after group and I'll show you my CD collection."
"OK." Peter walked out then and handed Rowan a piece of paper. He read it and laughed, then shoved it in his pocket.
"Ready for group?" asked Peter, pushing the cheerful factor.
"Is that possible?" asked Rowan and Daisy at the same time, then looked at each other and smiled. They walked ahead of Peter, not saying anything until Daisy asked, "Can I see your necklace?" Rowan pulled out the chain with the dog tags; taking it off he handed it to her. She looked at them and passed them back, saying, "Well I now know Tristan is your middle name and your blood type is AB. If I'm ever on Jeopardy I'll be well prepared." Rowan smiled and tucked the tags into his shirt.
"You know, that's the first time I've taken that thing off in a long time."
"How long?"
"Try years."
"Why?"
"It was given to me by someone who died so I, well I-"
"Didn't want to take it off?" The two turned at the sound of Peter's voice, having forgotten he was there.
"Yeah."
"Hey Rowan? By any chance did your si-?"
"Well look where we are," interrupted Rowan as the 3 entered the room where the rest of the group was. Peter started off the group by asking them to each tell what they couldn't do. He started off by throwing the stick to Shelby.
"Juggle." She threw the stick to Ezra.
"Walk on my hands." He threw the stick to Kat.
"Speak another language." The stick was then tossed to Daisy.
"Ride an unicycle." She handed the stick to Rowan.
"Swim," he stated and was about to throw the stick to Auggie but Daisy stopped him with a quick hand to his.
"What'd you mean, swim?"
"I never learned."
"How-but?" He shrugged and tossed the stick to Auggie who caught it with pure reflex; still dumbfounded that someone wouldn't know how to swim. The stick continued in a circle until it got back to Shelby who looked that Peter in question.
"State something you can do that someone else in the group said they couldn't do." They went around in the same order again and when they got to Rowan, he stated, "Juggle, Walk on my hands and speak a couple of languages."
"Which ones?" asked Sophie.
"Which what?"
"Languages."
"Irish, English, Slang, German, Yiddish and Greek somewhat, and French. Why?"
"Just curious."
"Yeah, well now you know." He tossed the stick to Auggie. The stick made it's way around again, ending with Scott who said he knew how to type (what Auggie said he couldn't do). "So the point of this was what?" asked Rowan.
"Well, this is to show you we can all do some things and can't do others. Now, you guys will all be starting a new writing section: poetry!" The groans began. "You'll all have to keep a notebook and write in it your assignments. Each day for homework you'll be give in an assignment for the next day, a type of poem to write. Than we'll discuss our poems and the genre we're writing in. Come get your notebooks." They walked up to the front and took their notebooks but Peter had one extra. He looked and saw Rowan hadn't taken one. "Come on Rowan, it won't bite."
"This is stupid," he muttered.
"What was that?" asked Sophie.
"Dies ist stockdumm." [This is utterly stupid-German]
"Is English going to be a problem?" asked Peter, getting pissed.
"Das will ich meinen." [I should say so- German]
"Talk in English!" said Sophie.
"Why? Why should I have to speak your language and not one of mine? If someone else came here and English was their second language, you wouldn't have cared if they relapsed into another. So why am I special? Why can't I speak my native language, which is, if you want to know, Irish, which isn't slang but a language all on its own, or does that not matter?" He turned and left then, heading for the dorms, sinking into another memory….
"Well, Rowan, why are you here?" asked Dr. Samson, to the scared looking 7-year old.
"Because I got in trouble."
"Why'd you get in trouble?"
"I hit another kid."
"Why'd you do that?"
"He took my toy."
"Shouldn't you have told a teacher?"
"But back in Ire-"
"We're not in Ireland," said Dr. Samson patiently, not really paying attention, waiting for his next break so he could go have a quick smoke. Quitting was really getting to him and he just needed one.
"But that's how my daddy solves everything, when me and my sister are bad."
"Really?"
"Uh-huh."
"Is that how you got that bruise," asked Mr. Samson, pointing to a large black and blue spot on Rowan's arm.
"Uh-huh."
"Well your teacher tells me you got that playing outside."
"That's what I said but-"
"Listen, Rowan, I didn't know what you got away with in your last school, but here you can't just make up stories because you want attention! Now I talked to your father a few weeks ago and he was a very nice man-so forgive the fact I don't believe you. I've been principle at this school for longer than you've been living and this isn't the first time some one ahs made up a story and got everyone in an uproar because they wanted attention. Now get back to class and no more fights!" Rowan gave up protesting and walked back to his room. He was going to get the belt tonight…
Outside
Alby ran to catch up with his friend. Fun as it was to check out the hot girls and read their lips as they made comments about him and his cuteness, the friendship between him and Rowan came first. It could be a pain in the ass sometimes, but it still came first. He tapped Rowan on the shoulder and ducked the punch he had guessed was coming. Rowan turned breathing hard his face a mask, although, when Alby thought about it, his face was always a mask. They had been friends since age 11 and Alby still knew only the bare bones of Rowan's earlier life. He didn't mind so much; Rowan was more of the strong silent type. He didn't fit the normal Aries model, as he had told Alby one time, half drunk. Alby disagreed though, secretly. Rowan was brave and would rush into fights without a regard for himself. When he wanted to he could be funnier than anyone and talk more than Arby's sister Leeann.
"Sorry, I'm- I'm not in the most sociable mood at the moment," signed and said Rowan. Alby remembered how when they first met Rowan had spoken slowly and made an attempt to learn how to sign, unlike other would be friends who forgot or didn't care. Rowan had treated him like a real person, never condescending.
"Is it me?"
"No! You'd be the last person to annoy me! It's just…" Rowan ran his fingers through his hair and fiddled with the dog tags on his neck. It was a nervous habit Alby knew well.
"Dwayne?"
"Partly. The foster too. Both at the same time does not make for a happy Rowan."
"Does anything?"
"Hey!" Rowan good-naturedly hit him on the shoulder. "Look, you better get going. Tell your parents and Leann I said hey. K?"
"Yeah, sure. Are the colored pencils alright?"
"Better than. Thanks for the sketch pad too."
"Hey, no prob. Keep doing your angry art thing and then when we turn 18 I'll be your manager and we'll sell it."
"You are so going to Wall Street."
"Yeah, maybe. Stay cool man."
"Slán," said Rowan while signing Good-Bye. Alby nodded and went to go sit in the car where a very pissed-off looking Dwayne waited. Something tells me this won't be a fun ride back, he thought to himself.
Daisy looked at Rowan who sitting on the steps out side Peter's office, waiting for something. Gathering up her courage she walked over to the boy she thought was cute but couldn't decide whether punk or Goth or what. Even though his headphones covered his ears and music trickled out his head still turned when she sat down by him cautiously. "What music are you listening to?" she asked, trying to keep her voice level.
"Bob Marley."
"What?" She couldn't help laughing. Of all the possible bands… He smiled exposing his dimples.
"What can I say, it's a classic? Buffalo Soldier is a kick ass song."
"Are all your CDs classics?" She couldn't help asking.
"Some like The Sex Pistols and the Ramones. I've got other stuff too, from Nirvana and Pearl Jam to Green Day and The Offspring."
"Do you like Placebo?"
"Yeah, they're ok. Them and The Dropkick Murphys, Unwritten Law, Adema. They're all all right. Come with me after group and I'll show you my CD collection."
"OK." Peter walked out then and handed Rowan a piece of paper. He read it and laughed, then shoved it in his pocket.
"Ready for group?" asked Peter, pushing the cheerful factor.
"Is that possible?" asked Rowan and Daisy at the same time, then looked at each other and smiled. They walked ahead of Peter, not saying anything until Daisy asked, "Can I see your necklace?" Rowan pulled out the chain with the dog tags; taking it off he handed it to her. She looked at them and passed them back, saying, "Well I now know Tristan is your middle name and your blood type is AB. If I'm ever on Jeopardy I'll be well prepared." Rowan smiled and tucked the tags into his shirt.
"You know, that's the first time I've taken that thing off in a long time."
"How long?"
"Try years."
"Why?"
"It was given to me by someone who died so I, well I-"
"Didn't want to take it off?" The two turned at the sound of Peter's voice, having forgotten he was there.
"Yeah."
"Hey Rowan? By any chance did your si-?"
"Well look where we are," interrupted Rowan as the 3 entered the room where the rest of the group was. Peter started off the group by asking them to each tell what they couldn't do. He started off by throwing the stick to Shelby.
"Juggle." She threw the stick to Ezra.
"Walk on my hands." He threw the stick to Kat.
"Speak another language." The stick was then tossed to Daisy.
"Ride an unicycle." She handed the stick to Rowan.
"Swim," he stated and was about to throw the stick to Auggie but Daisy stopped him with a quick hand to his.
"What'd you mean, swim?"
"I never learned."
"How-but?" He shrugged and tossed the stick to Auggie who caught it with pure reflex; still dumbfounded that someone wouldn't know how to swim. The stick continued in a circle until it got back to Shelby who looked that Peter in question.
"State something you can do that someone else in the group said they couldn't do." They went around in the same order again and when they got to Rowan, he stated, "Juggle, Walk on my hands and speak a couple of languages."
"Which ones?" asked Sophie.
"Which what?"
"Languages."
"Irish, English, Slang, German, Yiddish and Greek somewhat, and French. Why?"
"Just curious."
"Yeah, well now you know." He tossed the stick to Auggie. The stick made it's way around again, ending with Scott who said he knew how to type (what Auggie said he couldn't do). "So the point of this was what?" asked Rowan.
"Well, this is to show you we can all do some things and can't do others. Now, you guys will all be starting a new writing section: poetry!" The groans began. "You'll all have to keep a notebook and write in it your assignments. Each day for homework you'll be give in an assignment for the next day, a type of poem to write. Than we'll discuss our poems and the genre we're writing in. Come get your notebooks." They walked up to the front and took their notebooks but Peter had one extra. He looked and saw Rowan hadn't taken one. "Come on Rowan, it won't bite."
"This is stupid," he muttered.
"What was that?" asked Sophie.
"Dies ist stockdumm." [This is utterly stupid-German]
"Is English going to be a problem?" asked Peter, getting pissed.
"Das will ich meinen." [I should say so- German]
"Talk in English!" said Sophie.
"Why? Why should I have to speak your language and not one of mine? If someone else came here and English was their second language, you wouldn't have cared if they relapsed into another. So why am I special? Why can't I speak my native language, which is, if you want to know, Irish, which isn't slang but a language all on its own, or does that not matter?" He turned and left then, heading for the dorms, sinking into another memory….
"Well, Rowan, why are you here?" asked Dr. Samson, to the scared looking 7-year old.
"Because I got in trouble."
"Why'd you get in trouble?"
"I hit another kid."
"Why'd you do that?"
"He took my toy."
"Shouldn't you have told a teacher?"
"But back in Ire-"
"We're not in Ireland," said Dr. Samson patiently, not really paying attention, waiting for his next break so he could go have a quick smoke. Quitting was really getting to him and he just needed one.
"But that's how my daddy solves everything, when me and my sister are bad."
"Really?"
"Uh-huh."
"Is that how you got that bruise," asked Mr. Samson, pointing to a large black and blue spot on Rowan's arm.
"Uh-huh."
"Well your teacher tells me you got that playing outside."
"That's what I said but-"
"Listen, Rowan, I didn't know what you got away with in your last school, but here you can't just make up stories because you want attention! Now I talked to your father a few weeks ago and he was a very nice man-so forgive the fact I don't believe you. I've been principle at this school for longer than you've been living and this isn't the first time some one ahs made up a story and got everyone in an uproar because they wanted attention. Now get back to class and no more fights!" Rowan gave up protesting and walked back to his room. He was going to get the belt tonight…
