Won't you come see about me?
I'll be alone, dancing, you know it, baby,
Tell me, your troubles and doubts
Giving me everything inside and out and
Love's strange, so real in the dark
Think of the tender things that we're working on
Slow change may pull us apart
When the light gets into your heart, baby
Don't you, forget about me
Don't, don't, don't don't
Don't you, forget about me
Will you stand above me?
Look my way, never love me
Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling
Down, down, down
"...And these children that you spit on as they try to change their worlds are immune to your consultations. They're quite aware of what they're going through..." David Bowie
(In front of the Shermer High School)
Saturday, March 24, 1984
Shermer, Illinois, 60062
Shermer High School
Dear Mr. Vernon,
We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it is we did wrong. What we did was wrong. But we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who you think we are. What do you care? You only see us as you want to see us. In the simpliest terms, in the most convinience of definitions, you see us as a brain, a rebel, an athlete, a basket case, a princess, and a criminal. That's how we saw each other at 7 this morning. We were brainwashed.
Just in front of the school, a light blue BMW car sat in front of it with a man in the drivers seat and what appears to be his daughter in the passenger seat.
She has a beautiful face with lush pouty lips, small nose, greenish chocolate brown eyes, and a slim long. She has a pale rosy complexion and firey auburn hair. She looked at the school in disgust and shook her head.
She wore a Ralph Lauren pink blouse with a long brown wraparound skirt with brown leather boots. She also has a lace scarf and brown leather boots, leather gloves.
"I can't believe you can't get me out of this. It's so absurd that I have to come here on a Saturday. I'm not a detective." she said in disbelief. Her father smiled at her and said, "You're not a defective. Honey, look, I can make it up to you. Ditching class doesn't make you one," he said, getting her bag from the back seat of the car.
"Have a good day, honey," her father said with a smile. She takes her bag and gets out of the car, slamming the door behind her.
Then, another car pulls up, a white 1958 Plymouth Fury driven by a middle aged woman with dark blonde hair that was curled and reached down to her shoulders. She had hazel eyes that didn't go with her complexion. The woman didn't look friendly at all.
In the passenger seat next to her, was a teenage girl that looked to be about 16 or 17 years old. The teenage girl had shoulder length brown hair that was put up in a ponytail with hair hanging down to cover the back of her neck with bangs hanging in loose strands over her emerald green eyes. Had on a earring on her left ear. But it was a ring that a guy
She wore a jet black tank top that had spaghetti straps with a red and black checkered flannal covering it with the sleeves all the way down. Her jeans were dark blue with tears on the knees and one on the right thigh. She had a black beanie on her head that hung loose at the top.
Neither individual said a word for the first two minutes. The woman who sat in the drivers die looked at the quiet teenager, not approving of anything she saw.
"May this be a lesson for you. You should know that we don't do those kind of things in my household. If it happens again, the you know what happens. You understand, young lady?" she said strictly.
"Yeah, I know. Phil already got me for that. I don't need to hear it twice," the girl said with a hint of teenage angst in her tone.
"Watch your tone. I'll say it as many times so you get it through that thick skull of yours. You may think that you can get away with what you did, but the world doesn't revolve around you.
You may think it is, but it is not," the woman scolded.
The teenager looked at the woman with hatred in her eyes before getting out of the car, swinging her bag over her shoulder. 'Fuck her,' the girl thought to herself.
In the next car, a stationwagon, was a woman with her two kids, a teenage boy and a little girl. The teenage boy was thin, had a thin face. He had dark sandy hair with grey eyes. He had the face of someone who is trustworthy.
His clothing is of a Chicago Bears knitted hat, khaki pants, a brown jacket, and a green sweater. He wears a watch on his right wrist and has sunglasses.
"Is this gonna be the first or last time we do this?" his mother asked, looking at him. "The last," he said, glancing at her.
"Well, get in there and use the time to your advantage," she said sternly. "Mom, we're not supposed to do anything. We just sit there and do nothing," he said, avoiding eye contact with his mother.
"Well, mister, you better make time to study," she spat back. The boy was struck dumb, rendered to silence.
"Go," she said again, her voice more strict. The boy sighed and got out of the car.
Behind them was two men in a truck with a trunk cover. One was a middle aged man and his son, who looked to be about 17 years old.
He had sandy hair that was short in the back and long enough to cover part of his forehead. He had a slim, handsome face with bright blue eyes. He had some muscle on him in his arms and chest area.
He wore a light blue Nike tank top with a white fleece sweater covering it topped with his letterman jacket that had his name stitched into the left side of it.
While they sat in the car, he kept his gaze on his hands, which sat on his legs. He had a frown on his face. He didn't want to meet eye contact with his father.
"Hey, I screwed around. Guys screw around. There's nothing wrong with that. You just got caught, is all," his dad said, looking right at him.
"Look, mom already reamed me, okay?" the teenager said, his tone flat. However, his father became tense and he said, "You want to miss a match, want to blow your ride? No school is gonna give a scholarship to a discipline case,"
The teenager glared at his father before getting out of the truck, slamming the door shut out of frustration and anger, with a sack lunch in his right hand.
Walking up to the school, was a teenager that looked like he was also 17-year-old. He has dark and handsome features, being 5 ft/9 in. He looked to be jewish-american with a mid-length feathered-hairstyle that is dark brown with a bluish-silver streak on his right bang.
He has an olive skin complexion and brown eyes that would be worn by aviator glasses with other things like ear piercings and a chain that was hooked to his left pant leg.
He wore a long trench-coat with a few pins on the collar and a blue denim-jacket. Under it is a white sweater, a red flannal with the sleeves cut off, giving him more of a biker look.
Lastly, a final car shows up, a grey sedan. A girl that was 16 gets out of it. She had a slim figure with dark brown unkempt hair, which tends to cover her face. She has very light freckles on her face. She had a sorrowful look on her face.
She was wearing black clothes that consisted of a dark maroon scarf and dark grey skirt. She leaned over to the passenger side window but the car drove off in a hurry.
(Inside the Library)
The library itself was the biggest part of the school with two stories and three flights of stairs on each part of the library. Towards the front of the library were two rows of 12 desks with three in each row. Three on one side and three on the other. The front doors to it are on the right-hand side of the library.
The only noises were that of them walking, moving the chairs and setting their stuff down. One by one, they walked into the library without saying a word. In the first row was the red head and the jock in first right-hand, the rebel in the front left-hand side in the first seat closest to the jock.
The teen with the long trench coat sat behind them, using another chair as a foot rest. The one with the green sweater sat in the first table of the first row. right behind the rebel. The gothic girl sat in the very back at the last table.
The rebel looked over at the jock, but only for a minute. She looked as if she recognized him, but she kept quiet. The jock looked back at her when she looked away.
He seemed to recognize her too, however, he kept himself quiet.
Just as they settled down, the vice principal, Richard Vernon, walked in. He was a tall, middle-aged man that is wearing a light grey suit with a black button-up shirt. He had light brown hair that was almost greyed that was as short as the jock's hair.
Everybody there knew how controlling he was, yet he holds some intellegence and arrogance. If there was anybody that he was hated by, it was the rebel. Her 'home' life made her despise adults.
He gives them what it looks like a satisfied smile when he saw all six teens sitting there. "Well, well, here we are," he said, his tone oozing arrogance.
In his hands were six pieces of paper and six pencils. The rebel rolled her eyes and looked away, twisting her lips. "I would like to congratulate you for being on time," he said in a mocking tone. The rebel picked up on that rather quickly.
"Excuse me, sir? *Vernon looks at the red-heead along with the rebel* I think there's been a mistake. I know it's detention, but I don't think belong here," the red-head said.
The rebel looked away, seeing the type of person the red-head was. 'Great, another one of those girls,' she thought to herself.
Vernon dismissed this and looked at his watch. "It is now 7:06. You have exactly eight hours and fourty-four minutes to think about why you're here and ponder the error of your ways," Vernon said as the criminal leaned back, dropped his head, spitting in the air before catching the saliva in his moch.
"I think the reason is that you're here is because you didn't want your wife to win a game of tonsil hockey," she said, using her spunky attitude towards him.
That comment made the jock and the criminal smile, both impressed with the rebel's attitude. "You watch that attitude, you punk ass. Or you'll by yourself another Saturday," Vernon warned, pointing at her harshly.
Samantha bit back her tongue and leaned back against her chair, arms crossed. Vernon continued talking to them. "Now, what you six are doing today is an write an essay of a thousand words. And that doesn't mean write the same word a thousand times, telling me who you think you are. Am I clear, Bender?" he says with his voice raised.
Bender, the criminal, said while looking away, "Crystal," he replied. "You will not talk, move seats, and *pulls chair out from under Bender's feet* you will not sleep," Vernon said, walking back up to the front after setting a sheet of paper and a pencil down in front of each student.
"Now, the six of you might learn something about yourselves. You can think about whether or not you care to return," Vernon said, walking back up to the front.
The kid with the green sweater stood up from his seat, making the rebel rub her forehead in annoyance. "I can anwer that now, sir. That would be a no for me because-" he started. "Sit down, Johnson," Vernon spat.
Johnson did as he was asked with a simple, "Thank you, sir," The rebel looked back at him for a minute, seeing that he was more of a teachers pet. She looked back in front of her.
"Now, my office is across that hall," Vernon said, pointing at his left side, where the doors where, "Any monkey business is ill-advised," The rebel observed what Vernon was wearing and she couldn't hold her tongue.
"Maybe you should stop borrowing your grandfather's clothes. I'm pretty sure that if you cleaned your table with it, the table would punch you in the face," she said in a smart ass way.
Vernon's face turned red; maybe she struck a nerve. The jock started to laugh at what she said. It reminded him of a friend that he knew when he was eight. But said friend had moved away when he turned nine.
"Yeah, and does Barry Manilow know you raid his wardrobe?" Bender added. "I'll answer that when you and Matthews are here next Saturday," Vernon said. The jock perked up a bit, recognizing that last name.
He looked at her for a minute, eyeing her up and down. 'Matthews? Could it be? It can't be Samantha. She moved away a long time ago,' he said, brushing it off, or at least, he was trying to.
It was silent for a minute as Vernon was making his way towards the doorway. "Don't mess with the bull, young man, You'll get the horns," Vernon said.
Vernon then leaves the library, leaving the teens alone. The only sound was his loafer shoes descending from the library. "That man... is a brownie hound," Bender commented, pointing towards the doorway.
Here's the beginning to the reboot of this story. I wanted to reboot this to make it better. Plus, you'll notice some differences in this story, even in this first chapter. I will keep going with this story. But if I'm not posting on here, it's because I've got other stories that I want to work on. I'm gonna do a chapter at a time with each story. Plus, I've got a job now so that's gonna be in the way quite a bit.
