A/N-Sorry I haven't written in a while but had vacation and didn't want to do any type of work during it. Enjoy!
Wounded Duck
By SalyaSky
Chapter 4-
First day of classes. Fun, fun, fun. My roomy seems to need about an hour to get ready. Shower, hair and makeup, picking out the perfect (done in an ear bleedingly high voice) outfit, nails, and the final overall primp. You know the final hair and clothes check for a loose hair here or a wrinkle there, both in clothes and face.
Me, five minute shower, swipe of gel through hair to spike it, grab the top shirt out of the draw and the closest pair of pants in the closet. After a couple of weeks here I'll probably resort to the sniff test method, search the piles on the floor for the cleanest smelling garments.
Today's attire consists of a baggy tournament shirt, most of my shirts are either hand me downs or hockey related and usually baggy, while my roommates are cute and pink. My pants are a pair of baggy, heavily wrinkled cargo pants, again another contrast to my roomy's pressed and painted on jeans.
I stuff a water bottle in one pocket, a half sized notebook in another, and finally three multicolored pens in another. The best thing about cargoes are their many large pockets. I wave to my still primping roommate and head to class.
My first class is geometry. I don't particularly like math and I'm not great at it, so this class should be hella fun. I enter the class, nice orderly rows, uninspiring off-white walls, a few math related posters, windows looking out over a lawn (that's where my eyes will be most of the time), blackboard at the front with customary desk and crone-like teacher. You gotta love the old teachers, they move slow, talk slow, and their minds stopped working years ago so all they can do is reiterate the book.
I take a seat in the back, I have this thing about needing to look at people when they talk, if I'm not in the back I'd end up turning around. The rest of the students file into the classroom and take seats, the brains up front and the jocks in back.
The seat next to me is taken by a boy. He's of average height, broad of shoulder, short dark hair, and mossy green eyes. His clothes didn't scream prep, in fact they looked slightly unpreppy, being on the baggy side. But I bet I'm correct in thinking he's a jock.
He turns to me and extends his hand. "Name's Gavin."
He has a slight accent, can't tell what kind. I take his hand. "Gavin huh? Mine's Rae."
We shake. "Rae huh? Nice name."
"Thanks, same to you." I take another look at him. "So what sport do you play?"
He blinked. "How?" He shook his head and gave a wry smile. "Right. I don't look like a brain, I don't dress like a prep, so that only leaves one other option, I must be a jock."
I nod and shrug. "That's my deduction. So, am I right.?"
His smile becomes wider. "Right on target. I'm a hockey player."
I raise an eyebrow. "What a coincidence, so am I."
He looks startled.
"What? Never seen a female hockey player?"
"No." He shook his head. "I've seen girls play before but not to the caliber required for this school. But that's not to say that they can't. I just . . . uh . . ."
I grin. "It's okay. I'm not one of those feminists. I agree with you. Most girls can't hack it at this level."
He looks relieved.
"You're going to be really amazed at tryouts, there are at least three of us girls trying out.
His eyes widened. Further conversation is prevented by the start of class.
"My name is Ms. Mordon," the teacher says in a dry monotone, boy did I guess right. "Please come up and get your book when your name is called."
As she starts her roll call I turn back to Gavin. "So where you from?"
"Originally? Scotland. Most recently, Michigan."
"So another local, huh?"
"I wouldn't exactly say that. I live far enough away that I need to live on campus. So where you from?"
"Maine."
"Gavin Mackenzie," the teacher calls. He goes up front to get his book. He returns with a large volume that must weigh a good pound.
"Please tell me that's not the geometry book."
"Nope it's the bible. Well, the mathematicians version. And only a section at that. Can you imagine the thickness of the compiled Mathematician Bible?"
I barely stifle my laugh. Others near us look at me strangely. "Cute."
"Agh! Never use that word around me." He looked truly disgusted.
I raised an eyebrow and smirked.
"Only little girly girls and parents referring to their girly girls or possibly in reference to little babies and small children should the word 'cute,'" he shudders in revulsion, "ever be used."
I stifle another laugh. "Do all Scots think like you?"
"As far as I know, yeah." He flashes his smile again.
"Rachel Perrin."
"Rae."
"Excuse me." Ms. Mordon looks up from her desk.
"I prefer to be called Rae."
"Well, I prefer to call people by their legal name."
"Okay, but I might not answer if you call Rachel. I'm not used to that name so it may not register."
She gives me that look that teachers have, the don't start with me look. "You answered me just now."
"I answered to Perrin, not Rachel." Behind me the room had gone silent a while ago.
"Well, then I'll just have to call you Miss Perrin," she says through a stiff mouth. "Will that do?"
I nod and take my book.
Gavin shakes his head at me.
"You've already made an enemy and it's only your first class."
I sigh. "I didn't mean to. Some people are just too . . . sensitive."
He chuckles. "Yeah, but teachers can make life hell if you don't take into account their 'sensitivities.'"
"I'll try to keep that in mind."
The class starts up in earnest and to try for the teacher's good graces we do not speak for the remainder of the class.