Author's Note: yes, I have noticed that the chapters about Claire and John are the longest. But Andy and Brian piss me off. :P Allison is cool, though! This chapter was originally twice as long, but I cut it in half, which explains the rather abrupt ending to this chapter. Anyway, I'm listening to The Breakfast Club Soundtrack while writing this, which should help! ^_^
Warning: some sappiness ahead! But not all that much! ~_^ And sorry if this drags a bit. But please, bear with me.
For all other author's notes and the disclaimer see
Chapter One. Please read them before reading the fic. Thanks. Send feedback to
nova_mist@yahoo.com Please read and review.
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The Altered View
Monday Can Bring
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March 26th,
1984
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Chapter Nine – Whispers of a Vicious Nature Begin
========================================
Claire pulled John into their World History class by the
arm, careful to avoid the areas where she knew there were injuries. She dragged
him all the way to the second row from the back, and sat down at the two-seater
desk next to the wall, pulling John down into the seat next to her.
John followed her the whole way with no resistance. He was
too busy trying not to move his head. One of his habits was moving his head
every so often to flick his hair out of his eyes. But if that happened, he'd be
dead, because the bruise – which was beginning to throb again – would be
revealed.
As Claire pulled John along behind her, John felt the eyes
of everyone in the room on them.
Then the whispers started up…
"Is that John Bender being pulled into the room by Claire
Standish?"
"What the hell are they doing with each other?"
"Are they going out or something?"
"But I thought that Claire was going out with Ben Lopez!"
"No, it's Hannah Newnham that's going out with Ben."
"But I thought that Hannah was going out with Tom Lester."
"The college guy?!"
"No, Hannah was going out with Tom last week."
"Isn't Tom Lester a Varsity football champion, or
something?"
"But still, why are John Bender and Claire Standish
sitting next to each other?"
"What do you mean sitting next to each other?"
"Well, look for yourself."
Twenty pairs of eyes looked in Claire and John's
direction. Next to him, Claire was rummaging around in her bag for something,
and didn't notice. John looked into her bag as well, trying to look like he was
busy and had not noticed the fact that everyone in the room was focused on his
every movement. But he could still feel their eyes on him…
And the idiots just wouldn't shut up!
"Maybe they've always been an item and we just never
knew."
"You mean like a secret affair?"
"Ah-hah!" Claire said suddenly, causing John to jump
slightly, startled. He had been focusing on the whispers that were floating
around the classroom like a locust swarm. She pulled something out of her bag
triumphantly, and pulled it under the desk. "John, look at this!" she
whispered.
John looked down at what she was holding. "What's that?"
he asked her softly.
Claire smiled. "It's an anti-inflammatory lotion that I
got free from the department store last week when they were giving out
samples." She explained.
John blinked. "Huh?"
Claire rolled her eyes good-naturedly at John. Then she
finally noticed the fact that everyone in the room (now twenty-three other
people) was watching her and John's conversation with great interest. "It's an
anti-inflammatory cream," she continued in a voice so low that John had to lean
in closer to hear her. "But it also takes swelling down."
John frowned slightly, and leaned in even closer to Claire
so there was absolutely no chance of being overheard. "You mean…like the
swelling…" he drifted off. "We could use that on my bruise? And the swelling
would go down?" John asked.
Claire smiled kindly. "It should. It will reduce it, at
least." She replied just as softly as John had spoken. "And we could put some
sort of concealer over it, so that it wouldn't matter if your hair blows back."
"Concealer?" John smirked. "You mean, that foundation crap
some girls put on their faces?"
Claire smirked back, and nodded.
"But you don't wear concealer." John told her,
surprising her.
She looked at him, her eyes wide. "How did you know that?"
she asked, smiling.
John smirked. "I'm not blind, Claire." He informed her.
"Besides, your skin tone is just too natural to have concealer smeared
all over it."
Claire grinned. "You're right. I don't wear concealer. But I still have some in my bag. In all the different shades available in this year's new range. There'll be one in there that matches your skin tone perfectly, believe me," she informed him. "And we'll apply it in just the right way so that it looks as if you're not wearing any."
"All the different shades? More free samples?" John asked.
"No, my aunt gave it to me." Claire replied. "So, do you
want me to cover the bruise with concealer or not?"
John looked at her, surprised. "You weren't joking?" he
asked, surprised enough for his voice to rise so much that everyone could hear
it…but not hear it accurately. It seems everyone heard "were" instead of
"weren't".
The whispers started up again.
"Joking?" someone asked. "Joking about what?"
Claire frowned. "Joking?" she asked, confused. She was
speaking a little louder, too. Why does he think I'm joking? She asked
herself. "Why would I be joking?"
John leaned in again, and lowered his voice back to a
whisper. "You'd do that for me?" he asked Claire. "You'd bother with the cream
and finding the concealer that 'matches my skin tone' and 'apply it in just the
right way', to 'make it look as if I'm not wearing any'?" John asked. "For me?"
Whoa, does this boy have some severe self-esteem problems!
Claire thought to herself, forcing herself not to raise her eyebrows.
"Yes, John. For you." Claire smiled warmly, and was relieved when John smiled
back.
"Maybe her sitting next to him is all a practical joke."
Someone whispered.
John's smile faded instantly. He didn't know why, but once
he heard that, his blood froze in his veins. Is that what she's doing? He asked himself. What if this is all just
a dare by one of her rich-bitch friends? Or, like the dickwit said, a practical
joke…
Claire heard the whisper, too, and glared angrily at Victoria Sanderson, the girl who had made the comment. Victoria smirked at her, knowing that she'd just upset Princess Claire's little fantasy world.
They're whispering about you, Claire. They're gossiping
about you. Claire reminded herself. This could tarnish your image!
Maybe so badly that wouldn't be able to recover it! If that happened, you'd be
forever seen as the Princess Who Fell From Grace with a lowlife form the wrong
side of the tracks! You'd nev- NO! Stop it! She snapped at herself, angry
with herself for thinking like that. I'm not like that! She looked again
at John, who was looking at her strangely. Not anymore. I'm NOT conceited!
John is my FRIEND, and it doesn't matter if he is the poorest person in the
school, I refuse to judge him on that and that alone.
Claire leaned right in close to John, and, out of the
corner of her eye, saw Victoria's eyes widen in shock. "That's all bullshit,
John, and you know it." Claire hissed
in John's ear. "I would never do that to you! Remember what you told me on
Saturday? How shitty a thing that is to do to a person?
Remember?"
"I remember." John whispered, relieved. Well, maybe
she isn't so conceited after all…
"So do I, John." Claire continued. "I'll always remember
that."
John looked at her silently for a long moment. They were
both aware of the whispers that were now flying around the room at the speed of
light-
"Did you see that? She leaned in to his ear! She's
whispering something to him!"
"I wish I could see his facial expression! But his hair is
blocking the view!"
-but none of it mattered.
John wasn't used to anyone really caring about him. But Claire did, and it was such a strange, foreign concept to him. But it pleased him, none the less.
He smiled at her, and she smiled back. Leaning forwards
again, he whispered in her ear, "Gee Princess, I didn't know you cared."
"Of course I care." Claire responded. "I care because I'm
your friend, John." She whispered.
John smiled bitterly. "Probably my only real friend in the
entire world." John muttered quietly. He then immediately wanted to kick
himself. How could I have let that slip out?! John berated himself. I
have absolutely no emotional control around this girl! He looked to Claire,
hoping that maybe she hadn't heard him.
However, luck was not with John at that particular moment,
for Claire had indeed heard.
Claire frowned. "What do you me-"
"'Morning, everyone!"
Claire was cut of in mid-sentence. She looked up, annoyed,
to see that their World History teacher, Mrs. Jan Hammond, who was sixty-five,
had more lipstick on her teeth than on her lips, half-deaf and getting more
senile by the day, had finally arrived. And only ten minutes late, too.
Claire thought to herself. That's got to be a record.
John, seeing that Claire was distracted for a moment, took
this time to shift in his seat so he was once again facing the front of the
room. He entwined his hands on the desk in front of him, and looked at them, as
if fascinated by them.
Claire turned back to John, and frowned slightly when she
saw that he had turned back to the front, and was now staring at his hands in
front of him on the desk. His comment had bothered her. She could see that it
was something that he hadn't meant to say aloud. His head was bowed, and his dark hair had fallen like a curtain,
completely blocking the right side of his face from view.
But Claire was sitting on his left, and could see John's
facial expression – a mixture of contempt, distress and confusion – quite
clearly. She moved her chair closer to his, and again leaned in close to him.
"John, look at me." she whispered.
John hesitated for a moment. Then, finally, moved his head
to look at her, his dark eyes again sheered over with unshed tears.
Claire frowned. "John, what's wrong?" she asked, deeply
concerned. Claire could tell that it wasn't just because of the stupid comment
Victoria Sanderson had made earlier. That was just the straw that broke the
camel's back. She realised. Something else has happened to him that has
not had a good effect on him.
"Nothing's wrong, Claire." John said despondently. "I'm fine. Just fine. Fuckin' peachy." he continued, lowering his eyes.
Claire looked at him sharply. "That's bullshit, John." she
replied, trying desperately to keep her voice even. Why won't he just tell
me what's wrong with him? Claire thought angrily. "Obviously there's
something wrong. Please, John, tell me what's wrong." She was pleading now.
"Maybe I can help."
John looked up at her again. He smiled at her sadly. "No
one can help me." he muttered.
"And what the hell is that supposed to me-"
"Miss. Standish and Mr. Bender, if you would be so kind as
to finish your conversation during break, it would be most appreciated." Mrs.
Hammond's plum-in-the-mouth accent cut Claire off in mid-sentence for the
second time. Claire was becoming ever so slightly annoyed. But she was at least
pleased to see that John had only turned his head towards the doddery teacher,
and not his whole body. He was frowning at Mrs. Hammond in Claire could only
say was some sort of strange confusion, as if he had completely forgotten that
the teacher had entered the room.
"That is, unless your conversation is so frightfully
important that it can't wait." Mrs. Hammond added in a superior tone. Frankly,
she was interested as to why these two were sitting together. She had never seen
them together before, and why on earth a Princess and a Rebel would be sitting
together in the first place was fascinating. Two people from such different
groups sitting together in class – very close together, and whispering
in each other's ears – was something she hadn't seen in a very long time. And
it looks like the whole class is mesmerised as well. Mrs. Hammond
reflected.
"Well, Mrs Hammond, it does look as if it's as important as a conversation can get." Victoria Sanderson interjected. "I mean, look at that, they're whispering in each other's ears. And Claire moved her chair right up next to John. And the way they're looking at each other! Just when Claire couldn't get any sluttier she-"
"Shut UP, Sanderson!" John snapped suddenly,
turning around to glare at her. "Who the hell asked you, anyway?!"
From behind John, Claire looked on, amazed. He defended
me. Claire mused. So, he cares about me, too.
Victoria's eyes flashed triumphantly. "Oooh, look at that!
John's defending her! They must be together!"
John smiled very coldly. "Well, Victoria, it wasn't
Claire here that was busted by Mr. Ryan for being caught in a rather compromising
position with Peter Mooney in the boys' locker room behind the shower wall…" he
sneered.
Victoria's mouth fell open in shock, as did everyone
else's.
Mrs. Hammond raised her over-plucked eyebrows. Obviously
everyone here has forgotten that I'm in the room, she thought with a smile,
and looked back at Victoria. Victoria's face was burning bright red, and she
was glaring at John with what could only be construed as pure hate. John was
glaring right back at her.
"You arsehole!" Victoria shrieked at him. "How dare
you say that!"
Mrs. Hammond's eyes flicked to John and Claire.
"Well, it's the truth, isn't it?" John sneered. Claire was
leaning over from behind, a hand resting gently on John's shoulder.
Victoria's jaw clenched.
"You mean that shit going around about that was
true!" Scott Portman – a member of Brian's Geek-Gang - asked incredulously.
John smirked, and leaned back slightly. His eyes flicked
to Claire, who looked back at him. He turned around again to face the front,
and out of habit, put his feet up on the desk, crossing them at the ankles.
"Well, if you have all quite finished." Mrs. Hammond
interjected after it had been silent for a few moments. "Perhaps we could get
on with the lesson?" She looked firstly at Victoria, who looked like she wanted
to murder John and Claire. Then she shifted her gaze to John, who was looking
intently at his boots. Finally she looked at Claire, who was looking at John,
her eyes alight with tears. All three of them were unaware of the teacher's
gaze.
"Right, time to call the roll." Mrs. Hammond told them.
"Karla Adams?" she called.
"Here,"
"Chris Awad?"
"Present, miss,"
"John Bender?" Mrs. Hammond asked, smirking ever so
slightly when Claire nudged John to get him to pay attention.
"Oh, right. Yeah, I'm here," John replied absent-mindedly.
Mrs Hammond continued on, working her way down the thirty
people listed.
"Scott Portman?"
"Yes,"
"William Rogers?"
"Uh-huh,"
"Victoria Sanderson?"
Silence.
"Victoria Sanderson!" Mrs Hammond repeated sharply.
Victoria was once again locked in a staring contest with
Claire and John. "I'm here," she replied sharply, without turning her head
around.
"Patrick Sinclair?"
"Yes, miss."
"Claire Standish?" Mrs. Hammond continued.
But Claire and Victoria had resumed their staring contest.
Mrs Hammond saw John gently nudge Claire.
"Present," Claire said after a moment.
Mrs Hammond noticed that all the way through attendance,
Claire and John glared at Victoria. Victoria glared right back at them.
Mrs Hammond was getting annoyed. "Well, good, all of you
are here, apart from Renford Li, who has a dentist appointment and will arrive
later."
The rest of the lesson went by without incident. John was
exhausted. He had nearly fallen asleep on the desk during Mrs Hammond's boring,
monotonous lecture on the war of 1812, vaguely aware of the fact that Claire
was leaning her head on his shoulder. This morning – as well as the weekend he
had just experienced – had taken it out of him. All he wanted to do was sleep. I
could probably go to the nurse, and get sent home. John mused. But the last
thing he wanted to do was go home.
Everyone - Mrs Hammond included – was relieved when the
forty-minute period ended. And even more relieved that, because of a staff
meeting, they had the next twenty minutes off.
Claire took John's hand, and started to drag him away.
"Let's fix your bruise." Claire whispered.
John nodded, and he let himself be led away.