Chapter One: Life's a Bitch
Originally Composed on July 23, 2002
Quote: "Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity,
and I'm not sure about
the former." --Albert Einstein
Standard copyright notices apply.
Author's Notes: Wow, I haven't written in a really long time. I'm so
lazy. Well, here's a chapter. It takes so long to write so little.
It really depresses me, sometimes, but I at least came out of my
writer's block or writer's laziness. Well, I hope you like the first
chapter.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I awoke with a start in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, in
the unfamiliar house of my host family, the Tsukinos. The room was utterly
pink. It had pink walls, pink ceilings, pink carpeting, and fuzzy stuffed
bunnies all over it. It was utterly nauseating at first, but I had almost
grown to like it in the 48 hours that I had been in Tokyo. Almost. I rolled
over and looked at the alarm clock, which was in the shape of a Sailor Moon
doll, and was yelling cheerfully in an incredibly high, digitized voice,
"Good morning!" over and over again. The clock on the clock/radio read 7:15,
which meant that I had to get dressed, eat breakfast, and get out the door in
twenty-five minutes. I wasn't sure whether or not to collapse from despair,
or chuck the alarm clock, which was still saccharinely yelling, "Good
Morning!" against a wall. I chose the latter.
Unfortunately, in order to reach the alarm clock, I had to reach
across the bed, and the momentum from throwing the object, as well as the
angle at which I was positioned could not defy gravity for long. It was
at that point that I fell off of the bed with a thump. Disentangling
myself from the sheets which were still wrapped around my feet, I
raised myself woozily. I groggily dragged my feet across the ground in a
way that resembled walking to the closet. Sprinkled around the doors was the
sad, mangled, and broken corpse of the super-deformed Sailor Moon alarm clock.
I only noticed the pieces because I stepped on one of the broken-off
pony tails, and had managed to lodge it jaggedly into my foot.
After painstakingly removing the sharp, yellow plastic from my foot, I
opened the closet, which had been consumed by the Juuban High uniforms, which I
desperately desired to lacerate. I glanced longingly at my street clothing
before selecting one of the uniforms, and placing it on my personage. This
little activity by itself had taken ten minutes, so I stepped on the gas pedal,
and pulled my blonde hair up into two messy odangos, which were already falling
apart.
After deciding that taking the extra time to fix my hair would not be
worth it, I dashed across the room, threw open the door, raced down the hallway,
and half ran, half fell down the stairs. As I reached the bottom, I slid across
the wood floor in my socks. Thankfully, before I went flying off of the stairs
that led down into the house's entryway, where we left our shoes, I slid into Shingo,
who caught me. Shingo was two years younger than me, so I suppose that he was
fourteen at the time, not that that's really relevant.
He grinned like I had just done the most idiotic thing in the world,
which was of course an endless source of mirth for him, and walked into the
kitchen. I followed him haggardly. Ikuko, my host mother, was preparing
breakfast. Shingo and I sat at the table staring at each other. He was making
faces at me, and I sat in a jet-lagged stupor, so basically I just stared
blankly right through him. Ikuko glanced at her watch, and she looked over at
me. "It seems that we're all running a little late this morning. I would a
write a note for you, like the one that I will be writing for Shingo, but you
aren't my child. So, Serena, dear, you had better get going if you want to make
it to your first day of school on time." With that charming sentiment, she
chucked a piece of buttered toast at my head and winked.
I managed to catch the toast, which I still secretly believe she was
attempting to use as a projectile weapon to knock my head off. I shoved the
toast into my mouth, and ran, only again to slide across the floor. I caught
the door frame with my right hand, and swung around, carrying myself into the
hallway. Snatching up my shoes, and hobbling along hunched over as I tried to
place them on my feet, I managed to open the door.
To say that I took a bite of my toast and walked out the door calmly
for the first time that morning would be a lie. In fact, I ran like a madwoman
being chased by a large, feral cat, since Ikuko had taken until 7:50 to decide
that I was only going to get toast and have to run to school. I had already been
guided by my host father, Kenji, to the school, so I had a pretty good idea of
where I was going. I briefly noted an arcade, Crown Arcade, and decided that I
would check it out later, after school. Just as I was a block away from school,
I ran into something very hard, bounced off, and fell over onto the ground. I looked
up and saw that I had run into - a bench. It honestly could have happened to anybody,
and I am quite sure that I was not the first to have run into it.
I quickly brushed myself and managed to make it into the school yard
two minutes before the bell for the first class rang. I immersed myself in the
seething mass of students entering the building. I followed a girl with bright
blonde hair, obviously dyed, I thought who looked to be about my age, and prayed
that she was in my class. Perhaps luck balances itself out, because she was going
to the right class. I entered the threshold that was the classroom and found myself
a seat. The rest of the students filed in. The tall girl (or at least I thought,
though it is hard to judge height when people are sitting down) with brown hair,
sitting in the desk next to mine, leaned over and said, "Hi. I was wondering
if you would mind finding another seat. I was really hoping to have my friend
sit in the seat that you are currently occupying." She looked at me beseechingly.
I leaned back over and responded, "Actually, I really don't think that
I would consider moving. You see, I find this seat exceedingly comfortable, and
rock-hard, wooden chairs go. I'm afraid that I'll have to be a wedge between you
and your friend for just this class." I have no idea now what came over me in the
moment. Under normal circumstances I would have gladly moved, but not on that day.
I tried to keep from sneering, but I'm guessing from her agitated look that I did
not completely suppress it.
All of the seats were filled up by now, except for one, which I
supposed was going to belong to my brown-haired peers friend. And there he was,
strolling into class at the last second. He had black hair that seemed not
to reflect light, but to consume it. At that distance I could not tell what
color his eyes were, but I could see his pale skin, which seemed less than
ordinary, considering that it was a sunny, nice part of the year. I
suppose that with a little tan, and from a distance, he could be called rakishly
handsome, gorgeous, amazing, etc., but I was not that impressed. He looked up,
his eyes scanning the crowd. He spotted my brown-haired acquaintance, and waved.
The distinctive sound of a chair scraping against a linoleum floor was
audible, and I looked up to see my desk-mate, or whatever it is that people call
them, running towards him, grinning madly. She embraced him in what seemed to be
a friendly, but not intimate manner, and he wrapped his arms around her. As much
as I despised the word, I had to grudgingly admit that the scene was cute. They
released each other, and she said something inaudible to me about something. She
then pointedly scowled at me, and said something else. He glanced up at me, and
I finally saw his eyes, his smiling, depthless, sapphire eyes trapped on an
expressionless face. They were the kind of eyes that show something inviting, and
trap you forever once you enter their depths, their cage. People with eyes of
that nature, in my experience, only lead to trouble, and the man before me would not
prove me wrong on this theory.
While I had been musing the pair had separated, and gone to their
respective seats. It occurred to me, that unless I had a sadly skewed sense of
time, about ten minutes had passed since I had walked into the room. Curiosity
convinced me to look at my watch, and it was in fact 8:12. I was more than slightly
peeved. Why had I bothered to get up and stress myself out getting to school on
time when the teacher decided to be fashionably, or rather, annoyingly late?
My new 'friend', and desk peer, slid into her seat. The sound of a
door opening alerted me to the entrance of our teacher, whose name, Haruna-sensei,
was scribbled on the black board. She had orange hair, and seemed to me to be a
30-something, lonely, single woman who was having a dating slump. Educational
institutions seem to breed these sorts of people. She dropped her handbag onto the
desk, and pulled a piece of paper from a drawer within the aforementioned furniture.
She perused it, ignoring the whirring hum of conversation all around her. Haruna-sensei
suddenly stopped in her activity, picked up a ruler, and slammed it loudly against the
board. The class quieted, and Haruna-sensei dropped the ruler onto her desk, next to her
handbag, with a satisfied smirk.
"Alright, class, we have a couple of new students. The first person
is Aino, Minako. Minako, please come down here and introduce yourself. Let's give her
welcome, class." Haruna-sensei did a small golf-clap, and the girl I had followed
earlier walked up from the back of the class to the front. I felt a little embarrassed
that another new student, just as new as me, knew her way around the school better than
me.
Minako spun around and placed her hands behind her back. She seemed
entirely too happy in my opinion for a high school student at 8:20 in the morning.
Her loud, energetic, mirthful, slightly British voice filled the classroom with,
"Hello, everyone! My name is Minako, and I'm a new student from Liverpool, England.
I moved here with my parents a week ago. I'm really looking forward to meeting everyone."
She flounced back to her seat and sat down.
Haruna-sensei smiled politely, and glanced down at the list before
announcing the name that I dreaded, "Blake, Serena."
I solemnly trudged down the aisle, looking like absolute hell. I
turned around upon reaching the front of the class, and deadpanned, "I'm Serena.
I'm a pushy, loud, and exceptionally rude American." I heard a couple of
chuckles. "I will be staying here for two trimesters as an exchange student.
I look forward to learning more about your exciting culture, and meeting some of you."
I staggered tiredly back to my chair and practically fell into it. I
could hear some snickering, so apparently my tone had conveyed that I really was not
looking forward to meeting new people, could not care less if everyone fell off of a
cliff, and was so seriously sleep deprived that it was more likely that I myself
would wander off of the cliff in a sleep-deprived, brain-dead manner. Well, I
could make up for first impressions later, if I really wanted to, I supposed.
Now that the introductions were over and done with, Haruna-sensei
instructed everyone to read the first chapter in the Algebra II textbook, and
after sitting down at her desk, began flipping through her address book. I
stared blankly at the first page until class ended, and Haruna-sensei assigned
the class some problems from the first chapter, which she had not bothered to
explain at all. I bumped into the brown-haired girl as I was getting out of my
seat, and mumbled an apology, which I'm not quite sure she heard.
I walked outside of the classroom to my locker, locker number
twenty-seven. I turned the combination lock, the combination of which was
stuck to the back ofthe lock, supposedly easy to remove. Well, predictably,
nothing happened, and the lock stuck. After trying the lock for what felt
like fifty times, I gave up and began to kick it and pummel it, releasing a
string of epithets as I went. If I haven't said it before, I will say it now.
Life's a bitch. All logic abandoned me, and I began to frantically and
neurotically slam my head against the locker. I stopped my banging when I heard
a chuckle behind me.
I spun around, surprised. It was the black-haired guy. "School can't
be so bad that you're already injuring yourself after one period, can it? My
name's Mamoru, by the way It's a pleasure to meet you. If you'll let me, I could
help you with the lock."
To say I was suspicious would be an understatement. Why was he being
nice to me? Well, I was tired of trying to open the cursed locker, so screw
consequences; I would let him help me. In my most relieved voice I proclaimed,
"You already know that my name is Serena. I would really appreciate it if you
would help me with my locker."
He nodded and stepped past me. "What's you locker combo, Serena?"
"30-17-4," I responded in my best attempt at a nonchalant way.
Well, you can guess what happened next. It seemed that Mamoru had the
magic touch, because the locker opened. When I saw the contents it contained,
I wished that it hadn't. Obviously the locker had been neglected,
and not used to years. I say this only because it had dead cockroaches littering
its floor, and the remains of lots of different contact papers on its walls. What
I did when I saw it was not exactly cringing. That is too weak of a word. Rather,
I did something akin to gasping in horror and shuddering.
Mamoru glanced down at the locker, shook, his head, and muttered,
"Well, see, you around - Odango Atama." He then sauntered off.
Had I not been in a state of utter shock, I would have decked him. I
had a mean right hook at that time in my life. It was obvious to me that he was
referring to my unusual hairstyle of two meatballs with ponytails streaming down
from them. This brings up the incredibly moronic nickname that had just been
bestowed upon me. People have an aptitude for three things: making themselves
and each other miserable, deluding themselves, and giving their peers idiotic
nicknames. Almost every person that I have met has done every one of things listed
above. People who only do one or two, because doing at least one in inescapable,
have earned my respect. I did not know what it was about Mamoru, but I was desperately
hoping that he would be one of those people who earned respect according to my rules.
I abandoned hope of using my locker for the time being, and I
meandered through the crowded hallway to my next class, Literature Comprehension
and Grammar. Well, the rest of the morning was unexciting as a whole, so I will fast
forward several hours, to just before lunch.
I was once again staring despairingly at my locker during the lunch
period, so the halls were empty. I was interrupted from my negative reverie by
the sounds of grunts and banging. This was not the sound of someone trying to open
a locker. It sounded rather like someone was being thrown against lockers, or
something like that. Damn curiosity to perdition, it took hold of me. Fatuity is one
of man's greatest faults, and I was by no means immune to it. So I walked, outwardly
casual, down the hallway, my heart racing, anticipating a violent, unpleasant scene
before me. Life has never been one to disappoint me on the negative side. That may be why
my optimism crashed and burned when I was fourteen. After a while, it's just hard to
continue holding the belief that the world is great, and everything will turn
out right in the end; good will
triumph over evil, and all that tripe.
Some upperclassmen were slamming a tiny, meaning my size, girl against
lockers. Well, I had vowed to screw consequences earlier that day, so maybe that was
why I brought attention to myself by yelling,"Hey, stop that!" Or perhaps it was
merely because I was too tired to make intelligent, well-planned decisions. I guess
my spontaneity was worth it in the end, on all accounts.
The bullies, turned to me, sneered, and said their predictable bully
spiel. It was entirely unexciting, unoriginal, and played out like a bad teen
movie. Whatever happened is somewhatfuzzy, probably because I had the stuffing
beaten out of me, but I do remember exchanging some extremely witty comments,
punching people, blood, and waking upon the floor with a pale, concerned face peering
down into mine.
"Are you alright?" she queried in a concerned voice.
"What's your name?"
"Mizuno Ami."
"Please, lean closer, Ami," I remember saying.
She looked at me with a puzzled expression, looked up, seemingly
considering which course of action to take, and finally leaned closer, right
down next to my face.
I was feeling a little grumpy at the moment, and I felt that I had a
right to be. Being beaten up, or beating other people up, has never been
a particularly joyous pastime. So forgive my lapse in good taste. I yelled
shrilly into her ear, "I just got into a fight with three, larger
upperclassmen! I was punched, kicked, and I'm probably bleeding in four
places! Would you be alright, would you?" I placed extra emphasis on the word
'would', and clenched the front of Ami's school uniform for extra dramatic flare,
and from impatience at her badly phrased question.
Ami's eyes grew wide, and her eyes crunched up from cringing at the
cacophonous sound resonating within her ears. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Thanks
for taking out those girls for me. You did quite an impressive job disabling
them. I can assure you, if it bring an consolation, that they are still out,
and look worse than you do right now." I suspected that looking better
than the upperclassmen I had encountered would be no large feat, but
said nothing, allowing Ami to continue. "Please share my lunch with me as thanks."
I was about to decline. I generally made it a rule not to hang out
with people who are beaten up on a regular basis, but I remembered that I had
forgotten my lunch at home, so I accepted reluctantly. "Sure, Ami. It would be
my pleasure. I hope that lunch hour is not almost over."
Ami smiled at me. It almost seemed as though rejection would have
broken her heart, which I supposed was a feeble as her body seemed to be. It
would have been cruel, as I reflect on it, to refuse someone who seemed so
lonely and hopeful.
"I know the perfect place to go to, after we get you some medical
attention." She grasped my hand and led me along through the hallway, quickly
stepping out the upperclassmen; they were still out cold. I really wish that
I could recall the fight, because I still do not see any logical way that I
could have beaten them, adrenaline or no adrenaline.
"Great," I smiled back. "And while we're eating you can explain to me
why you're having problems with those upperclassmen."
I looked over at Ami, who was walking next to me, composed, as if
nothing had just happened. She had blue hair, which I thought was a pretty
daring color to have dyed one's hair, but seemed natural enough on her. It
added a bit of punkiness to the, by all appearances, mousy, quiet girl named Ami.
Instead of leading my to the infirmary, Ami led me to her locker,
which was full of basic first aid things, such as band-aids, alcohol, sanitary
wipes, etc. I raised an eyebrow. Maybe this bullying situation was more serious
than I had imagined. Ami seemed to sense my skeptical thoughts, and informed me,
"It is my dream to become a doctor when I become an adult. I keep these supplies
around just in case I get to doctor someone, even though that is not very often."
I had noticed until that moment that Ami had some purplish spots on
her, and a cut on her leg. She cleaned the cut and placed a band-aid on it,
and then began to care for my battle wounds.
When she was finished, she slammed her locker shut, threw away the
used medical supplies, and hurried me outside into the school yard. We sat
under a tree, and Ami explained to me that she had been targeted by bullies
because of her renowned intelligence, and they were too lazy to do their own
work. Seems that Ami had gotten tired of the game of cat-and-mouse that day,
so it was really only one of few confrontations. So, since their seemed to be
nothing more to discuss about bullying, we turned our conversation to other
topics while intermittently munching on Ami's lunch, which was scrumptious.
It really is fascinating how interesting the conversations that one
has with intellectuals. My favorite tidbit from our extensive conversation
would be the one about the paradox of time. It proved not to be prolific, but
it was amusing. Sometime within the course of our interaction I became very fond
of Ami. Sound, I had found my first friend in the big city of Tokyo.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Serena looked down at me as if seeing me for the first time. She had
been, during her trip down memory lane, been staring up at the ceiling, as though it
somehow helped her memory to flow more clearly. "I've been rambling, haven't I,
Sienna? You probably did not want all of these details. I'm just to given to
talking in my old age."
Actually, I was interested, if still having trouble grasping the
concept of Serena as a teenager. Besides, even if the story had been boring,
it was still a way of killing time on a slow moving day. "I really am enjoying
you story, actually. If you want to rest now, I could come back some other time."
I looked expectantly at Serena, waiting for her answer, and she turned
to me wistfully. Finally, reality seemed to fully come back, and she started.
"Yes, why don't you come back, tomorrow? I'll make more cookies. Take the cookies on
the platter I have sitting on the table home to your family for today. I'm sure that
they'll appreciate them more than me." She held out her arm and flicked her hand in a
movement which was to encourage me to be on my way.
I nodded to her in acknowledgement, and she closed her eyes, letting
sleep overtake her.
"Goodnight, Serena," I said, facing the door, and taking the cookies
with me. I exited, and closed the door behind me.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Email me: icefaerie0719@angelfire.com
Any feedback or constructive criticism is encouraged and greatly
appreciated. For those of you
who read the prologue, sorry to keep you waiting so long. I will get
out other chapters more
quickly. I promise.
Originally Composed on July 23, 2002
Quote: "Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity,
and I'm not sure about
the former." --Albert Einstein
Standard copyright notices apply.
Author's Notes: Wow, I haven't written in a really long time. I'm so
lazy. Well, here's a chapter. It takes so long to write so little.
It really depresses me, sometimes, but I at least came out of my
writer's block or writer's laziness. Well, I hope you like the first
chapter.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I awoke with a start in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, in
the unfamiliar house of my host family, the Tsukinos. The room was utterly
pink. It had pink walls, pink ceilings, pink carpeting, and fuzzy stuffed
bunnies all over it. It was utterly nauseating at first, but I had almost
grown to like it in the 48 hours that I had been in Tokyo. Almost. I rolled
over and looked at the alarm clock, which was in the shape of a Sailor Moon
doll, and was yelling cheerfully in an incredibly high, digitized voice,
"Good morning!" over and over again. The clock on the clock/radio read 7:15,
which meant that I had to get dressed, eat breakfast, and get out the door in
twenty-five minutes. I wasn't sure whether or not to collapse from despair,
or chuck the alarm clock, which was still saccharinely yelling, "Good
Morning!" against a wall. I chose the latter.
Unfortunately, in order to reach the alarm clock, I had to reach
across the bed, and the momentum from throwing the object, as well as the
angle at which I was positioned could not defy gravity for long. It was
at that point that I fell off of the bed with a thump. Disentangling
myself from the sheets which were still wrapped around my feet, I
raised myself woozily. I groggily dragged my feet across the ground in a
way that resembled walking to the closet. Sprinkled around the doors was the
sad, mangled, and broken corpse of the super-deformed Sailor Moon alarm clock.
I only noticed the pieces because I stepped on one of the broken-off
pony tails, and had managed to lodge it jaggedly into my foot.
After painstakingly removing the sharp, yellow plastic from my foot, I
opened the closet, which had been consumed by the Juuban High uniforms, which I
desperately desired to lacerate. I glanced longingly at my street clothing
before selecting one of the uniforms, and placing it on my personage. This
little activity by itself had taken ten minutes, so I stepped on the gas pedal,
and pulled my blonde hair up into two messy odangos, which were already falling
apart.
After deciding that taking the extra time to fix my hair would not be
worth it, I dashed across the room, threw open the door, raced down the hallway,
and half ran, half fell down the stairs. As I reached the bottom, I slid across
the wood floor in my socks. Thankfully, before I went flying off of the stairs
that led down into the house's entryway, where we left our shoes, I slid into Shingo,
who caught me. Shingo was two years younger than me, so I suppose that he was
fourteen at the time, not that that's really relevant.
He grinned like I had just done the most idiotic thing in the world,
which was of course an endless source of mirth for him, and walked into the
kitchen. I followed him haggardly. Ikuko, my host mother, was preparing
breakfast. Shingo and I sat at the table staring at each other. He was making
faces at me, and I sat in a jet-lagged stupor, so basically I just stared
blankly right through him. Ikuko glanced at her watch, and she looked over at
me. "It seems that we're all running a little late this morning. I would a
write a note for you, like the one that I will be writing for Shingo, but you
aren't my child. So, Serena, dear, you had better get going if you want to make
it to your first day of school on time." With that charming sentiment, she
chucked a piece of buttered toast at my head and winked.
I managed to catch the toast, which I still secretly believe she was
attempting to use as a projectile weapon to knock my head off. I shoved the
toast into my mouth, and ran, only again to slide across the floor. I caught
the door frame with my right hand, and swung around, carrying myself into the
hallway. Snatching up my shoes, and hobbling along hunched over as I tried to
place them on my feet, I managed to open the door.
To say that I took a bite of my toast and walked out the door calmly
for the first time that morning would be a lie. In fact, I ran like a madwoman
being chased by a large, feral cat, since Ikuko had taken until 7:50 to decide
that I was only going to get toast and have to run to school. I had already been
guided by my host father, Kenji, to the school, so I had a pretty good idea of
where I was going. I briefly noted an arcade, Crown Arcade, and decided that I
would check it out later, after school. Just as I was a block away from school,
I ran into something very hard, bounced off, and fell over onto the ground. I looked
up and saw that I had run into - a bench. It honestly could have happened to anybody,
and I am quite sure that I was not the first to have run into it.
I quickly brushed myself and managed to make it into the school yard
two minutes before the bell for the first class rang. I immersed myself in the
seething mass of students entering the building. I followed a girl with bright
blonde hair, obviously dyed, I thought who looked to be about my age, and prayed
that she was in my class. Perhaps luck balances itself out, because she was going
to the right class. I entered the threshold that was the classroom and found myself
a seat. The rest of the students filed in. The tall girl (or at least I thought,
though it is hard to judge height when people are sitting down) with brown hair,
sitting in the desk next to mine, leaned over and said, "Hi. I was wondering
if you would mind finding another seat. I was really hoping to have my friend
sit in the seat that you are currently occupying." She looked at me beseechingly.
I leaned back over and responded, "Actually, I really don't think that
I would consider moving. You see, I find this seat exceedingly comfortable, and
rock-hard, wooden chairs go. I'm afraid that I'll have to be a wedge between you
and your friend for just this class." I have no idea now what came over me in the
moment. Under normal circumstances I would have gladly moved, but not on that day.
I tried to keep from sneering, but I'm guessing from her agitated look that I did
not completely suppress it.
All of the seats were filled up by now, except for one, which I
supposed was going to belong to my brown-haired peers friend. And there he was,
strolling into class at the last second. He had black hair that seemed not
to reflect light, but to consume it. At that distance I could not tell what
color his eyes were, but I could see his pale skin, which seemed less than
ordinary, considering that it was a sunny, nice part of the year. I
suppose that with a little tan, and from a distance, he could be called rakishly
handsome, gorgeous, amazing, etc., but I was not that impressed. He looked up,
his eyes scanning the crowd. He spotted my brown-haired acquaintance, and waved.
The distinctive sound of a chair scraping against a linoleum floor was
audible, and I looked up to see my desk-mate, or whatever it is that people call
them, running towards him, grinning madly. She embraced him in what seemed to be
a friendly, but not intimate manner, and he wrapped his arms around her. As much
as I despised the word, I had to grudgingly admit that the scene was cute. They
released each other, and she said something inaudible to me about something. She
then pointedly scowled at me, and said something else. He glanced up at me, and
I finally saw his eyes, his smiling, depthless, sapphire eyes trapped on an
expressionless face. They were the kind of eyes that show something inviting, and
trap you forever once you enter their depths, their cage. People with eyes of
that nature, in my experience, only lead to trouble, and the man before me would not
prove me wrong on this theory.
While I had been musing the pair had separated, and gone to their
respective seats. It occurred to me, that unless I had a sadly skewed sense of
time, about ten minutes had passed since I had walked into the room. Curiosity
convinced me to look at my watch, and it was in fact 8:12. I was more than slightly
peeved. Why had I bothered to get up and stress myself out getting to school on
time when the teacher decided to be fashionably, or rather, annoyingly late?
My new 'friend', and desk peer, slid into her seat. The sound of a
door opening alerted me to the entrance of our teacher, whose name, Haruna-sensei,
was scribbled on the black board. She had orange hair, and seemed to me to be a
30-something, lonely, single woman who was having a dating slump. Educational
institutions seem to breed these sorts of people. She dropped her handbag onto the
desk, and pulled a piece of paper from a drawer within the aforementioned furniture.
She perused it, ignoring the whirring hum of conversation all around her. Haruna-sensei
suddenly stopped in her activity, picked up a ruler, and slammed it loudly against the
board. The class quieted, and Haruna-sensei dropped the ruler onto her desk, next to her
handbag, with a satisfied smirk.
"Alright, class, we have a couple of new students. The first person
is Aino, Minako. Minako, please come down here and introduce yourself. Let's give her
welcome, class." Haruna-sensei did a small golf-clap, and the girl I had followed
earlier walked up from the back of the class to the front. I felt a little embarrassed
that another new student, just as new as me, knew her way around the school better than
me.
Minako spun around and placed her hands behind her back. She seemed
entirely too happy in my opinion for a high school student at 8:20 in the morning.
Her loud, energetic, mirthful, slightly British voice filled the classroom with,
"Hello, everyone! My name is Minako, and I'm a new student from Liverpool, England.
I moved here with my parents a week ago. I'm really looking forward to meeting everyone."
She flounced back to her seat and sat down.
Haruna-sensei smiled politely, and glanced down at the list before
announcing the name that I dreaded, "Blake, Serena."
I solemnly trudged down the aisle, looking like absolute hell. I
turned around upon reaching the front of the class, and deadpanned, "I'm Serena.
I'm a pushy, loud, and exceptionally rude American." I heard a couple of
chuckles. "I will be staying here for two trimesters as an exchange student.
I look forward to learning more about your exciting culture, and meeting some of you."
I staggered tiredly back to my chair and practically fell into it. I
could hear some snickering, so apparently my tone had conveyed that I really was not
looking forward to meeting new people, could not care less if everyone fell off of a
cliff, and was so seriously sleep deprived that it was more likely that I myself
would wander off of the cliff in a sleep-deprived, brain-dead manner. Well, I
could make up for first impressions later, if I really wanted to, I supposed.
Now that the introductions were over and done with, Haruna-sensei
instructed everyone to read the first chapter in the Algebra II textbook, and
after sitting down at her desk, began flipping through her address book. I
stared blankly at the first page until class ended, and Haruna-sensei assigned
the class some problems from the first chapter, which she had not bothered to
explain at all. I bumped into the brown-haired girl as I was getting out of my
seat, and mumbled an apology, which I'm not quite sure she heard.
I walked outside of the classroom to my locker, locker number
twenty-seven. I turned the combination lock, the combination of which was
stuck to the back ofthe lock, supposedly easy to remove. Well, predictably,
nothing happened, and the lock stuck. After trying the lock for what felt
like fifty times, I gave up and began to kick it and pummel it, releasing a
string of epithets as I went. If I haven't said it before, I will say it now.
Life's a bitch. All logic abandoned me, and I began to frantically and
neurotically slam my head against the locker. I stopped my banging when I heard
a chuckle behind me.
I spun around, surprised. It was the black-haired guy. "School can't
be so bad that you're already injuring yourself after one period, can it? My
name's Mamoru, by the way It's a pleasure to meet you. If you'll let me, I could
help you with the lock."
To say I was suspicious would be an understatement. Why was he being
nice to me? Well, I was tired of trying to open the cursed locker, so screw
consequences; I would let him help me. In my most relieved voice I proclaimed,
"You already know that my name is Serena. I would really appreciate it if you
would help me with my locker."
He nodded and stepped past me. "What's you locker combo, Serena?"
"30-17-4," I responded in my best attempt at a nonchalant way.
Well, you can guess what happened next. It seemed that Mamoru had the
magic touch, because the locker opened. When I saw the contents it contained,
I wished that it hadn't. Obviously the locker had been neglected,
and not used to years. I say this only because it had dead cockroaches littering
its floor, and the remains of lots of different contact papers on its walls. What
I did when I saw it was not exactly cringing. That is too weak of a word. Rather,
I did something akin to gasping in horror and shuddering.
Mamoru glanced down at the locker, shook, his head, and muttered,
"Well, see, you around - Odango Atama." He then sauntered off.
Had I not been in a state of utter shock, I would have decked him. I
had a mean right hook at that time in my life. It was obvious to me that he was
referring to my unusual hairstyle of two meatballs with ponytails streaming down
from them. This brings up the incredibly moronic nickname that had just been
bestowed upon me. People have an aptitude for three things: making themselves
and each other miserable, deluding themselves, and giving their peers idiotic
nicknames. Almost every person that I have met has done every one of things listed
above. People who only do one or two, because doing at least one in inescapable,
have earned my respect. I did not know what it was about Mamoru, but I was desperately
hoping that he would be one of those people who earned respect according to my rules.
I abandoned hope of using my locker for the time being, and I
meandered through the crowded hallway to my next class, Literature Comprehension
and Grammar. Well, the rest of the morning was unexciting as a whole, so I will fast
forward several hours, to just before lunch.
I was once again staring despairingly at my locker during the lunch
period, so the halls were empty. I was interrupted from my negative reverie by
the sounds of grunts and banging. This was not the sound of someone trying to open
a locker. It sounded rather like someone was being thrown against lockers, or
something like that. Damn curiosity to perdition, it took hold of me. Fatuity is one
of man's greatest faults, and I was by no means immune to it. So I walked, outwardly
casual, down the hallway, my heart racing, anticipating a violent, unpleasant scene
before me. Life has never been one to disappoint me on the negative side. That may be why
my optimism crashed and burned when I was fourteen. After a while, it's just hard to
continue holding the belief that the world is great, and everything will turn
out right in the end; good will
triumph over evil, and all that tripe.
Some upperclassmen were slamming a tiny, meaning my size, girl against
lockers. Well, I had vowed to screw consequences earlier that day, so maybe that was
why I brought attention to myself by yelling,"Hey, stop that!" Or perhaps it was
merely because I was too tired to make intelligent, well-planned decisions. I guess
my spontaneity was worth it in the end, on all accounts.
The bullies, turned to me, sneered, and said their predictable bully
spiel. It was entirely unexciting, unoriginal, and played out like a bad teen
movie. Whatever happened is somewhatfuzzy, probably because I had the stuffing
beaten out of me, but I do remember exchanging some extremely witty comments,
punching people, blood, and waking upon the floor with a pale, concerned face peering
down into mine.
"Are you alright?" she queried in a concerned voice.
"What's your name?"
"Mizuno Ami."
"Please, lean closer, Ami," I remember saying.
She looked at me with a puzzled expression, looked up, seemingly
considering which course of action to take, and finally leaned closer, right
down next to my face.
I was feeling a little grumpy at the moment, and I felt that I had a
right to be. Being beaten up, or beating other people up, has never been
a particularly joyous pastime. So forgive my lapse in good taste. I yelled
shrilly into her ear, "I just got into a fight with three, larger
upperclassmen! I was punched, kicked, and I'm probably bleeding in four
places! Would you be alright, would you?" I placed extra emphasis on the word
'would', and clenched the front of Ami's school uniform for extra dramatic flare,
and from impatience at her badly phrased question.
Ami's eyes grew wide, and her eyes crunched up from cringing at the
cacophonous sound resonating within her ears. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Thanks
for taking out those girls for me. You did quite an impressive job disabling
them. I can assure you, if it bring an consolation, that they are still out,
and look worse than you do right now." I suspected that looking better
than the upperclassmen I had encountered would be no large feat, but
said nothing, allowing Ami to continue. "Please share my lunch with me as thanks."
I was about to decline. I generally made it a rule not to hang out
with people who are beaten up on a regular basis, but I remembered that I had
forgotten my lunch at home, so I accepted reluctantly. "Sure, Ami. It would be
my pleasure. I hope that lunch hour is not almost over."
Ami smiled at me. It almost seemed as though rejection would have
broken her heart, which I supposed was a feeble as her body seemed to be. It
would have been cruel, as I reflect on it, to refuse someone who seemed so
lonely and hopeful.
"I know the perfect place to go to, after we get you some medical
attention." She grasped my hand and led me along through the hallway, quickly
stepping out the upperclassmen; they were still out cold. I really wish that
I could recall the fight, because I still do not see any logical way that I
could have beaten them, adrenaline or no adrenaline.
"Great," I smiled back. "And while we're eating you can explain to me
why you're having problems with those upperclassmen."
I looked over at Ami, who was walking next to me, composed, as if
nothing had just happened. She had blue hair, which I thought was a pretty
daring color to have dyed one's hair, but seemed natural enough on her. It
added a bit of punkiness to the, by all appearances, mousy, quiet girl named Ami.
Instead of leading my to the infirmary, Ami led me to her locker,
which was full of basic first aid things, such as band-aids, alcohol, sanitary
wipes, etc. I raised an eyebrow. Maybe this bullying situation was more serious
than I had imagined. Ami seemed to sense my skeptical thoughts, and informed me,
"It is my dream to become a doctor when I become an adult. I keep these supplies
around just in case I get to doctor someone, even though that is not very often."
I had noticed until that moment that Ami had some purplish spots on
her, and a cut on her leg. She cleaned the cut and placed a band-aid on it,
and then began to care for my battle wounds.
When she was finished, she slammed her locker shut, threw away the
used medical supplies, and hurried me outside into the school yard. We sat
under a tree, and Ami explained to me that she had been targeted by bullies
because of her renowned intelligence, and they were too lazy to do their own
work. Seems that Ami had gotten tired of the game of cat-and-mouse that day,
so it was really only one of few confrontations. So, since their seemed to be
nothing more to discuss about bullying, we turned our conversation to other
topics while intermittently munching on Ami's lunch, which was scrumptious.
It really is fascinating how interesting the conversations that one
has with intellectuals. My favorite tidbit from our extensive conversation
would be the one about the paradox of time. It proved not to be prolific, but
it was amusing. Sometime within the course of our interaction I became very fond
of Ami. Sound, I had found my first friend in the big city of Tokyo.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Serena looked down at me as if seeing me for the first time. She had
been, during her trip down memory lane, been staring up at the ceiling, as though it
somehow helped her memory to flow more clearly. "I've been rambling, haven't I,
Sienna? You probably did not want all of these details. I'm just to given to
talking in my old age."
Actually, I was interested, if still having trouble grasping the
concept of Serena as a teenager. Besides, even if the story had been boring,
it was still a way of killing time on a slow moving day. "I really am enjoying
you story, actually. If you want to rest now, I could come back some other time."
I looked expectantly at Serena, waiting for her answer, and she turned
to me wistfully. Finally, reality seemed to fully come back, and she started.
"Yes, why don't you come back, tomorrow? I'll make more cookies. Take the cookies on
the platter I have sitting on the table home to your family for today. I'm sure that
they'll appreciate them more than me." She held out her arm and flicked her hand in a
movement which was to encourage me to be on my way.
I nodded to her in acknowledgement, and she closed her eyes, letting
sleep overtake her.
"Goodnight, Serena," I said, facing the door, and taking the cookies
with me. I exited, and closed the door behind me.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Email me: icefaerie0719@angelfire.com
Any feedback or constructive criticism is encouraged and greatly
appreciated. For those of you
who read the prologue, sorry to keep you waiting so long. I will get
out other chapters more
quickly. I promise.