Heya, everybody! WOO, TIME FOR MORE BIAP! *grins and dances* I watched But I'm a Cheerleader again, and I think I have this figured out. Including this loverly chappie that you're reading right now, BIAP will have four more chapters. So, we're actually getting to the end. *sobs* But, don't worry! I have another one in the works! It's uber-secret! *shifty eyes* But it actually takes place in 1899! (Pantless!Blink-Muse: Unlike most of your fics...) Shaddup. Anyway! Do please send me a review. I'd love you foreeeeever! *smiles and attempts to look cute*
Disclaimers: If Sita owned Newsies, do you REALLY think it would be a PG movie?
Warnings: Language, slash
But I'm a Prep!
Chapter Seven
"Come on, Paul, I just want you to think about it a little harder."
"But I've been thinking about it since the first day! I don't have any fucking root!"
"Watch your language, Paul."
I groaned and slouched down in my seat.
"Shoot me," I muttered to myself.
For the first time since I could remember, the boys and the girls of True Directions were assembled in the same room. Well, except for Swifty and Mandy, who were sick, and Skittery, who was still in the Doghouse. David was picking on Spot, trying to figure out his "root," while everyone else sort of pretended to pay attention.
Oh, I was paying attention, all right. Just not to David.
I was more interested in the fact that my boyfriend's hand was inconspicuously creeping up my leg.
Yes, boyfriend. My boyfriend.
Say it with me now. Boyfriend. Don't it feel good to say it?
Yeah. It does.
"Come on, Paul, I think if you just-"
"I'm a heterosexual."
Everyone sort of stopped what they were doing right about then. Even Race took his hand off my leg.
Then, slowly, we all turned our heads to gawk at Colleen.
She was staring, wide-eyed, at the wall in front of her.
"I'm a heterosexual," she repeated quietly.
David laughed dryly.
"No, hon, you're not quite there yet. But almost!" Colleen glanced up sharply, her hazel eyes flashing behind her glasses.
"You don't get it. I've never been gay! It's all been her!"
"Who?"
"Maureen! But she's gone! She's out! She disappeared a week ago! That's how pathetic you people are!" Colleen shrieked, on the verge of hysterics. She glared daggers at David even as tears started gushing down her cheeks. "She couldn't take any more of your crap, so she left! And now it's just me here! Me, all alone! AND I. AM. NOT. GAY!" David shot her a skeptical look as she sniffled loudly, wiping her eyes. "I just want a guy! A nice, sweet guy with a nice, big-"
"Amen, sister," Spot muttered quietly, leaning back in his chair.
Colleen burst out into tears again and raced out of the room.
"I QUIT!" Her screech echoed from all the way down the hall.
We sat in silence for a few seconds before David shook his head, frowning.
"Who the hell does she think she's trying to fool?" With that, he hopped to his feet, tugged down his booty shorts, and jogged out of the room. "Come on, Colleen, come back!"
Now, that's ironic, Alanis.
"Poor kid," Bebop muttered under her breath.
"So what do we do now?" Bumlets asked quietly.
"No teacher. Guess we should go!" Mayfly yelled cheerfully.
"Not a chance, Miss Bennett. Sit back down."
Medda's voice was so cold that it took the smile off of Mayfly's face.
She walked into the room with a look in her eyes that could have frozen fire.
"I want to know," she said slowly, "who is going to tell me where the hell this came from." She held up a small box of matches with a rainbow and the word "Cocksucker" on the cover.
Shit.
Medda glared at us all in turn. "Well? I'm waiting." None of us answered. I mean, come on, you think we're stupid? "Fine. Dean, what do you have to say for yourself?"
Race's head snapped up.
"What are you talking about?" he snarled. "Why are you looking at me?"
"Because these were under your bed."
He didn't even flinch. Admirable. Very, very admirable.
"So?"
"So, did you sneak out?"
"No. I didn't, for your information." It was pretty damn clear that Medda wasn't buying it, but I could practically see the little wheels in his thick skull turning. "But, I did realize something about myself. Something important."
Medda raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"I've got a crush. On Janel."
I blinked.
"Say what?" Race completely ignored Speed's snorts of laughter, Chaser's death glare, and me, in general. He just concentrated on Medda.
"It's the first time I've ever really felt something for a girl, yanno? And it just proved that the program's really working."
Medda just sort of stood there for a few seconds.
Then, her eyes got huge and filled themselves with big, sparkling, cartoonish tears right before she latched onto my boyfriend like some kind of massive leech.
"Oh, Dean, that's wonderful!" she cried. Racetrack kept smiling, but it looked seriously fake this time. "I am so proud of you!" She glanced sharply at the rest of us. "I want you all to take a lesson from Dean. I hope you all know that I'm extremely disappointed in the rest of you, and I've scheduled a meeting with all of your parents." She finally detached herself from Race and walked briskly out of the room.
A meeting with my parents?
Oh, great. Wonderful. Life was good.
Yay, sarcasm.
Sighing softly, I trudged out of the room towards the next portion of my own personal hell.
*~*~*
I stood nervously outside of Medda's office, chewing absent-mindedly on my fingernail.
"I swear to God, Ma, I didn't go to the Cocksucker!" Pie's voice was annoyed and slightly panicked. "I've never been to the Cocksucker! My Cocksucking days are over!"
"You're not gonna tell your parents, are you?" Race whispered. I sighed.
"I think I have to."
"Why the hell do you have to?!"
"I have major issues about lying to my parents."
"Goody two-shoes," he muttered affectionately, shooting me a half-smile. I kinda smiled back and, for a few seconds, we just kinda sat there and smiled at each other as he gently rubbed his thumb over the back of my hand.
And then the door opened, so we had to jump apart rather quickly.
"Isaac. Come in."
I winced at the sound of my name and clambered to my feet. I brushed past a red-faced Pie Eater as I trudged into Medda's office. The door shut behind me with a foreboding clicking noise.
"Hello, Isaac."
I felt my heart drop into my shoes when I saw the two figures sitting on either side of Medda's big, black desk. As if my day couldn't get any worse.
One of them was my father. Hey, I'd been expecting that. He was sitting stiffly in one of Medda's poofy chairs staring blankly at me.
But it wasn't my mom sitting in the other chair. Nor were the twins, Mom's usual replacements, there. Oh, no.
It was Ira, my favorite brother in the universe.
Oh, joy, rapture, and other such synonyms.
"Please, Isaac, have a seat," Medda said solemnly, gesturing to the poofy, purple chair facing the three of them. I reluctantly settled into it, but sat on the very edge in case I had to make a quick exit.
"Now, Isaac, we know that you didn't have anything to do with this," Ira said, idly cleaning his glasses as he spoke.
"Of course he didn't," my father added gruffly. "He isn't stupid enough to do that. He knows how embarrassed I'd be."
"But, if you had gone-"
"If you had gone, you'd be out."
I blinked.
"W-What?"
"You'd be out of the house. I can't have a... a faggot for a son. You'd be on your own."
... you know, I always knew it would hurt. Really. I did. I knew that as soon as I got out of TD and into the real world, there would be homophobes who'd call me all kinds of stupid names.
But I never knew it'd hurt that much.
Then again, I never knew that I'd be getting that kind of abuse from my own father.
I felt my lunch rising in my throat as my father stared stonily at me, and Ira nodded in agreement, looking like some kind of bobble-head doll.
"Now, Isaac, is there anything you'd like to tell your father and brother?"
I stared at them for a few seconds.
"You don't have anything to worry about, Father," I heard myself say flatly. "I really think the program is working. I'm thinking about Bridget all the time, and I can't wait to be normal again."
I sounded so mechanical that I can't believe they bought it. But, they did. Just goes to show you that parents don't always know as much as they claim to know.
My father actually smiled. It was the first time I'd seen him smile in months, but it made me sick to my stomach.
"That's good to hear, son." Son. Son, he calls me. When did he start acknowledging the fact that I was his son? "Don't let me down."
"I won't." My father and Ira somehow managed to stand up at exactly the same time, vaguely reminding me of some sort of circus act. They both shook hands with Medda, and, though Ira headed straight for the door, the guy I referred to as "Father" stayed behind to clap me on the shoulder before walking briskly out.
I think that's the most affection he's ever shown towards me. Definitely the most that I can remember.
For a few seconds, I just kinda sat there and stared blankly at the wall. What else could I do? Granted, my father wasn't the greatest dad in the world, but I never thought he'd shun me because I didn't live up to the standards in his perfect, little world.
Finally, I got up and trudged out the door.
Race blinked at me as Bebop walked past, already wincing at the high-pitched shrieks emanating from the freakishly skinny woman I assumed was her mother.
"You okay?" I stared at him before smiling mirthlessly.
"Have I ever been okay?"
I walked towards the boys' dorm as quickly as I could, ignoring the feeling of Racetrack's eyes boring into my back.
*~*~*
"Oh, get a fuckin' room."
"C'mon, Spot, you know you love us."
"Yeah, I love you both, but put your shirt back on, Higgins."
Race grinned down at me and gave me a quick kiss before rolling off of my stomach.
"You know you want me." Spot rolled his eyes and slapped Race on the ass.
"I know you ain't touchin' my man, baby," I warned. Spot responded with a stereotypical ghetto snap.
"What if I am, girl?"
Just as Spot and I were about to jump into a fake cat fight (which would have been extremely amusing), the door opened, and Skittery walked in.
His hair was messed up and pretty nasty-looking. He had dirt smudged all over his face and clothes, and he was barefoot. But the worst were his eyes. They weren't exactly blank, like Mandy's. They were just... dark. They looked like the eyes of someone who's given up. Which, now that I think of it, he probably had.
We just stared at him.
Without a word Spot walked over to him and gave him a hug. I felt like I should do the same, but Skittery didn't even move when Spot touched him. I figured that it probably wasn't a good idea to have too many people on him at once.
"You gonna be okay, Skitts?"
He shook his head, which made me feel like the lowest form of pond scum on the planet.
"Skittery... I know this won't do a damn thing to make you feel any better, but I'm so, so sorry," I heard myself say. Skittery focused on me for a few seconds before smiling weakly.
"S'okay," he whispered.
"Do you hate me?"
"No." Spot smiled at us both, obviously relieved.
"Skitts, hon, go take a shower. You'll feel a little better, maybe." Skittery trudged slowly towards the bathroom without speaking. Without blinking.
"He looks horrible," I whispered, shocked.
"What did you expect?" Race replied before buttoning his shirt. "The Doghouse doesn't have any electricity or running water or anything. Skittery's been living in total darkness with no shower or toilet or anything even remotely modern. The building doesn't even have a floor, from what I understand. Just the grass."
My jaw dropped. "That's... that's inhumane! Can't we call the cops about this or something?" Race shook his head.
"True Directions is a private organization," Spot said quietly. He glanced quickly at the bathroom door as the sound of running water echoed through the room. "The cops can't just burst in here without a good reason. And our word isn't a good reason." I sighed and chewed on my lip.
"How do you guys know all of this, anyway?"
"Swifty," they replied in unison. Ah, yes. Of course. Swifty.
A few minutes later, Skittery stepped out of the bathroom, clad in the familiar silky, blue pajamas.
"There's something you guys should know," he said quietly, scrubbing at his hair with a poofy, blue towel.
"What?"
"I heard Medda on the phone when she was dragging me out of the Doghouse. She was screaming at some guy she called 'Maurice.' I don't know what they were arguing about, but she said something along the lines of, 'if you wanna play dirty, we'll play dirty' and, 'you'll just see tomorrow.' She sounded pissed." He glanced up. "I've got a really bad feeling about this."
No one said anything. Spot picked at his fingernails, Racetrack busied himself by searching for his cigarettes, and I stared at the floor.
Why?
We didn't want to think about the fact that there was something seriously wrong.
But we knew. Oh, we definitely knew.
We just didn't know how bad it was gonna be.
*~*~*
"We're here!" Medda called in a sing-song voice as Davey pulled the giant pink and blue True Directions van to a stop. I glanced out of the window and raised an eyebrow.
The place was huge. That was the first thing I noticed. Second, it was very plain. Dark bricks, dark doors, nothing special about it at all. The only color came from a huge rainbow flag flying on a flagpole in the front yard.
"This, students, is the very type of organization that we're fighting against. The man who runs this group is trying to make homosexuality the norm! And we can't have that, can we, students?" No answer. "Can we?"
"No, Miss Medda."
"Good! Now, I want you all to grab a sign out of the trunk and start chanting!"
One by one, we piled out of the van and headed towards the back. I shot a confused glance at Racetrack who shrugged before taking his sign from Davey.
"Here you go, Isaac," the king of all that is denial-related said cheerily before handing me my own sign. I stared blankly at it. It was bright, neon blue and had "Adam and Eve, Not Adam and Steve" written on it.
I wanted to throw up. Especially when I caught a glimpse of Race's sign, which stated "Silly Faggots, Dicks are For Chicks."
Racetrack kept glancing from his sign to Medda with a mixture of horror and disgust on his face.
"What the hell do you want us to do with these things?" Medda beamed broadly, grabbed a bright pink megaphone out of the trunk, and immediately stood on the front lawn.
"WE ARE HERE, WE'RE NOT QUEER, WE'RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE!" she screamed loudly. "WE ARE HERE, WE'RE NOT- come on, children, chant with me!"
"This is revolting," Chaser hissed, throwing down her sign. "This absolutely disgusts me." The girls muttered their agreement. Even Stage, who never gets upset with anyone, was having trouble keeping her cool.
At that moment, a short, chubby girl with long, curly brown hair rode up on a black bicycle. She glanced at us, her green eyes widening in shock.
"Hey..." she muttered quietly. "Didn't I see you at the bar?" she asked, pointing at me and Race.
Race, without missing a beat, reached down, snatched up a rock, and hummed it at her.
"EEP!" the girl shrieked, rushing inside.
"Good shot, Dean!" Medda crowed.
"What'd you do that for?" I hissed, jabbing Racetrack in the side. He glared at me.
"She saw us kissing. What the hell was I supposed to do? Do you wanna get caught?"
"Of course not, you dumb fuck, but that doesn't mean you have to throw rocks at her!"
"What the hell?!"
We glanced towards the front door. It had been flung wide open, and Specs and Dutchy were standing in front of it, dressed identically in grey camaflouge pants and white T-shirts.
Medda smiled coldly. "Lucas. Donovan. Get me Maurice, and get him now."
"You can't tell us what to do any more, Medda," Dutchy snarled. starting angrily towards Hitlerina. Specs quickly caught the back of his shirt.
"Dutchy, love, don't."
"Is there a problem?"
The man at the door was a medium-sized man, not tall but not short either. He was dressed completely in the same grey camaflouge as Specs and Dutchy. His black fedora even boasted a band made of the stuff. He carried a long, shiny walking stick, but it didn't look as if he particularly needed it. He looked old, but not really. He was one of those people whose age you couldn't know for sure unless you outright asked them. He smiled broadly at Medda, who returned the expression with a stony frown.
"Why, Medda, it's been a while!"
"Maurice," she replied curtly.
"Specs, Dutchy, why don't you head inside?"
"You sure, Mr. Kloppman?"
"We'll stay and help."
"I'm sure. I've got it under control. Thank you, though." Reluctantly, Specs and Dutchy headed back into the house, glancing warily over their shoulders the whole time.
"So, Medda. This is your idea of teaching now, hm?"
"It's part of the process, Maurice."
"Now what process would that be? The process to homophobia?"
"My students are not homophobic!"
"Of course they aren't! But if you had anything to do with it, they would be." Medda clutched her megaphone, her perfectly manicured nails digging into her palms.
"I swear to God, Maurice, one of these days, my students will take you down. It's amusing, isn't it? I plan on making the very people you want to protect the instigators of your downfall."
"I'd like to see you do that, Medda. Honestly. I would."
"Then you just wait because-"
Medda sorta stopped in mid-sentence when a drumstick hurtled out of the window and plunged into the ground.
We all glanced up at one of the second-story windows in shock. A girl with short, curly, reddish-blond hair was leaning out the window, glaring at Medda and wielding the matching drumstick in her hand.
"Get the fuck out of here, Medda!" she barked. "You're not welcome here!"
Medda gaped up at the girl, then recovered and pointed menacingly in her direction. "Kristen Hunter, don't you dare-"
WHAM! The other drumstick joined its partner a few inches from Medda's pink high heels.
"And I'm not the only one who plays drums here," the girl yelled, smirking. "I've got Rebel's sticks and Raven's, too, so I suggest you get the hell out of here before I use them."
Medda snarled up at her adversary before directing her glare to the old man, Mr. Kloppman. "This isn't over, Maurice," she hissed.
Mr. Kloppman smiled brightly. "Oh, I believe it is. Good day, Miss Larkson."
With that Medda ordered us all back to the True Directions van, and we sped off towards the campus.
"That was fucked up," Racetrack muttered.
"That's an understatement," Skittery replied, tossing his sign over the back of his seat, a look of complete and total horror on his face.
I've gotta admit, that was definitely one of the worst experiences of my life, and it definitely screwed me up a bit. I guess it showed, too, because Slosh and Race (who were sitting on either side of me) kept asking me if I was okay the whole way home. Slosh even offered me some of her Lortab.
"You sure you're okay?"
"I'll live, Race. I'm just a little fucked up right now." Race grinned.
"You're always fucked up."
"Thanks."
"No prob." He glanced ahead at Davey and Medda before placing a gentle kiss on my neck.
I felt a bit better after that and sat with a tiny smile on my face for the rest of the drive back.
*~*~*
Straight is Great. Hang In There.
Now, please, can someone tell me who in their right mind would put that on a cake?
That's correct! No one!
But, hey, who ever said that Medda was right in the head?
And I never said the cake didn't taste good.
So, there we were, eating cake (which was supposed to be in honor of The Final Test, which we'd take tomorrow and which would determine who'd advance to the Final Step and who'd be kicked out) and yammering away.
I'd noticed that Race was brooding. I kinda prided myself on that, considering it was pretty damn hard to tell reasonably cheerful Race from brooding Race. But I knew. He was just kinda standing there and eating his cake, as opposed to eating his cake and trying to inconspicuously put his hands in places that Medda would not like. At all.
"All right, what are you thinking about?" Race glanced sharply at me and raised an eyebrow.
"Nothing."
"You're lying." He stared back down at his caked before giving me a half-smile.
"You are such a freak, you know that?"
"Yeah, I do. Now tell me what you were thinking about." He sighed.
"Just that... you know, that chick saw us... at the Cocksucker. Who else saw us? How do we know that someone isn't ready to blab it all to Medda right now?" I shook my head.
"You're so fucking paranoid."
"Yeah, I am. But just humor me, okay?" I frowned.
"What're you saying, Race?"
"Just that... you know, maybe we should act a little..."
"Straighter?"
"Yeah." My frown deepened.
"Why? I mean, Christ, you've already got Medda thinking that you're drooling over Speed."
"Exactly. Watch." He set down his cake, strode over to Speed and started making small talk. He was actually pretty damn good at being straight. I mean, he kept finding all these little ways to get way to close for comfort and whatnot.
Me, jealous? Not in the least!
I decided to retaliate in the only way that I could: by being just as straight, or straighter, than my boyfriend. Ha! Eat that!
So, I immediately strolled over to the first girl I saw, which just happened to be Ireland, and grinned.
"Hey, Ireland, would you be offended if I pretended to hit on you?"
She blinked slowly at me.
"Blink, hon... are you okay?"
"Just dandy! So, can I?"
"Erm... I guess."
Racetrack and I spent the remainder of the night ignoring one another and hitting on various girls, which sucked. A lot. And I found it pretty pointless, to tell you the truth.
But, hey, whatever made him happy...
By the time we went to bed, I was pretty much going into Race withdrawal. It's not a pretty disease. Not at all. But I'd kinda started to see a point to his madness. Anyone who opened the door could've seen us that night at the bar. And anyone could just waltz right up to Medda and sing like a canary. So, the only way to throw off any suspicions was to be as straight as we possibly could. Straight like Harrison Ford or Elvis or James Dean.
Though I sometimes have my doubts about the last one...
Once I settled myself into bed, I stopped worrying about pretending to be straight and started worrying about the Final Test. It was supposedly some kind of exam, a compilation of everything we'd been taught. If we passed we moved on to the Fifth Step, though no one, not even Swifty, knew exactly what the Fifth Step was. If we failed we were sent home. And nobody wanted to get kicked out after coming this far.
I had odd dreams that night, consisting of Mr. Kloppman dressed like a winged clown and chasing around Medda, who was dressed like a fairy, with a large, rubber fire hydrant.
I decided to take it as a good omen and tried not to think any more.
End Chapter Seven
My God... I HATE this chapter so much. But I'm half asleep and I need to update, so this is what's getting posted. .O Next one will rock, guys, I promise. The Final Test will be uber-fun! Except... True Directions loses ANOTHER student! O.O WHO?! WHO, you ask? Well, you'll just have to wait and see. *beams* Since there are like... thirty thousand shoutouts, I don't have time to do individuals to everyone. Sorry, guys! ^_^;;; Individual SOs will resume next chapter, promise! *love for all* And many thanks to:
Omni (times approximately seven million. *loves*)
Raven (*loves*)
H.W.O
Cerri
Nakaia Aidan-Sun
Seraph
Artemis-chan
J-Sparrow
G.A (*loves*)
B (*much love*)
Ireland
Flare
geometrygal
Checkmate
Aura
Colleen
kellyanne (*love*)
Liams Kitten
gypsy-morrigan
wand
Twitch (*huggles*)
Q
Shot
Demon
Shakes
Shortie (*major love-age*)
Thistle
KuramaLlama
imaginelet
Bekka
Fishface
Tabloid (*lovelovelove*)
Raven again
Shot again
kellyanne again
Aura again
Omni again (*huggles*)
Gothic Author again
FidgetConlon
Braids
Liams Kitten again
Artemis-chan again
Ireland again
wand again
Nakaia Aidan-Sun
Colleen again
B again
Stage (*major love-age*)
Pyromaniacal Llama
Demon again
Thistle again
Checkmate again
Seraph again
J-Sparrow again
Layne-chan (erm... they're both on hold indefinitely... *sweatdrop*)
Gryffin Parker
G.V (*lovelovelove* I MISS YOU)
Okies, ladies and gentlemen, that's all for this chapter. *beams* We're nearing the end, which saddens me a bit. *sniffles* Ah, well, three more chapters to go! Unless I miscounted... which is a significant possibility... since I'm a spaz...
UberGoth!Itey-Muse: Give to the Sita Is A Spaz fund!
Pantless!Blink-Muse: We just ask for a donation of...
Both: ONE REVIEW!
*gestures* Come on, they're BIAP's official muses! Can you really deny them? *puppy dog eyes* *grins, waves, bounces off*