Author's Note: Miss me? C'mon, admit it, you did. You know it.
As for "flames suck", I have a flame and a review concerning personal matters (of my own reviews) up on the review page. When I saw the flame, I panicked and put that up. Four years ago, when I was teamrocket54, a naïve twelve year old newbie, I was flamed to death. A guy by the name of Orinocono (he's still here, by the way, as are my weak retorts for reviews) e-mailed me constantly with death threats and killed my stories in the same manner. The girl who flamed me now (after I spoke the truth about her own fanfic), sent me a nasty e-mail in addition, so now you know the whole story
Hallelujah! Fanfiction.net's back up! That means, in a few hours, you'll get another chapter of this (since I already wrote it when the site was down).
Disclaimer: If I owned FOP, then, well, you can fill in the blank with the appropriate phrase.
Chapter Seven: Let It Be
Crocker mumbles an apology to his mother, still standing at the door, and drags himself upstairs to bed. His eyes are slits and he's exhausted; he can barely function. It takes all of his stamina to undress and throw himself sideways on his bed. Today was a long day and tomorrow won't be better.
Falling asleep in a matter of seconds, Crocker's dreams are vague and when he awakes, he can't recall them.
***
The morning has come far too early for his liking. Bereft of curtains, the sun's full intensity blinds him through the windows and he briefly entertains the notion of his eyes crusting over. With light unfiltered capturing every spare inch of his room, the bareness hurts a bit. However, it doesn't hurt nearly as much as the idea of teaching today.
For once, he ponders whether he should call in sick. Despite any ulterior motives involved in this move, he's not so sure he calls the shots any more. He's not sure she'll let him call in sick. The thought depresses him immensely.
Sliding out of bed, squinting against the harshness of the sunlight, Crocker half-sleep walks to his dresser and prepares for another (hopefully) hum-drum day.
***
Pulp filled orange juice and buttered toast await him on the table. It looks even less appealing than it has for the last ten years. So much for variety begin the spice of life. No wonder all his meals are so dull, he's had them all before.
Glaring at the foot which dares to call itself a meal with repugnance, Crocker, nauseated, slides down into his seat. He can't, for the life of him, imagine eating this stuff.
Bile rising in his throat, he asks if he could just leave (at the moment, he really doesn't care about his mother's feelings- he's too panicked about school) and goes so quickly the chair shakes from the momentum produced. Mrs. Crocker is left staring at an empty chair, mouth agape.
"What about your coffee?" She calls to the space and holds up a cup of a liquid with the consistency of dirt.
Mrs. Crocker should count her blessings that she didn't hear his response.
***
Another unwelcome atrocity awaits him when he reaches for his driver's door. Graffitied all over with slurs (most not fit to repeat in polite company) and spray painted with an obscene hand, this is the state of Crocker's van today. Apparently, the neighborhood boys weren't content to simply mock him; they had to leave a deeper mark. Not an inch was missed on the van- even the underside was covered.
The rest of his day isn't any better. From avoiding Geraldine and accidentally walking into the popular girls' room (where Trixie Tang was putting on makeup), to literally tripping over Timmy and landing headfirst into a garbage can, and, finally, discovering he left the keys in the ignition and the truck in drive (the trees in front of the school are Weeping Willows and are they weeping), this day ranks up there with March 15th. In fact, it's vying for worst day ever in a human life.
Now, he has to survive the rest of the week
***
Thursday morning- he has to teach lab today. That means two periods of "was that an explosion? I didn't know that was flammable!" His head hurts just thinking about it. If only the students became rocks, then he might make it out of lab without a single injury on either his part or the students'.
Crocker bikes to work now. Of course, he has to get up even earlier since it's a lot slower than a car and the chain is rusty, but he can't afford the repairs, both to the tree and the car. (Geraldine insists the tree needs money for pain and suffering). At this rate, with the fates they way they are, he'll roll up to work in a wheelchair. (Guess what? His bike also needs repair.)
To boot, he's broke. His mother took his money as reparation for running out of the house and used to make another hideous contraption Crocker's been caught dead in. No longer able to afford lunch, he eats a bagged lunch with a note from his mother. Kids steal it and declare its contents over the morning announcements.
Wheeling as quickly as he can at five miles an hour (his bike is circa nineteen seventy, the same bike he used when he was ten), Crocker ignores the buses that pass him and the laughter at his expense. Gritting his teeth, he forces himself to remember a poem he was taught when he saw young.
It's okay. I'm still here. Yeah, right.
Even the driver, whose eyes are definitely not on the road, laughs his head off at this grown man riding a child's bike. His passengers can't breathe, they're positively howling with laughter and one of them pounds the window.
"When I have fairy godparents," Crocker mutters under his breath, spazzing out so badly he hits himself with the handlebars, rusted right through, "you'll pay! When I'm supreme ruler of the universe!"
"Yeah, right!" The same guy who pounded the window calls. "Crackpot!"
Crocker grumbles but restrains himself. A quick reference to his watch lets him know there are only twenty minutes left until school begins and it takes at least twenty five to get there.
He doesn't want to think about what'll happen if he's late. Geraldine told him that if he does one more thing wrong, the date is off and he's gone. Wasting time yelling magical threats qualifies.
Pressing his foot to the pink pedal, Crocker contents himself with one last shout. "You'll bow down to me when I rule you!"
The wind gushes through his hair for about ten minutes before the whole bike rusts and falls apart beneath him.
***
He's late; he's late, for a very important date. No time to say sorry for running a kid into the pavement, he's late. If he's the rabbit, then Geraldine's definitely the Queen of Hearts. And, oh, is he late.
Crocker runs through the double doors, officially an hour late. He pants for breath and no longer looks where he's going. This proves to be a huge mistake.
"Hello," Geraldine says coldly and is about to launch into a tirade when Crocker mows her down.
"I'm late! My class is unattended and I'm late!" Crocker runs into his classroom while Geraldine attempts to stand up.
She rolls around on the floor, dirtying herself more and more by the second; her rotund body is definitely her downfall. Trying to move into a better position, she forms a ball and proceeds to roll down the hallway like a gigantic boulder, over and over.
"Crocker!" She screams past his door but is unable to stop.
The fifth grade class watches this and breaks into peals of laughter. The sub smiles but doesn't dare laugh in case the principal hears her and decides to fire her. Rumor has it she's in a bad mood (could it be that she's currently spinning like a top in the dust and dirt of the halls?) and this sub doesn't want to further aggravate her.
Crocker mows down the sub as well and she flies out the open window onto the grass, a little startled but otherwise fine.
Everyone falls silent, except for Timmy Turner, who's whispering to his pencil and eraser. All eyes fall upon him.
"If you're done talking to your fairies," Crocker ran headfirst into the chalkboard, "we have a lab to set up."
***
Author's Note: Geraldine's fine. She'll just be extremely dirty when she comes to scream her lungs out at Crocker. Happy, people?