"See you Monday, Spaz-case."
That's all Freddy Jones ever heard. Spaz-case, Twitchy, things like that.
His ADHD was one of the most severe cases. The thing that never bothered
him, though, was that they were right. He was a Spaz-case. Without his
pills, he would never be able to last three minutes inside Horace Green
Prepatory.
"Yeah, Later Jennie." He mumbled miserably. Most kids of would have been overly ecstatic for the weekend. Well, kids from public elementary schools at least. But not anyone from Horace Green. Every weekend was loaded with a paper on something, or a project, or at least an hour of homework. Freddy Jones sat in his living room, tapping his fingers on the glass coffee table in a fast paced rhythmic fashion. The same fast paced rhythm was being blasted out of a local club as No Vacancy played. There were no big mosh pits, no kids with dreadlocks in the back of the club head banging and lighting up the joints to the crooning lead singer. Freddy shifted his position from sitting down cross legged Indian style to his knees. He spun around on his bear knees, giving them carpet burn. Dewey Finn was doing circles on his side while in the midst of his insane guitar solo. Freddy sighed, looking over his math homework again. He tapped his pencil against the glass again. After attempting a few numbers, he unzipped his sweatshirt and threw it onto the couch behind him. Dewey ripped off his black and red show cowboy shirt and whipped it around, then tossed it on top of one of the amps. His somewhat hairy, chubby, pasty pale body rocked across the stage in the ever long solo. Finally, Fredrick Jones stood up with every intent of going to the kitchen to get himself something to drink. Caffeine, that's what he needed. As if his ADHD wasn't enough. He looked at the math again and grumbled. He pressed his hand into his forehead and scrunched his blonde hair into his palm, and then dived onto the couch. Dewey, merely a second guitar player in the band, threw his guitar on the ground and dived out into the ground. Snore. Freddy was asleep. Slam. Groan. Dewey was knocked out.
When Freddy came to school Monday morning, he remembered that he had, in fact, taken a stab at the Math assignment. But, as usual, he hadn't finished it.
"Aw, Man. Frankie, I forgot to do my homework again. Can I copy off of you?"
"You don't need to worry about that, Miss Dunnam isn't coming to school. She broke her leg." Piped in a rather annoyed sounding voice, who had just brushed passed them and into the classroom. Freddy and Frankie looked around the hallway and then slapped a high five. Frankie jogged as fast as his chubby body could let him to catch up to the informant. Freddy followed.
"Wait, Summer, how are you sure?" Frankie asked. Slamming her books down onto her desk, Summer Hathaway huffed and rolled her eyes at the class delinquents.
"Because I heard Miss Mullins calling for substitute teachers when I went to the office this morning to drop off some stuff." She said in her know-it-all tone that she had, and then swiftly made her way into her seat, combing her thin, black, shiny hair. Frankie and Freddy stared at each other with large grins.
"Sweet!" They said together. The few minutes of the morning were glorious. No teacher. It was a beautiful thing. They could swear and eat in class. They could draw on the chalkboard. That was, until, Miss Mullins arrived with Miss Dunnam's replacement. He was fat, pale, and looked like he had just been through hell in a washing machine. He went to the board to write his name. Mr. S..h...n...e...e...e.
"Why don't you all just call me Mr. S."
Mr. S was not, in fact, Mr. S. It was Dewey Finn. Who was down on his luck on putting together a new band, since he had been kicked out of his last one for being a glory hog. In desperate need of paying off the rent, Dewey decided there was no harm in posing as his long time friend, room mate and substitute teacher, Ned Schneebly. It started out simply as just a quest to make enough money to pay off the rent. But it quickly turned into winning the prestigious Battle of The Bands. It was so easy. Everyone in the class was incredibly talented. There was guitarist, Zack. There was a keyboardist, Lawrence. A bassist, Katie. Backup singers, Marta and Alicia. And of course, what band would be complete without a drummer? That's where Freddy came in. He had a natural sense of rhythm, and banging on the drums would be a better outlet that burning things. Which was one of Freddy's favorite past times. At first it started out as just learning the instrument, and then learning the music that was Rock and Roll. The music that Dewey loved so much. And then it got down to the nitty-gritty. The real rehearsals. They had just learned "You're not hardcore" for the first time, as performed and visualized by Dewey. And that day, there was creative fusion in the air, all day.
That afternoon when the Horace Green Prepatory school bus dropped Freddy off, along with two fifth grades, Jennie James and Francesca Epstein, it was the usual for the time being. There was some name calling, but this time it was different.
"Take your Ritalin this morning, Spaz-case?" Francesca teased.
"Not like that could help him much." Jennie added. Freddy growled.
"Oh, I'm so scared!" Francesca rolled her eyes at his growling. Freddy rolled his sleeves, and then realized that it looked a lot better that way then if he was to wear it normally.
"Oh fuck you, Epstein. Step off before I kill you." He snapped. Both of the girls stared at each other. Before they could stutter anything else, Freddy had pulled his headphones from his neck onto his ears and ran off down his neighborhood street, singing along to AC/DC's "If You Want Blood." Francesca and Jennie stared at each other some more, and then watched Freddy running down the street.
"Yeah, he defiantly didn't take his Ritalin." Francesca said.
"Yeah, Later Jennie." He mumbled miserably. Most kids of would have been overly ecstatic for the weekend. Well, kids from public elementary schools at least. But not anyone from Horace Green. Every weekend was loaded with a paper on something, or a project, or at least an hour of homework. Freddy Jones sat in his living room, tapping his fingers on the glass coffee table in a fast paced rhythmic fashion. The same fast paced rhythm was being blasted out of a local club as No Vacancy played. There were no big mosh pits, no kids with dreadlocks in the back of the club head banging and lighting up the joints to the crooning lead singer. Freddy shifted his position from sitting down cross legged Indian style to his knees. He spun around on his bear knees, giving them carpet burn. Dewey Finn was doing circles on his side while in the midst of his insane guitar solo. Freddy sighed, looking over his math homework again. He tapped his pencil against the glass again. After attempting a few numbers, he unzipped his sweatshirt and threw it onto the couch behind him. Dewey ripped off his black and red show cowboy shirt and whipped it around, then tossed it on top of one of the amps. His somewhat hairy, chubby, pasty pale body rocked across the stage in the ever long solo. Finally, Fredrick Jones stood up with every intent of going to the kitchen to get himself something to drink. Caffeine, that's what he needed. As if his ADHD wasn't enough. He looked at the math again and grumbled. He pressed his hand into his forehead and scrunched his blonde hair into his palm, and then dived onto the couch. Dewey, merely a second guitar player in the band, threw his guitar on the ground and dived out into the ground. Snore. Freddy was asleep. Slam. Groan. Dewey was knocked out.
When Freddy came to school Monday morning, he remembered that he had, in fact, taken a stab at the Math assignment. But, as usual, he hadn't finished it.
"Aw, Man. Frankie, I forgot to do my homework again. Can I copy off of you?"
"You don't need to worry about that, Miss Dunnam isn't coming to school. She broke her leg." Piped in a rather annoyed sounding voice, who had just brushed passed them and into the classroom. Freddy and Frankie looked around the hallway and then slapped a high five. Frankie jogged as fast as his chubby body could let him to catch up to the informant. Freddy followed.
"Wait, Summer, how are you sure?" Frankie asked. Slamming her books down onto her desk, Summer Hathaway huffed and rolled her eyes at the class delinquents.
"Because I heard Miss Mullins calling for substitute teachers when I went to the office this morning to drop off some stuff." She said in her know-it-all tone that she had, and then swiftly made her way into her seat, combing her thin, black, shiny hair. Frankie and Freddy stared at each other with large grins.
"Sweet!" They said together. The few minutes of the morning were glorious. No teacher. It was a beautiful thing. They could swear and eat in class. They could draw on the chalkboard. That was, until, Miss Mullins arrived with Miss Dunnam's replacement. He was fat, pale, and looked like he had just been through hell in a washing machine. He went to the board to write his name. Mr. S..h...n...e...e...e.
"Why don't you all just call me Mr. S."
Mr. S was not, in fact, Mr. S. It was Dewey Finn. Who was down on his luck on putting together a new band, since he had been kicked out of his last one for being a glory hog. In desperate need of paying off the rent, Dewey decided there was no harm in posing as his long time friend, room mate and substitute teacher, Ned Schneebly. It started out simply as just a quest to make enough money to pay off the rent. But it quickly turned into winning the prestigious Battle of The Bands. It was so easy. Everyone in the class was incredibly talented. There was guitarist, Zack. There was a keyboardist, Lawrence. A bassist, Katie. Backup singers, Marta and Alicia. And of course, what band would be complete without a drummer? That's where Freddy came in. He had a natural sense of rhythm, and banging on the drums would be a better outlet that burning things. Which was one of Freddy's favorite past times. At first it started out as just learning the instrument, and then learning the music that was Rock and Roll. The music that Dewey loved so much. And then it got down to the nitty-gritty. The real rehearsals. They had just learned "You're not hardcore" for the first time, as performed and visualized by Dewey. And that day, there was creative fusion in the air, all day.
That afternoon when the Horace Green Prepatory school bus dropped Freddy off, along with two fifth grades, Jennie James and Francesca Epstein, it was the usual for the time being. There was some name calling, but this time it was different.
"Take your Ritalin this morning, Spaz-case?" Francesca teased.
"Not like that could help him much." Jennie added. Freddy growled.
"Oh, I'm so scared!" Francesca rolled her eyes at his growling. Freddy rolled his sleeves, and then realized that it looked a lot better that way then if he was to wear it normally.
"Oh fuck you, Epstein. Step off before I kill you." He snapped. Both of the girls stared at each other. Before they could stutter anything else, Freddy had pulled his headphones from his neck onto his ears and ran off down his neighborhood street, singing along to AC/DC's "If You Want Blood." Francesca and Jennie stared at each other some more, and then watched Freddy running down the street.
"Yeah, he defiantly didn't take his Ritalin." Francesca said.
