Author's Note: I do not own Woody Woodpecker. Am also very sorry about not getting the chapter out earlier, but I had a total writer's block on this story.
John's slightly obnoxious laughter filled the small house, as Woody the Woodpecker played out a comic scene involving an over-sized hammer and a tree-house. He was sprawled on the sofa, eating cereal in a white t-shirt and his boxers.
Oddly, he had already pulled on his biker-style fingerless gloves. He was saving for a motorbike, not that he'd told anyone, the idea of John Bender saving up his money - the idea of John Bender having any money - was ridiculous to the world. He didn't want the bike because it would look cool, although that was a very valid point, but because he just didn't need a car. When would he have to take more than one person anywhere? In his opinion, a bike for one was far better than a practically empty car.
His mother was in the kitchen, ironing her shirts in her dressing gown, she had to leave for work soon, around the same time as he was meant to leave for school.
His father was asleep, and Karl Bender was an incredibly deep sleeper. The cheery cartoon music was unable to wake him from his deep slumber.
John's clothes lay out across the floor. He needed to change, and began to. By the time he had pulled on his big Army-style combat boots, the credits were rolling. He ran a hand through his long hair. It's darkish brown colour was sometimes perceived as black. He got up, switching off the TV as he walked past it. He passed through the kitchen, throwing his empty cereal bowl and spoon into the sink. He stopped and watched his mother - how could she do this?
The way she walked around, her badly-dyed red hair pinned up with an expensive tortoiseshell clip. He wondered whether she removed it when she was with Andy - the 19 year old with whom she created so much betrayal. It was one thing to have it happening in the first place, but something completely different to walk in on them in the act. He shuddered at the memory, and couldn't bear to look at her. As far as he was concerned, all women were sluts.
He strolled into the bathroom, locking the door behind him and taking off his gloves. He splashed his tanned face with water, the more the better. He loved doing this, because tears could be so easily hidden by the streams of cold tap water. He allowed himself to cry only now, it was his outlet. There were so many times he had wanted to cry and held it in; on Saturday, when nobody had believed him for one. He'd had to go and sit by himself to contain the tears. Now they came out though, falling with the normal water and washing down the sink.
When he was finished, he turned off the tap and wiped his face with a towel. He put his gloves back on, without looking at the mirror as he passed, and headed into the hallway. He took his coat from it's hanger beside the door and grabbed his old black messenger bag, walking out of the house, and slamming the door behind him.
He passed his mother getting into her car. No words passed between them - they hadn't spoken properly since that afternoon…
Shermer High School, Shermer. Bender approached the school, walking straight in front of a moving car, keeping his pace. 10 minutes after the bell had gone.
It was cold and somewhat cloudy, but still he wore those old sunglasses. He looked a little odd, with sunglasses, a large coat, and a thick scarf, but he didn't care.
He had taken his usual round-a-bout route to school, ambling through the park. It helped him to calm down before school. Nobody should be allowed to see him annoyed like that. He had to be cold, the only time he could show passion was when he was angry. Nobody ever seemed to understand that.
He loved to walk through the park, to look around the trees and plants and imagine what it could have been like for him if he wasn't John Bender. He'd have been happy.
A loud crashing noise brought him back to earth, back to his body and back to his crappy life. He looked around, aware that he had only just walked through the large doors leading into the school when he had heard the noise. Finally discovering the source, he raised an eyebrow. It was Brian, dropping an entire pile of books for the day on the floor as he witnessed John's entrance. An eyebrow raised with a smirk at a vague sense of amusement, John looked from the books to Brian before walking away. He managed to contain the desire to go back and help Brian with the books; it just wasn't something that people would be able to accept a guy like him doing.
Reaching his locker in the empty corridor, he hammered his fist loudly against his graffitied locker, allowing the contents to spill out onto the floor. Picking up the textbooks that he supposedly needed for the morning, and kicking the rest back into his locker, not caring as a cover of a Trig. notebook ripped.
He proceeded to slam the door shut, and then began walking towards his first class, English. As he walked he sang at the top of his lungs, a song that he had never actually believed in but knew that everybody else thought he did; "I am so great, I am so great, Everybody loves me 'cause I am so great!".
Upon arrival at English, having forced the door open with a dramatic push, only to stand in the doorway, his face lowered so that his eyes studied his boring peers whom he shared English with, he seemed to glower at the teacher in a somewhat satanic way. Miss Rink, he knew, was a total softie, and was most definitely intimidated by the hyperactive monster that was the teacher's John Bender - their own personal torturer.
Pushing her oversized glasses back, Miss Rink blinked rapidly. John became aware that every pair of eyes in the room were on him, but he didn't mind. He was used to the attention and curious stares, managed to zone out every time he thought things might affect him too badly. He had to, for John had an annoying tendency to blush if he was embarrassed.
"John Bender, late again?" Miss Rink said, breaking the silence that had encased both himself and every classmate. He merely nodded in reply, and Miss Rink sighed, gesturing towards an empty seat at the back, where he always sat. It seemed that the other members of his class had done him the courtesy of leaving it empty for him, or maybe they were just scared by the words carved into the desk, which were so similar to those tip-exed onto his locker door: 'Sit at this desk and you DIE' - John didn't really waste time when he was carving with poetic phrases.
John made his way to the back of the class room, entirely aware of the glares that everyone was giving him. He returned the courtesy, adding a couple of hand gestures that he knew couldn't be returned as Miss Rink would see.
Finally reaching the back row, which he shared with a wannabe rebel who seemed to be trying to follow in his footsteps, John eased into the chair, and settled in for an hour of desk carving.
He had been at it for about 10 minutes, when he noticed that he had, once again, captured everyone's attention. The reason soon became clear as Miss Rink began to speak again, in an even-tone.
"I'll ask you again, John; what do you think Shakespeare is trying to tell us with Romeo and Juliet's 'Lover's Sonnet'?"
Bender stared blankly at her, he had to. Despite being one of the smartest guys in school, he hid it. He'd been hiding this fact for so long that he couldn't remember a time when he hadn't. People had judged him on his parents first, forgetting that he wasn't a clone of them. So now he had gotten into the habit of acting stupid, despite the fact that most of the time he knew perfectly well what people were talking about, and even sometimes wanted to join in.
Eventually Bender opened his mouth to answer, and the class was suddenly aware that they were in for an asshole-ish remark "He's trying to tell us," he said slowly, as though trying to hold suspense, but everybody already knew what kind of thing he was about to say "That he's a gay bastard."
It took just those words and a smirk for John to get sent out of class, straight to the Principal's office. He didn't care, in fact he had grown to enjoy these little trips. They meant that he didn't have to waste time in boring lessons, and instead just got to sit and stare blankly at the Principal, aware that another suspension or at least a detention was coming his way.
As he strolled down the halls, arrogance in his every step, he smiled to himself, knowing that this was expected. After all, surely a guy like John Bender would be proud to have been in trouble so much in only the first two weeks of his Junior year.
