Kewlausgirl, I love you. That review made my day, really. Hee. Actually, I have no idea if this is how secondary school is like in England. I don't live there, haha. But in my high school anyway, we don't have such a definite, stated hierarchy. I guess it's there, I suppose. There's no one this vicious, though.
I didn't update at first because my laptop didn't have internet & when I got it back, I was updating other things. . . or sitting around doodling and reading comics. grin
I'm not that down with Peter Pan characters really, but I'm thinking perhaps an Animorphs vs. SOME ANIME. Possibly YGO because they are so amusing.
Chapter Six
Pixie
I'm in school doing my usual rounds to see which of my friend I will find first. Maybe we'll cut class and go wish we were smoking. Instead of my friends though, I spot Padriac, leaning again the tall willow tree outside the building.
Maybe I should go up to him, I wonder to myself. But he's talking to someone. I hesitant. That is, until I realize that person is bright green. Okay, it's Peter, then. How is it that Peter's first friend is my lust?
But the real question is should I go up to him? I mean, he could still be angry about the day before. He could totally ruin my image in front of Padriac. Or my image would improve in Padriac's eyes when he realizes I hang out with Peter, who is fine in his opinion. It could go either way. To risk it, or not to risk it, that is the question.
She decides to risk it. Swaggering over to the two guys leaning onto the tree, she pats her hair to make sure it's not sticking up. "'Allo, Peter," she greets the boy, but her eyes immediately flash to the elder of the two.
His red hair is falling into his face, but either he doesn't notice or he doesn't care. Either way it makes a shiver move up my spine deliciously as his eyes turn to look at me. He's wearing a shabby black coat, and black gloves which I catch sight of every so often, when he takes his hands out of his pockets. His green eyes are outlined heavily in black eyeliner, and stare at me eerily. Yet he's still just so . . . lovely, for lack of a better word.
"Hi," Peter mutters, but Padriac's voice immediately envelops his. "Who are you?"
I clear my throatpreparing myself for some hard flirtation—and I smile. No response. Okay, then. "My names P-" pause. Shit, my name. He's sure to laugh. But I can cover it up, I know it. "I'm Pix." Laugh. "My mother was-"
"I like your name," Padriac interrupts immediately. Some awkward silence. I need to take control of this conversation. Switch it over to me.
"So what's your name?" I decide to ask about him instead. I don't want to blurt out his name when I'm supposed to be a total stranger to him. Do I look all right? I want to turn my head and ask Peter for his opinion, but I cannot. Anyway, how could the opinion of a boy dresses in bright green possibly be of any use?
"Padriac," he responds in a slightly muffled voice as he blows on his gloved hands several seconds after speaking.
More silence. I need to—
"You were telling me about the show, Padriac." Peter reminds Padriac gently, basically ignoring my existence. Is he ignoring me?
"Oh yeah, my band's playing our first original set, and I'm feeling pretty good about it." His voice has changed drastically, and I forget about my sudden anger towards Peter. Padriac sounds . . . happy? His eyes are shining and his lips are twitching as if they want to twirl upwards by their own will. He's talking to me and I'm so entranced by his lips I barely notice.
"What?" I answer intelligently. Oh, god, I feel like a complete idiot. He must have noticed I was looking at his mouth.
"Would you come? I mean" he clears his throat, and looks slightly nervous. "Come to the show? I can give you a ride if you need it, and . . . you might like it." Is he asking me out? In public? Well, probably not to any place where my crowd would ever show their faces so I probably don't have to worry about that, but still. I—
Fuck. This is Padriac I'm talking about. I've been insane about him for who knows how long? He's been what I've wanted but could never have. He is a sort of metaphor for my entire life. How many times will I actually get a chance to have a dream come true like this?
"Sorry," Padriac stammers, obviously taking my silence for displeasure. "I should have known you would have had plans or something." He shoves his hands back into his coat pockets and slumps a little lower.
"No, no!" I cry, perhaps a bit higher than I normally would have. "I mean," I continue, my voice a more normal tone, "I'd love to. When is this show?"
He doesn't exactly smile at me, but his mouth twitches massively, which I suppose in his case a grin. I inexplicably want him to do it again.
"Well, it's next Friday at seven at the Stone Pony. Need a ride?" He seems far more open and casual, just with my acceptance. I look at Peter with a small smile gracing my lips, but Peter isn't looking quite as carefree. In fact he's looking fairly angry. No jealousy, which might have been the only negative response I was expecting. He just looks annoyed at me, or disappointed.
What is his problem? Can't he see me enjoying myself? What, is he still irritated with me because he thinks I'm mean? Please tell me he's not so ridiculously juvenile.
I turn back to Padriac and I nod my head energetically, "Yeah, I wouldn't mind, if it isn't too much trouble." I could get a ride from my father, but why waste a chance to ride in the same car as my—whatever he is to me?
Almost at the same moment, it seems, we realize the main doors of the school have been opened and people are pushing to get inside the warm building. I see Padriac begin to move in that direction, and I impulsively grab his hand. "Peter, do you have a pen?" I manage to ask through the loud throbbing in my ears. It seems like forever before Peter passes me a pen, and I don't care.
I like the coarse feeling of his gloves against my palm. I begin to pull off the glove gently—and slowly in case he enjoys a great amount of personal space. Holding the pen tightly so that it doesn't slip out of my hand thanks to its abrupt clamminess, I write my address on his hand in clear letters so there's no mistake. After a second's hesitation, I scrawl my cell under it.
Then, without so much as a goodbye, I walk off. It feels good to have actually taken control of the situation, even it's its only at the very end.
LINE
The whole weeks seems to me to be a flurry of worry and plans and secret smiles in the hallway. My friends hardly notice the change in my attitude, except that I've been zoning out on them at 'critical' points of the conversations.
Oh my. What are they going to do, poke me every five seconds to make sure I'm being attentive?
Yes.
Goddamn it, I want to scream. I am waiting for Friday so passionately, and I don't want to hear about the gossip and stories about the sex and the fashions and the empty insults. I want to go over to Padriac, and throw my arms around his shoulders. Maybe peek into his hand to see if my address is still scribbled onto it.
And it comes, as I knew it would, as I had wanted it to, as I had hoped it wouldn't. I found myself sliding on the most casual thing I can find, a youth large black t-shirt and some worn jeans. I didn't want him to know I'd been looking through my closet for hours looking for a perfect outfit. I had, but I didn't want him to know so.
A knock. Oh shit. I should put eyeliner on, or something, shouldn't I? I rush to my bathroom, and I rummage through the shelves for the black pencil.
Another knock. "I'm coming!" I scream, I look in the mirror and remember my teeth aren't brushed. Screw it, I think as I sloppily press some eyeliner under my eyes. It looks dark and messy, which I've noticed is normal now. Good. I have to bring an apple or something so my breath won't smell like—
What was the last thing I ate? I run to my kitchen, snatch up an apple, and return to my living room. Okay, another knock, and I can finally open the door. So I do. He's standing there, in a torn band shirt, and leather pants, eyeliner and a dog collar with spikes. I grin, run for my green parka, and come back.
"Ready. Sorry about that." I scream a farewell from the door to my father, who is lock in his room on the computer, and to my brother who is—I don't know, I'm not that interested, really.
I lock the door, and look at Padriac one last time. It's Friday and I'm going to have as much fun as I can.
Sorry for the anti-long chapter! I just wanted to finish it tonight & its 230 in the morn. Okay, I've a got a question. Should this story go in a happy sort of direction, or in a less happy direction? I was actually planning on the latter, but after writing this chapter I think I may be going towards the land of the happy people. So which way? I don't think its going to affect the next chapter, but definitely after that it will. Some help? Don't make me choose this on my own!
