Rated: R - for language, drug use, violence, thematic elements, and mild sexual situations. Wow, I sound so formal. XD
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters. The title, "No Love, No Glory," is a line from the song "The Blower's Daughter," by Damien Rice.
Dedicated to Luisa, who wrote at least 2/5 of this story, and Sami, for helping me out early on and providing inspiration for the teacher and the students in the hall. Love you both.
Grabbing his backpack, Roger slammed the car door without so much as a goodbye or a wave to his father. It was the beginning of another week, another one he wasn't looking forward to. Especially with his new black eye to show off. Pushing his way through the crowd of students waiting to get into the building, he made his way to the steps and sat down, a bitter-looking expression on his face as he put his chin in his hand. Several giggly girls, dressed almost entirely in pink, skipped by, pointing at his black nails and bruised eye, and whispered comments which were clearly rude amongst each other. He considered giving them the finger, but they were already gone. Glancing through the bars of the wrought iron railing, he found himself unable to turn away from the familiar sight of students buying drugs. One student, a senior by looks, collected and eagerly counted the money practically thrown at him by others, who shouted things like "Thanks, man!" as they ran away.
"Are you okay?" a soft voice asked, kind of nervously, tapping him gently on the shoulder. Roger whirled around and found himself staring at a girl.
"Wh-what? What the hell do you want!" he shouted, glaring at the girl.
"You were just kind of staring, I thought something might be wrong..." she trailed off and looked down, an embarrased expression on her face as she cautiously bit her bottom lip.
"Nothing's wrong, okay! Just leave me alone!" He threw his hands in the air and turned away from her.
"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," the girl said, standing slowly and looking down at Roger. "I'll go, then, I guess."
"Wait! Wait, please...I didn't mean to yell like that. I really didn't. I'm just having a bad day - week - year - whatever. Just...don't go..." Roger stuttered out awkwardly. He felt guilty looking at her sad face.
She sat back down next to him on the steps as he moved his guitar case out of the way. "It's okay, we all have our days," she said, surprisingly understandingly. "Umm...if you don't mind my asking...what happened to your eye?"
"Oh, that?" he asked, a forced smile on his face. "I...I was in a fight. Some guys tried to mug me, and, y'know..." His eyes glanced down so that they no longer met the girl's. "What's your name, anyway?" he asked quickly, trying to change the subject. "You're not in 10th, are you? 'Cause I don't think I've ever seen you around..."
"I'm April. April Ingelsby. And no, I'm in 9th. And you are?"
"Roger Davis."
April smiled, her blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight. It was the sweetest thing Roger had ever seen. But the moment was interrupted by the doors opening, and the crowd of students rushing in. Before he could realize it, she had stood up and was joining the crowd of the people entering the building. "I'll see you later, then!" he yelled, not knowing why.
The morning seemed to last forever. Roger had never been a particularly good student, but he found himself unable to concentrate at all. He pulled out his schedule, hoping he had a class he could just sleep through. "Oh, shit," he muttered. Geometry - possibly his least favorite subject. He walked through the hall as slowly as he could, staring down at his feet. Arriving at the classroom, he took his usual seat in the back row; left corner of the room, next to the window. This was probably the easiest class for him to lose focus in. He didn't understand a word Mrs. Lopez was saying, that was certain, and he didn't particularly care to, either. Instead, he started out the window at the gray coulds that were assembling overhead, making everything look dark and ominous. He had no idea how much timead passed when a sharp tapping on his blank notebook pulled him from his daydreaming (if it could be called that).
"Mister Davis," a cold voice said. Roger looked up to see the small, beady eyes of Mrs. Lopez.
"Yes?" He said. He tried to look as innocent as possible, but even that wasn't going to help him much. He hadn't the faintest idea of what was happening in class.
"Can you tell me the answer to the problem on the board?"
Roger stared at the shapes and numbers written. Deciding that he was never going to figure out how to solve it, he just picked a random number. "Umm...three?"
The class erupted in laughter, except for Mrs. Lopez, who glared down at Roger. "Tell me, Mister Davis, have you been paying any attention at all to this class?"
He could have lied. He was an excellent liar, and he knew it. So everyone was shocked when he said "No," as if it were the most blatantly obvious thing ever.
"Mister Davis, I am not impressed. Your homework is never complete, if ever done, you show a distinct lack of motivation, and you have no particularly welcoming traits. Tell me, exactly, how do you plan to spend the rest of your life? Because if you don't get your act together, and do it soon, you'll fail in life much like you are this class." There were several laughs and gasps scattered throughout the room, but the person the most in shock wound up being Roger himself. The last thing he had expected was to be hurt by the teacher's remarks.
There was a long, awkward silence, and the bell rang.
Roger stormed to his locker. He couldn't be happier the day was over, yet the bitter feelings he had inside had just grown since the morning. Putting his combination in the lock, he listened to the sound of the girl across the hall, Mandy, giggling between kisses from her boyfriend Andrew. Roger turned around as her friend, Margaret, yelled, "Mandy! We're in the middle of the hall!" and her very tall boyfriend Dan slipped his arm playfully around her waist. Roger threw his books in his bag in disgust. Pushing his way through the two couples, he made his way to the door, breathing deeply in the thick city air.
His walk home was close to half an hour, but it seemed oddly short today. Reaching his apartment, he unlocked the door, opened it, and slammed it behind him. He threw his backpack on the floor and walked back to his room, not bothering to take off his heavy boots. He hurled his old leather jacket across the room; it landed in a heap on his floor. Collapsing on his bad - a matress in the corner of the room - he stared up at the chipping white paint on the ceiling. The day replayed itself over and over in his head, until before he realized it, hot, bitter tears had welled in his eyes. They slowly slid from the corners of his eyes down the side of his face, reaching the matress below, and he was unable to control it. Hours passed as he sat in the silence, the light growing dimmer as the sun set over New York City.
Around 6, Roger heard the front door close and he tensed, sitting up slightly. "Roger! Get out here now!" the harsh voice of his father called. Silently, he got up from his mattress and walked out of his room, avoiding eye contact with him. He looked down at his boots, now standing a foot from his father. "Your school called today. Your geometry teacher, Mrs. Something-or-other. She says you're failing, and you never pay attention." His father paused for an answer, but Roger said nothing, so he continued. "I'm sick of dealing with your shit, Roger! You can't expect to slack off and have me cover your ass all the time! You know what that teacher lady asked? She wanted to know if you were having problems at home! You keep doing this badly, they're gonna start blaming me for your problems!" Roger's father paused to take a long swig of beer from the bottle in his hand that Roger hadn't noticed. He tried to ignore his father, who continued yelling. That girl, from the steps this morning...what was her name? April? She had the most beautiful smile... "Roger! Are you listening to me!" his father shouted, making him look up. "God, I can't deal with you anymore!" he yelled through gritted teeth, raising his hand and slapping Roger's face. Roger's hand went automatically to his cheek, which immediately started stinging. Turning quickly, he ran into his room, slamming the door just before his father could reach it, and holding it shut. He sank to the floor as his father banged on the door, screaming awful things through the wood. It was going to be a long night.
The next day, Roger didn't go back to school. After getting dropped off, he waited until his car pulled away, and just started walking. He tried to stay generally in dark alleys; he didn't want anyone to see him. It was the first time he'd realized just how angry he was, as he kicked a small, whimpering puppy that was in the middle of the road. He made sure to be home by four everyday, just in case, but other than the time he had no need to worry about school anymore.