Disclaimer: I do not own any of the recognizable characters, which belong respectively to Rumiko Takahashi.
Rated for language and some rude references.
Okay, guys, here's my first story. I wrote this after having a run in with the school cheerleading captain and wondering, "If she didn't call me frump girl like in that movie I saw once, I wouldn't mind being her friend." See, I go to an all girl's school, so the really really rich, blondes are popular. And they're cheerleaders for our brother school. And I'm the drama queen punk emo kid, I have red hair, I'm funny looking, they make fun of me and think I'm a prude. I fight back and call them names, its bad. So I wonder if I became friends with one how it would turn out. This is the only way I could see it going, if we got sucked into the feudal era and ran around with the Inu-tachi for like a year. Lol. Read and Enjoy.
:safety pin:
So let me knock on this wood once more
I hope karma doesn't exist
Because if it does...
I'll be feeling it real soon on my hands and knees.
Previous adventures
And these types of stories seem to feel the same
Cold and Heartless
No emotions more than just a game
In the past I've hurt so much
It seems only fair for me
For me to get crushed
But I'm crossing my fingers...
I won't lose what I have
-"Polar Opposite" by Glasseater
The Punk and the Cheerleader. Born to be rivals, born to butt heads, born to cross paths and tell the tale. One, a celebrated outcast, the other, a happy debutante. So different, almost worlds apart, but still one can never stop wondering; how do things look from the other side? How would it be to wake up, smirking at your reflection with a practiced confidence, jamming an air guitar to ACDC? Or perhaps a different view: waking up, eyes wide and smile beaming, running about in rose colored underwear, wondering if today will be half as bright as tomorrow?
Perhaps not. Perhaps, and this is purely hypothetical, the rebels and the preps wish to remain miles apart. The distance brings them comfort in their own insecurities. They wish only to watch the goings on from demensions away, laughing at every wrong move, knowing they could have done better. But fate rarely gives you that choice; too simple. Not to mention boring for destiny's restless humor...
Chapter 1
Tack Harely was an outcast and she knew it. Frowning at the term, she preferred words such as "special" or "wild." Nevertheless, society recognized her for what she was: a rebel. Mayhap the look gave her away, but her attitude called as much attention, if not more. Dear Tack, standing tall at 5"9, intimidated the most burly of boys with her masculine muscles. Driven fiercely away by the social hierarchy, she channeled her anger into sports, dedicating every inch of her will to victory. Red curls flying askew, green eyes alight with some sort of twisted rage, she took on the world in soccer jerseys or sometimes hightops; it made no difference. Just so long as everyone could tell: she didn't want to talk.
Courtney de la Shanz, captain of the cheerleading squad and sophmore class president, walked a different path. With her blue eyes sparkling in the light of all things holy, blonde curtain of shimmering hair rippling like waterfalls, she dominated every aspect of Dameon Highschool with a startling ease. Only a sophmore, but so talented for her age. A cheerleading genius, a sweet heart by nature, the apple in every boy's eye; Courtney had a score of servants lined up to do her bidding. Sadly, her seemingly kind disposition remained buried beneath her greatest hindrance; Courtney de la Shanz just couldn't say no to popularity.
On the first day of November, fates were bound to collide. The air gave away no mytseries, sunlight shined through glittering palls of autumn cold, and normality retained control over everyone's dying awareness. Dameon highschool, set a bit off Goddart Street with its doors firmly shut, welcomed no one but received many. This day, however normal it appeared, was anything but.
Breathless and slightly pink in the cold, Tack hurried through the gates and looked blearily around; something was wrong. Taking another furtive glance at her skull patterned watch, the girl released a groan and shut her eyes tightly. Twenty minutes fast, right to the very second. No doubt her wicked brother Max was after her again. Tack reshouldered her backpack, covered in song lyrics on every flap, and ran a hand subconciously through her unruly locks; today was beginning poorly. Her highttops scraped against the concrete pathway as she wearily scaled the front most steps. Students milled about the yard, bored with their own lives and searching for amusement. Much to Tack's chagrin, they found it walking primly through the front gates.
Those who received waves in return sighed blissfully. Courtney de la Shanz knew they were alive. A pink fur coat clinging cutely to her thin shoulders, Courtney shot dazzling smiles in every direction and continued her trek down the pathway with books properly held in hand. Several girls followed her, some friends and others wannabes, but no one could doubt the girl's popularity. Courtney, though she seemingly owned the school, played slave to her own success. Now that she'd had a taste, she couldn't let it go.
Tack growled in obvious disgust and pushed her way briskly through the doors, stomping down the hall in her ire. That damned Courtney, queen of everything, little miss perfect. People like that pissed Tack off, always having to look so good and straight backed. Were they just out to make the whole world look bad?
Footsteps sounding like claps in the empty hall, Tack sullenly trudged towards the Photography lab with a hitch in her step. Today would be boring, she decided, just as the ones before it and surely as the ones to come would be. Little did she know how much was truly in store.
The photography lab, sagging under the weight of neglect, dripped with malcontent. Graffiti littered the walls, unintelligible stains spread across the floor, old and unusable lab equipment lay forgotten in messy piles near the door. Besides the one working dark room, the photolab was useless in all respects of the word and Tack was well aware. She refused, however, to give up on the old place and still treated it with respect. It deserved as much, she believed, after sticking around that hell of a school for thirty years. Tack had barely survived two.
As she swung the creaking door inwards, Tack wrinkled her nose at the rotten smell; the walls reeked of alcohol. It seemed another late night football celebration had occurred over the weekend and the girl scowled; dirty curs, using the photolab for such things. New graffiti had crawled onto the walls recently. In poor red handwriting, it read, "Life is fucked." Snorting belligerently, Tack couldn't help thinking how right that person was. Life certainly seemed cruel at the moment.
After developing her prints and hanging them to dry, Tack turned towards the angrily creaking door. Someone other than her was actually coming into the photolab? Perhaps even to, god forbid, develop photos? But no such luck. Blonde hair rippling about her like waterfalls, Courtney de la Shanz made a dazzling entrance into the laboratory, miniskirt showing more thigh than was necessary. Rose petal lips curled into a thoughtful frown, the girl blinked her blue eyes prettily before turning to Tack.
The girls shared a meaningful stare, Courtney daring to acknowledge the other girl's presence while Tack filled her eyes with hate. Whatever this popular slag was doing here, it wasn't photography related. Courtney took a few steps inside, her heels clicking shortly on the tile, before she surveyed the dirtied walls once more. Her gaze was pointed, filled with intention as she relayed her eyes back to Tack.
"What do you think? Rose pink or Baby blue?" her voice was light, airy, ditzy. Crafted around each word was a narcisstic belittlement against Tack and both girls could hear it.
Narrowing her eyes dangerously, Tack asked, "What?"
Cocking her head to the side once more, Courtney pretended to look sincerely wondering as she asked, "Oh, I just wondered what color the walls should be. Pink or blue? Hmm. I think pink."
Taking a few dangerous steps forward, Tack said sharply, "I don't think you have a fucking say in what color these walls should be."
Seeming taken aback by the girl's response, Courtney said in wide eyed innocence, "Well, this room just seemed perfect." When Tack shot her a questioning glance, the blonde girl continued. "Oh, I asked the principal if the cheerleaders could have a practice room and he said I could pick one. This one is the right shape and obviously, doesn't matter to anyone..." her gaze lingered on Tack as she said, "important."
When Tack didn't answer, too shocked by these circumstances, Courtney finished off, "So, I think that makes this room mine."
Tack could almost not believe her ears. What? Give up the photography lab? Eyes alight with fire, Tack realized that this girl was attempting to take away the one part of this school that actually made sense. With rude students, rude teachers, rude administrators and otherwise undesirable courses, this highschool was the bane of Tack's existence. Tack could stand up against her parents, but not the government, and apparently she had to go to "academic facilities." If she did indeed have to go, why couldn't there be at least one sane part of it all?
Swiping her arm indignantly across herself, Tack shouted, "Look, you can't just come in here like you own the place and say its yours. Last time I checked, this is a frickin' school. That means that these rooms are for academic purposes only, meaning that we do photography here. See the sign that says, 'photography lab?' Just because you're rich and half the school follows you like idiots, you can't barge in here and take the only thing I've got. Get the hell out!"
This outburst did little to deter Courtney de la Shanz and she merely crossed her arms imperiously over her well crafted chest. Her eyes glittered with murderous glee as she said, "I don't think you get it, girl. This room is mine now and there's nothing you can do about it. So why don't you just step."
At this, Tack let loose a scream of outrage. Marching straight towards the girl, Tack had to restrain her own fists as she shot back angrily, "I don't believe for one fucking minute that the principal would let you pick any goddamn room you liked for a rich bitch hangout. Until you show me cold hard proof, I ain't givin' up this room!"
A pregnant pause followed this in which blazing green eyes met placid blue ones. Tack could almost feel the hope draining from her fingertips as she saw the confidence in Courtney's sparkling features. Perhaps she had truly lost the lab after all. With this, Courtney de la Shanz turned smoothly on her heels and glided out the door, waving back over her shoulder. "I'll find you, frump girl. I'll show you my proof." Leaving a scent of daisies, she was gone.
Tack watched her leave in a flurry of pink fur and let her brave facade melt off her body. If she lost the photography lab, she might as well sign up for the suicide line. She couldn't take much more of this existence.
The treetops bowed against the november wind, chilling the students as they walked from class to class. Behind the gym, a field of wildflowers gave way to a veritable forest, the one part of this campus left untouched by evil teenage hands. The scene was picturesque, colors melting together into on warming hue, trees creaking almost nostalgically as they remember times of crackling fires and replenished ozone. Amongst the wildflowers, stones rose from the ground in a startling display of strength, untouched by time. A well, its wooden roof decaying upon its posts, sat sternly in the foliage, glaring out at this hateful world grown up around it. Through the ages, it managed to remain. And so it would until the end of time.
Tack sat, her back against the well, puzzling over a rough sketch. It depicted Tack, hands shoved stubbornly in her pockets, walking towards a cliff edge with regret shining in her eyes. Funny how the girl could capture her own soul in the picture, but Tack was no fool. She knew and understood every one of her feelings, never questioning her own apathy. If she thought about suicide with any depth, it never truly meant anything. Tack sometimes felt, however, that things could only get worse. Life hadn't totally stabbed her to death yet.
Alone with her own thoughts, Tack barely heard the approaching footsteps of someone unaccustomed to fields and mother nature. Courtney didn't seem pleased by this required treck, stepping gingerly along the somewhat beaten path as she made her way towards the redheaded girl. Clutched in the cheerleaders well manicured hand was a piece of paper, a few lines scribbled and a signature at the bottom. Indeed, the captain had done as she promised and retrieved proof. Now that worthless punk girl couldn't deny her what was rightfully hers.
Startled by the sound of someone's outraged cry, Tack blinked and took in the humorous sight of Courtney de la Shanz, one high heeled spike sunk into the soft ground. She wrestled with it for a moment before it exited the ground with a dull "pop," almost mocking her. The blonde continued stoically onwards, coming to halt mere inches before Tack's hightops.
Trying to hold back a grin at Courtney's ruffled appearance, Tack asked sweetly, "Can I help you?"
Without words, Courtney thrust the paper forwards, looking haughtily away from her antagonist. Tack took the offered gift silently, reading over the paper with life draining from her eyes. After a few words explaining the decision to remodel the photography lab into a cheerleading practice room, Principal Hagan had signed his name in blue ink on the dotted line, almost a weary signature against a tiring day.
As Courtney saw Tack's face falling, her day almost took an upward turn. After trecking across that wretched field, something worthwhile finally awaited her. Only the sound of wind in the trees broke the silence as Tack handed the paper wordlessly back to Courtney, trying to think of something witty to say. Courtney, however, stole her momentous glory by saying, "Guess I win, frump girl."
She turned to go but, in one maddening moment, Tack rose quickly to her feet and spun around the blonde, backing her slowly towards the well with a vicious look in her eyes. "Oh, it's not over yet," she spat bitterly. "I still have something to say to you."
Looking expectantly, Courtney seemed not to notice her back coming dangerously close to the well's edge. Tack poked the girl venemously in the chest as she hissed, "You think you're so wonderful, so beautiful, that everyone worships you. Did you ever think that maybe people follow you out of fear? That means that one day they'll tell their kids to stay away from people like you and not make the same mistake their parents did, following you like a dog. They'll tell their kids to be like me, to stand up against you, to resist your pathetic rules. I hate people like you. Always have, always will. And I know that you'll grow up to be white trash, living in some god damned trailer in podunk Texas, nine kids and no father. And then I'll laugh my ass off."
These words were cruel, perhaps harsher than even Tack intended, and for once Courtney's unshakable cool was flustered. To even hear the insinuation that people didn't like her frightened Courtney to no end. Maybe, after all, her power was worthless. When subjects were unwilling to follow, power suddenly lost some of its thrill. Not to be outdone, she narrowed her blue eyes in dislike and said calmly, "So is it true what they say? That you're mom started fucking the principal after your dad killed himself? Cause you're pretty screwed up. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
This pushed Tack completely over the edge. Hearing someone say such things about her family, about her father's death, about her mother's grieving, truly did in whatever chance there was for restraint. Courtney became a firsthand witness to Tack's fierce anger, a victim of her own perpetuated stereo-type. Green eyes blazing, teeth gritted, muscled tensed and fists clenched, Tack let loose a wild yell of rage and took one swing at Courtney in her ire, unable to see or remember the well behind the cheerleading captain.
The next moment occured in slow motion, Tack's fist breaking sound barriers as it barreled out of no where, catching the stately Courtney de la Shanz on the cheek, sending her surprised face flying backwards over the well's edge. Surprised at her own daring, Tack seemed taken aback for a moment before pink nails shot out from their fall, grasping Tack's muscular arm and breaking the skin with their piercing tips. Both girls screamed as their bodies crashed into one another, falling backwards into the rank and bottomless well. Knowing the well had been dry for years, the girl's closed their eyes against the rushing wind, preparing to meet their doom on the ground below. But the hit never came.
A bright flash of light enveloped both girls and, for the smallest moment, they were suspended in a cluster of sparkling blues and greens, eyes wide in terror and arms flailing slowly in the murky atmosphere. Crystals floated back and forth in the spiritual pergatory, twinkling as darkness appeared once more. All in a single frightening moment, Courtney and Tack landed softly on the powdered ground, their nerves considerably shaken.
Tack was the first to come out of her stupor. Rising shakily to her feet, she felt the walls of what appeared to be the well. She could have sworn for a moment she'd been floating, but everything seemed so hazy now. Glancing down at her feet where the blonde cheerleader lay, Tack raised an eyebrow and remembered her punch. Though it was wild and no doubt foolish, it felt so wonderful.
No, thought Tack fervently, focus. Glancing to the side, the redhead noticed some protruding bricks, leading up the well's edge towards the light. Tack began her ascent without a second thought towards her enemy, laying dazed on the well bottom, clutching the rough stone in her palms and lifting with her strong legs. The climb was easy and Tack appeared at the edge in no time, lifting herself swiftly. What she saw was almost wonderful and terrible at the same time.
Empty fields, blazing forests, clear blue skies, not a building or artificial light for mile. Everything was natural, untouched, a product of unspeakable beauty. This was teh antithesis of Dameon highschool but, rather than suffer separation anxiety, Tack felt delight welling up in her throat. This would be one spactacular adventure.
A pitiful moan broke her reverie and Tack chanced a look down the well; huddled in a tight ball, Courtney seemed far less regal than before. Her normally flawless cheek was bruised and bleeding; for some strange reason, it pleased Tack's thirst for revenge. Though, after the cheerleader's cruel words, almost nothing could quell her desire for Courtney's unhappiness. Deciding to leave the blonde to her own devices, Tack shoved her hands moodily in her pockets and stalked off towards the setting sun; she needed to find shelter before nightfall.
What will happen to Tack and Courtney? When will they meet Inuyasha? Will Courtney ever stop being a bitch? I love those goofy questions that the narrators asked after dramatic unfinished finales in fifties shows. I thought I'd add some of my own.
Sorry for the lack of Inu and the gang, but I have an obsession with proper set up in my stories. This one is no different. If flames could be converted into tactful suggestions, much appreciated. But if you just had like a major break up or something, your excused, flame away.
:safety pin: