Lydia walked through the crowded hallways of her new highschool, her books clutched tightly to her chest as she wove a path through the groups of skinny blonde girls and beefy jocks. Occassionally she would glance to her left, or to her right, catching someone's eye, but mostly she just stared down at the brown tiled floor beneath her worn black boots, hoping that none of these strangers would stop her and try to talk to her. They were okay, she supposed; none of them had really done anything too mean to her, not like they sometimes did at the other public schools she'd attended. Her parents wanted her to go to a private school, somewhere more like Ms. Shannon's (and Delia wanted her sent away to boarding school, but thankfully Charles would have none of it), but there was no such place in this suburban hell hole, which kind of surprised Lydia. Though undoubtedly of the lowest intelligence known to man, these kids certainly looked prep-school material.
She counted her steps to her next class, quick and steady. She was almost there. She was so close now, she could see the open door to the room where she was supposedly being taught Englishone of the only subjects Lydia had even the mildest of interest in. She was nearly there, when suddenly she felt a large hand clap down onto her right shoulder. She flinched and spun around to see to whom the hand belonged. It was Jake, this guy that was known as kind of a punk; a delinquenthe was of no interest to Lydia. He wore a leather jacket, black sunglasses and a tight black shirt to show off his muscles. He looked to Lydia like something straight out of the movie "Grease", only missing that ridiculous pompadore hairstyle that was popular for some ungodly reason during the fifties. (Oh yeah, that's rightElvis). He wasn't unattractive, or even bad looking, at all, but something about his crooked smile rubbed Lydia the wrong way, and she moved her shoulder ever-so-slightly to escape his grip on her.
"Lydia, isn't it?" he said, pushing his shades further up on his nose to hide his bright blue eyes. Lydia nodded and swallowed. People in sunglasses had always made her nervous. Whenever she wore them, she was always secure in the knowledge that she could stare at someone for as long as she pleased, and they might never know. If everyone who wore sunglasses was in on this little secret, she was in trouble.
"Yeah, Jack right?" she said, purposely getting his name wrong, just to see his reaction.
"It's Jake, actually, but you can call me whatever you want, sweetcheeks." Again with that awful smile. It was the kind of smile a middle-aged man with a trenchcoat and an untidy goatee gives a five year old as he's inviting her into his car. Cold shivers danced up and down Lydia's spine as she stared into the glossy black frames of Jake's glasses and she smiled nervously.
"Well, hey, I gotta get to class," she said gesturing over her shoulder to her classroom, the open door a mere few feet away from her. She could feel the anxiety building up in her chest, but she knew that once she set foot inside that brightly-lit classroom she would be safe.
"Catch you after school?" It was more of a statement than a request. Lydia gave him another fake grin as he pointed his finger at her and made a clicking noise with his tongue, like he was some hip old movie star or something.
Lydia let her breath out and rolled her eyes as soon as his back was turned. "I hope the only thing you'll catch is an STD, you creepy bastard," she muttered under her breath as she quickly retreated to her sanctuary and took her seat in the furthest of the identical rows of desks. Maybe she should give the guy half a chance. Maybe he wasn't as big a jerk as everybody said he was. Hell, they were all jerks, too. What did they know? But that smile...Lydia shuddered just thinking about it. She decided that she would probably be able to stand him so long as he kept his mouth shut. Why couldn't every guy be more like Edward? Sweet, simple, silent Edward? And why, when jerks like that were willing to talk to her, was the one person she wanted to talk to more than anyone always so quiet and reluctant to do so?
iJust give him time/i she told herself as she opened her notebook to copy down the notes on the board. iHe'll come around if you just give him a chance. He'll be thrilled once he knows what you've been planning for him. Maybe he'll be so excited that you'll actually be able to squeeze a few words out of him./i Lydia literally wanted to squeeze him, just come up to him one day and wrap her arms around him and give him the most gigantic hug she'd ever given anyone, but she remained respectful of his personal boundaries and kept her feelings in check, for fear of scaring him away. It was still too soon to tell exactly what he felt for her, but she knew that he felt -something- and that was good, at least.
As she mimicked the loopy cursive written across the green board, she felt her mind begin to wander to a place it would much rather bewith Edward. She couldn't concentrate on her schoolwork. She rarely could, these days, so obsessed was she with her studies of Edward and how he worked, and how she could make him better. Well, not better, but "normal"what he'd always wanted to be, what he'd always been intended to be. She was determined to finish the job that the inventor had left only partially completed. It would be no easy task, and she would not be able to do it alone, but she'd been contacting various surgeons over the past week via e-mail, sending them questions and copies of the diagrams in the inventor's old book. No one had replied yet, but she was confident that -someone- was bound to take an interest in Edward's extremely rare and most likely one-of-a-kind case.
Lydia sighed and chewed absently on the end of her pen, the hard plastic cap becoming soft and pliable in her warm mouth and soon it was squished flat, dented with teethmarks and beyond repair. When she realised what she'd done, she pulled the spitty, mutilated cap from her teeth and sighed. She often did this to writing utensils when in deep thought, and had ruined a number of her favourite pens this way. Ah well. iWhen will this stupid class be over with, anyway/i she wondered, glancing up at the clock impatiently, staring at the black hands as though by doing so she could will them to speed up their journey to the magic numbers that meant she would be able to go home, forget about all this crap and concentrate on what really matteredfinishing Edward.
Edward rarely came down from his attic during the daytime, but today he decided to be adventurous. He was curious about the renovations the Deetzes had made to his house since they'd come, just over three months ago. The house still smelled strongly of fresh paint and wood, nothing like the familiar and comforting scent of dust and mildew that had been there, before.
He cautiously wandered into the living room, keeping a sharp eye out for Delia or Charles, who worked at home and might possibly object to his roaming freely downstairs. But, as neither of them were in sight, nor could he hear any sign of them coming from neighbouring rooms, he decided to make himself at home on the large black leather couch situated in the centre of the enormous room. Once seated, Edward glanced around at the strange decor and furnishings that now adorned what used to be his creator's cookie-making room. What had happened to that machine? Edward sighed. They'd probably just trashed it, along with everything else they hadn't liked or found useful.
He'd known this was going to happen, so why had he even come down, only to have his mood become even gloomier than before? He hadn't wanted to get depressed, but what could he do? He couldn't just sit up there and rot forever, not when there were so many interesting things to look at, downstairs. He had to admit that, though much of Delia's art frightened him, it was still very intriguing and unique. After a moment of careful contemplation, he decided that he liked it, that it rather reminded him of himself. There was nothing to be afraid of, it was just a little different than your average clay pot.
Edward pulled his eyes away from a particularly grotesque sculpture and faced straight ahead. What he saw startled him, and he just barely avoided punching a hole in the couch. It was his reflection, in the glass face of a gigantic black box, with all sorts of buttons and wires coming out of it, connecting it to a series of smaller black boxes which surrounded it. Ah, right. He'd seen one of these at the Boggs, all those years ago, but that one had been much smaller. It was a television set, something that played pictures and their corresponding sounds, and corrupted the minds of small children, and his own, apparently...
"Damn those TV programs," he mimicked Peg's words from so long ago as if she'd said them a mere second ago. "Damn them all to hell."
iAnd somewhere around here/i Edward thought to himself as he scanned the objects lying helter-skelter on the shiny glass surface of the coffee table, ithere must be a remote control./i
The bell had rung and biology class was over, yet Lydia still sat quite still in her chair, hunched over copies of Edward's diagrams and making notations of her own in the margins. She'd been doing it all class period, completely ignoring the lesson as she lost herself in her questions and ideas. She'd heard the bell, but there was something puzzling her, something she had to figure out before she'd be able to move so much as a single inch toward the door.
"Lydia, right?" The man seemed to have appeared out of nowhere and was now standing at Lydia's side, trying to sneak a peek at the papers scattered all over her desk.
"Uh, yeah..." Lydia rarely talked to her regular teachers, let alone substitutes. They were often sort of crazy, in a bad way, and never knew quite what was going on, but this one seemed to insist on invading her personal space.
"What's that you have there? That's not classwork, is it?"
Oh my God, was this jerk actually going to try and get her into trouble? Class was over! What did he care? He was just a temp for crying out loud..."No, it's not." It's far more important than anything ever assigned in this dumb class.
"Mind if I take a look?"
She did mind. Quite a bit, but she was almost forced to lean back and out of the way as the eager man bent down to inspect the diagrams more closely.
"Interesting..." he muttered as he scanned the pages through thick framed glasses. He didn't seem very old, perhaps thirty at the most, but the glasses made him appear much older, and less attractive. Yes, that combined with the tan sweater, slicked-back hair and dorky tie, if he was going for that geeky teacher look he'd achieved it with flying colours (most of which were dull earth tones).
"Er, do -you- mind if I ask why you're so interested in my stuff?" she asked, when the man continued to scrutinize the diagrams after several more minutes than Lydia was willing to wait. It -was- time to go home, after all.
The man stood up straight, removed his glasses and rubbed them on his sweater, and Lydia could tell that he was about to announce something important.
"Oh, it's just that I'm studying human anatomy at university, currently."
University? Wasn't this guy a little old to be going to college?
"Oh," Lydia said, trying to sound even the slightest bit interested, but failing horribly.
"Yeah, I'm in my fourth year. I originally wanted to become a pediatrician, but ultimately decided that I... well, I don't really like little kids, much."
iMaybe this guy isn't so bad/i Lydia thought, picking a bit of dirt from underneath her fingernail.
"Neither do I," she responded, flatly. She might have been a little more polite if she weren't so eager to get home and work on her project. "Uhm, can I go?"
The man looked slightly stricken, like she'd just asked permission to stab a pencil through his eyeball or something, but it only lasted for a brief moment, after which he said that yes, she could go.
"But Lydia," he called after her as she was walking out the door. She rolled her eyes and turned on her heel, reluctantly to face him. "If you need help with that...whatever it is your working on," he said, gesturing to the pile of loose papers in her hand, "I'd be happy to try and assist you. You looked like you were stuck on something, and, even though I'm just a substitute, it's still my job to try and help you learn."
"Thanks," Lydia replied shortly as she all but ran down the hall, hoping to escape before the strange man had a chance to hold her up, any longer. Tucking her papers into her folder, she made a mental note to never linger behind in that class, again.
Edward was astounded. He'd never really gotten much of a chance to watch TV when he was living with the Boggs', and what little he'd been able to catch had been -nothing- like this. He'd always been out doing things for other people. Trimming the hedges, cutting hair, both human and canine, or simply keeping the lonely housewives company until their husbands returned at the end of the day. He didn't really want to think about that. It had been nice while it had lasted, he supposed, but then the bad things had started to happen, he began to realise that nobody actually liked him, and that they were just using him. Nobody, except for
"Hey, Edward," Lydia said casually as she walked toward him, backpack slung over one shoulder. She was about to walk right past him and up the stairs to her room, when she realised what she was seeing.
Edward was downstairs. Edward was watching TV. Edward was watching...Jerry Springer?
"Edward?"
But it appeared as though he could not hear her, or at least that the TV was making him incapable of responding. She stood beside the couch for a few minutes, his reaction to the show forcing her to cover her mouth to surpress laughter on several occassions. When she decided that they'd both had enough, she walked directly in front of him, blocking the TV from his sight, and switched it off.
Edward's head shook once and he blinked as though he'd just been snapped out of a trance.
"Lydia?" he asked, his voice quiet and soft as usual. "Where did you come from?"
"I've been here for like, five minutes," she said, unable to keep the smile from spreading across her pale face.
"Really?" Edward asked, truly amazed.
Lydia nodded. "You were hypnotized by the TV. It happens to people, all the time." But not Lydia. Lydia had learned to drown things out. Sometimes, it was the only way to survive. Her areas of expertise were her father, Delia, and annoying jerks at school, but the TV wasn't a problem, either.
"I...I..." Edward looked at the TV, then at Lydia, then back at the TV, again. "I don't get it."
"What don't you get, hon?" Lydia asked, slightly surprised at the pet name she'd inadvertently tacked on to the end of her sentence.
"Everyone was fighting and screaming. I didn't even understand what they were saying, most of the time. There were a lot of loud beeping noises, and everybody in the audience started shouting, and then two big men in black came up onto the stage, and...I don't get it."
Lydia chuckled and sat down next to Edward on the couch.
"Yeah, well...it's probably better, that way. The world can be a sick, sad place, Edward."
"I know," he said, not meaning it in any sort of disrespectful way; he was simply stating that he was aware that the world wasn't all gumdrops and lollipops.
"Of course you do. But, I think we can find something better to watch than Jerry Springer."
"Jerry who...?"
Lydia plucked the remote from Edward's lap with a smile and pressed the red button toward the top.
"Never mind."
Lydia had made sure to give Edward a wide variety of television programs to watch, starting out with a nice, friendly sitcom, and following that up with a side of cartoons. Lydia was quite surprised to see that Edward was actually laughing at them. She was used to cartoons and they were all too predictable to her. The coyote never gets that damn roadrunner, the over-amorous skunk would chase that poor cat to the ends of the earth, Bugs Bunny always steals the show, and that was just common knowledge. But to Edward, who was seeing it all for the first time, they were still fresh and funny, and she was glad that he was reacting so positively to something.
When they'd moved on to some nature program or another, Lydia's eyes were beginning to droop. She wanted to stay awake, to watch Edward's facial expressions (he'd made more of them during a single cartoon than Lydia had seen him make since they'd met), but she was so tired. School was really getting the best of her. That coupled with her lack of sleep (she often stayed up very late working on her plans to help Edward) and she was out like a light, her head on Edward's shoulder, her hand clasped loosely around the remote control.
Edward was only vaguely aware of the fact that he had Lydia's head resting on his shoulder. Part of him would have liked to pay attention to her, perhaps even to wake her up and talk to her, or maybe just watch her as she slept and enjoy how close their bodies were. But as it was, he found it impossible to do anything but stare straight ahead at the glowing television screen, his eyes glazed, his mouth slack, his scissorhands snipping absently in his lap. Soon, he forgot that Lydia was even there, at all. The show had swallowed him whole, just like the crocodile had just swallowed an unfortunate turtle.
Lydia's eyes finally fluttered open what must have been hours later. In a state of brief panic, she checked her wrist watch to be sure that she wasn't late for school.
9:45
No, she wasn't late for school, thank God. It was still Wednesday evening, but unfortunately, practically all of it was gone.
"Damn it," she cursed, rubbing her eyes and sitting up. "Edward?" she said, but got no response. "Oh, right," she said, remembering that TV turned him into a zombie. She groped at the couch cushions for the remote, and when she finally found it wedged between her cushion and Edward's, she aimed it at the TV and pressed the power button.
The screen turned suddenly dark, and so did the area around themit had been the only provider of light in the entire room.
Lydia heard Edward make a small noise in the back of his throat as he was finally released from his staring contest with the TV screen.
"Lydia?" he spoke into the darkness. She could hear the blades of his scissorhands rubbing against one another and she could tell that he was slightly afriad.
"Yes, I'm here," she responded, hoping to assure him that everything was all right.
"What happened? Did you turn it off?"
"Yeah, I had the remote."
"Oh."
Silence.
Lydia's eyes were quickly adjusting to the darkness and she could just barely make out Edward's outline about a foot to her right. She wondered how well he could see in the dark. She hadn't encountered anything addressing the subject in the inventor's notes, nor had she ever thought to ask. She suddenly felt a wave of self-conciousness rush over her, much like the one she'd felt earlier that day when Jake had stared at her through his dark glasses. But this was different. This was Edward. Edward, good. Jake, bad.
"So..." she began, unsure of what exactly she was going to say. "Did you like watching TV?"
"Yes, it was really interesting. I think I have a headache, though," he added as an afterthought.
"Yeah, TV will do that to you if you watch it for too long. And you've been watching it for...about five hours, maybe a little more."
"That's a long time, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Lydia said, sighing that so much precious time had been lost. "Especially to be watching TV."
"Well, I learned a lot. Television is very educational."
"It can be, depending on what programs you watch." But then she thought about it, and reconsidered. Edward hadn't really been exposed to much of anything and was therefore bound to get a lot out of any show, even Jerry Springer. There was so much for him to learn about modern culture, about how things worked in this day and age, about people, about himself, about everything, really. He was an open book just waiting to be written in, and Lydia was always getting her pen ready.
"I like it. It's much better than what I usually do."
Lydia decided to pry a little bit. What was the harm?
"And what exactly -do- you do up there, all day?"
"Nothing."
But that wasn't entirely true. He spent most of his time thinking. About Her, about the past, about the future, about things he'd read, about Lydia, about how to talk to her, and mostly about what to say if he ever mustered enough courage to do so.
Edward was getting much better at conversation, she noticed. He seemed to be a very fast learner. He absorbed information like a sponge absorbed water, and Lydia had already noticed the imprint that five hours of television had left on his impressionable mind. She planned to expose him to at least one hour of TV every day, and she would record his progress in a notebook. She would call it 'The Edward Files'. If none was made, she would try something else. Maybe she would read to him, or give him music to listen to. Anything to open him up, but it had to be done little by little. It would be a frustrating, painstaking process, but Lydia was confident that it would ultimately be rewarding.
"Well, Edward," she said, standing up slowly and, careful to avoid the coffee table, walked across the room to turn on the light. "I think it's time for bed, don't you?"
"Okay," he said, the sudden change in light causing him to blink his black eyes, rapidly.
"Sorry," she said, hoping that the light hadn't hurt him.
"It's all right," he said. "I just wasn't expecting it."
"I guess I should've given you a warning."
Nothing.
"Okay, come with me and I'll walk you up to bed."
Edward slowly rose from his spot on the couch and walked stiffly over to where Lydia stood, near the stairs. He was glad that she was coming with him, though he doubted she'd stay for very long. He almost asked her how long she intended to stay with him, but bit his tongue at the last minute. He was still too scared, too shy to make it seem as though he really wanted Lydia to spend time with him. Because he did, he really did...he just didn't know how to ask for it, nor did he want her to feel obligated.
"C'mon, Edward," she said as he shuffled along slowly behind her. He looked up at her and gave her a small smile, but he was lost in his own thoughts, and feeling very...what was the word...? Uncomfortable. Not physically, but emotionally. He was painfully aware of how much he liked Lydia, and how nice it felt to be around her. Even when he'd sat with his eyes glued to the TV screen, he had felt warm and safe, because deep down he knew that she was close by. He wanted to feel that way, always, but he knew that it was impossible. He nearly hated himself for not being able to say so, but he really wished she could be with him, all the time. If only he could tell her...
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