Disclaimer: I do not own As Told By Ginger.
Chapter 1
Blake attempted to focus on the teacher's lecture, as he frantically copied notes from the chalkboard, but something in his peripheral vision kept him too distracted to process any of the information correctly. The words held no meaning. It was as though the English language had temporarily evaded his memory.
"Okay," Mrs. Brown sighed, waddling toward her desk, "I'm going to pass back the quizzes that you—" Her sentence was cut off by a sharp gasp, upon opening her drawer. This roused the curiosity of even the most disinterested students. She squinted down at whatever happened to be in there, and tentatively reached for it. A few of Blake's peers laughed, as she held up a fairly realistic tarantula toy, but he thought it to be rather lame and immature. There was only one person who could've been responsible for such a tasteless prank, and the culprit was none other than... "Carl Foutley."
"Yes, ma'am?"
Blake finally let his eyes flicker in the direction he'd been tempted to look, where Carl was leaning back in his chair, with his legs crossed on the desk, and his arms crossed behind his head of red hair; a satisfied smirk plastered on his face, revealing the overbite that gave him a weaselly appearance. Beside him, sat his chunky best friend, Hoodsey, who was slumped forward in his chair, with the hood of his purple hoodie pulled halfway over his permanently brooding face.
"I'll see you after school."
"Aw, c'mon, Mrs. B.. Don't you have a sense of humor?" Carl had undoubtedly matured over the years—rarely pulling Kindergarten-level pranks, anymore, or getting himself into trouble—but he seemed to be reverting back to his old ways.
"And get your feet off the desk!" Mrs. Brown spat, as she began to pass back graded quizzes.
Blake spent the rest of the period listening to Carl and Hoodsey whisper to each other, and wondered what they were saying; what they could possibly be up to now. He'd given up on the notion of concentrating on the lesson; his concentration had already been broken.
When the bell rang, signalling the end of the period, Blake quickly gathered his books, and followed Carl and Hoodsey out the door.
"Wait up, boys!" Brandon Higsby's voice echoed throughout the hall, making Blake cringe.
Carl and Hoodsey turned around, spotting Blake first, but glanced past him to glare at Brandon. "Whattaya want, Higsby?"
Brandon skipped merrily toward them, greeting Blake as he passed by, and slowed to a normal rhythm between Blake and the other guys. Blake now had to stare at the back of that annoyingly colorful sweatervest, and listen to Brandon brag about Mr. Licorice. If Blake had a nickel for every time Brandon brought up his pet monkey, Blake would be rich again.
Fortunately, Carl had mastered the art of tuning Brandon out. Bored with the basically one-sided conversation, Carl dumped his barely existent end of it on Hoodsey; pretending to still be listening attentively with his eyes on Brandon, while he subtly stole glances at Blake. The blonde quickly averted his own eyes, when they were met with Carl's. His cheeks were pink, but they often had a slight tinge to them. Carl decided to write it off, returning his attention to Brandon, who was still yakking away, as though anyone were following his story anymore.
With the exception of Brandon, the boys simultaneously cringed, as their sisters walked by, giggling hysterically about something their brothers probably wouldn't have thought funny in a million years. The three boys exchanged annoyed glances, and rolled their eyes at the inconvenience of their sisters' presence. With age, the tables had turned: As the boys matured, their older siblings grew more tolerant of them, while they became increasingly more annoyed with said siblings. Carl supposed that's what puberty did to you. At any rate, they were glad their sisters were seniors, and would be graduating at the end of the year. The boys would rule the school for the next two years, and they wouldn't have to worry about their little spies reporting their every wrong-doing back to their parents.
When the guys reached the cafeteria, they found an empty table to deposit their books, before heading through the lunch line. As the lunch lady drizzled gravy over Chef Bob's suspiciously brownish-ish turkey, Blake desperately wished for the exquisite boxed lunches he used to bring from home. As always, he decided to just stock up on fruit cups and bags of chips, letting Hoodsey help himself to the questionable meat. When they returned to their table, Noelle was already seated and playing with her food; something she'd never really outgrown. Upon closer inspection, she'd turned her mashed potatoes into a volcano, and was continuously scooping gravy into its mouth, only to watch it leak back out, and spill down the walls. At the base, pieces of broccoli served as trees.
"Are you gonna eat that?" Hoodsey asked, taking a seat by Noelle. She protectively moved her tray a couple inches away from him, blocking it with her arm. "Well, it's not like you're gonna finish it."
"I'm going to finish molding it."
"Food isn't meant to be molded," Hoodsey argued.
"Correction," Noelle held her index finger up to Hoodsey's face, "food does mold."
"Not if you eat it, first."
"C'mon, Hoods," Carl interjected, "you can't destroy this masterpiece."
"It's just going to end up in the garbage, if not my stomach, Carl." Blake wordlessly slid his tray across the table, toward Hoodsey, earning a wide grin. "Thank you, Blake."
"And thank you, Carl, for appreciating my art," Noelle said, narrowing her eyes at Hoodsey.
"I calls it how I sees it." Carl shrugged.
He and Noelle were technically exes, but they'd eventually learned to maintain a steady friendship. He never truly understood what had caused them to temporarily drift apart, but their current friendship made a lot more sense to him, than the prospect of romantic relationship. To this day, they'd remained unaware that the break-up itself was the result of a misunderstanding between them, intentionally caused by Blake; and Noelle was still under the impression that Carl had actually cheated on her with her lifelong rival, Polly Schuster, who Noelle decided to bury the hatchet with, once she'd moved back to Sheltered Shrubs, only to discover that Carl and Hoodsey were on decent terms with Blake and Brandon.
Let bygones be bygones, they'd always said.
"Hello, boys," a squawky voice interrupted the temporary silence. "Noelle," Polly said flatly, setting down her books and tray. "I hope you're ready to lose our monthly chess match."
Noelle and Polly engaged in their regular banter, while the guys talked among themselves.
"That was quite a nostalgic prank you played on Mrs. Brown," Blake admitted in his slightly British accent, patting his thin lips with a handkerchief. "I recall you playing similar ones on Mrs. Gordon."
Carl's heart wrenched a bit at the thought of Gordo, as it always did. He supposed it made sense that he behaved similarly toward Mrs. Brown. She reminded him a lot of Gordo sometimes. "I guess." He shrugged it off, changing the conversation to a less serious topic, which resulted in simply complaining about detention.
"Hey, Foutley," a familiar voice interrupted. Carl looked up to see Terrence—still the resident bully—slowly approaching their table. "I'm going to borrow this chair." He placed a hand on the back of the chair, but made no move to walk away with it, since Carl hadn't yet granted him permission. Carl was the one person Terrence never messed with. Carl had always stood his ground, never letting Terrence push him around, and Terrence thought Carl was freaky, so he'd never push his luck.
"Request denied," Carl said nonchalantly. He didn't care if the chair was empty; someone had to keep Terrence in his place.
"But—"
"Denied, Terrence."
The bully walked away with a roll of his eyes.
The rest of the lunch period, Carl and Blake engaged in witty banter, while Hoodsey half-heartedly listened, and rolled his eyes at the sexual tension between the two, which had always been palpable.
"So, Courtney's throwing a party, tonight," Miranda broodingly informed Macie, as they left the band room. "Winston's driving her mother to New Haven, to visit her father in prison, and she doesn't have to go, so she's taking advantage of the opportunity." Miranda rolled her eyes. "I suggested that we just order pizza, and raid her mother's liquor cabinet by ourselves, by she's already invited, like, twenty people. Anyway, you wanna go?"
"I don't know," Macie answered in her nasally voice. "I'm not really a fan of parties."
"Yeah, neither am I," Miranda pointed out, because, despite her strive for popularity, she happened to be as asocial, as Macie was socially anxious. "That's why I want you to keep me company."
"Oh," Macie said, oddly flattered. "Well, okay, then."
After school, Carl and Hoodsey stopped by Dwayne's to celebrate their newfound holiday, 'Fatty Fridays.' They'd been huge fans of Dwayne, since long before they'd discovered the wonders of marijuana, and that he could offer the boys more than free garbage. He was the most chill dude that Carl and Hoodsey had ever met, and—as Carl had once told Ginger's boyfriend, Darren—they really dug his vibe. Likewise, Dwayne had always been fond of Carl and Hoodsey, and enjoyed watching them grow into the cool teens they were today. He was glad that they could all hang out together, like adults, even if Carl and Hoodsey were sophomores in high school. They were pretty mature for their age anyway.
Once they had all caught a buzz, Dwayne offered to give the boys a ride to Carl's, where they headed directly to his room, hoping to avoid Lois in their current state.
"C'mon, Hoodsey," Carl urged, hanging upside down from the edge of his bed; riding out the rest of his high. "Help me think of a good prank to play on Gripling."
"Why?" Hoodsey sighed, not bothering to look up from his homework.
"I don't know," Carl answered honestly. "I've just been bored lately."
"Gee, thanks, Carl."
"I didn't mean it like that, Hoods." Carl didn't know how to explain himself. He didn't quite understand himself well enough to explain. It seemed as though he was alluded to a very obvious fact, which was right on the tip of his tongue, but his thoughts were interrupted by a series of knocks on his bedroom door. "Identify yourself."
"Ginger Foutley." Carl could practically hear his sister rolling her eyes.
"State the nature of your business."
Ginger apparently decided to ignore his nonsense, letting herself in. "Have you seen my straightener?"
"No." Carl surveyed her attire. "Where're you going, all dolled up like that?"
"A party at Courtney's." This news piqued his interest, though it always sounded weird to hear their old house referred to as the Gripling's.
"I like your hair better the way it is," Hoodsey admitted, still refusing to look away from his papers.
"Thanks, Hoodsey. That's really sweet." Ginger continued to stand in the doorway, eyeing him in apparent contemplation. "Macie asked about you the other day." Naturally, this was all it took, to pry his attention away from his work. He looked up so quickly, Carl thought his neck might snap. "She wanted to know if you were still with Amanda Whoever... She seemed pretty relieved, when I told her you'd broken up." Hoodsey's eyes widened slightly, but he quickly averted them, and brought his textbook to his face in attempt to hide the obvious blush. "Well, sorry to bother you," Ginger said, shutting Carl's door on her way out.
"Hey, Hoodsey... I was thinkin'—"
"No," Hoodsey interrupted, revealing his reddish face. "If you wanna crash the party, do it on your own." He didn't feel like being the third wheel, tonight.
"How did you know—?"
"It's like you'll find any excuse to interact with Blake."
Carl simply stared at his friend, as though he thought he hadn't heard Hoodsey correctly. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Think about it, Carl." Hoodsey gathered his books, and heaved himself off the messy floor. "I should probably get home for dinner. I have the munchies." He was half-way to the door, when Carl's words stopped him in his tracks.
"Macie will probably be there."