-_- Fronge, I hate these things. So for everyone: this will be the last disclaimer! Henceforth, this disclaimer applies for the rest of the story, because it's too much of a pain to put them on each chapter. So here we go for the last time:
I do not own the Simpsons. I do not own any of the characters you recognise from the Simpsons television show. I am not trying to make money from this story. I am not using this story for anything other than entertaining bored people who happen to be online. I do not need to be sued for writing this story, which I am not using for any purpose other than telling a story. I apologize to all you lawyers out there who enjoy inducing legal action against innocent people for trivial reasons. Please note that this disclaimer applies to the entire story.
There, is that a decent enough disclaimer? It better be… Now no one can sue me (I hope)! ^____^
Onward!
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Spinning for Hours
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by Seaoknarnar
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Chapter 4: Brand-New Places and Very Old Faces
Somehow, unbeknownst to me, I managed to squeeze my way through the doors of the monstrous high school. Unfortunately, it didn't do me very much good, as my first few steps into the entrance were immediately halted by the metal detector lines.
A few years back, an incident occurred at MBHS. Several students and teachers were fatally wounded. It was all over the news. Ever since then, all the schools in Springfield have required students to carry ID cards with them at all times, and upon entering and leaving the school, all of us students and the staff have to pass through metal detectors while big tough cops with those black hurting-sticks stare at us menacingly. And don't ask me why we have to be metal-detected upon exiting the school, because that makes no sense to me.
At Jebediah Springfield, the metal detectors usually took around 10 minutes to get through. However, I stood waiting in line for at least half an hour that day, and as I stood waiting in-between some preppy girl and some nerd, I thought to myself, "I'm going to have to get here really early if I want to make it to class on time. That's just great. Now I get to get even less sleep each night, all because these metal detectors are incompetent." The metal-detectors really were incompetent. They detected even the slightest bit of metal on a person, and so everyone who went through had to empty their pockets of all their change, take off all their jewelry, and remove any jacket with metal buttons, hooks, snaps, or zippers (and you don't see many jackets with plastic zippers). I don't even know what they did for the kids with braces. And if your pants had metal rivets? Did you have to strip to get through the machines? Sheesh, the stupidity of the people who designed the machines amazed me.
After the aforesaid half-hour, I finally managed to worm my way through the machine (after convincing the cop that I beeped because I had a metal zipper on my jeans) and got out in to the open halls. Well, open in a sense that you weren't standing on top of the people around you. MBHS was way overcrowded. The explosion of growth and development in Springfield led to a major rise in the population, and since MBHS was the only public high school in the area, it was huge and crammed. There was never enough space in the halls to comfortably move around. Still, the halls were less crowded than the entrance was.
I followed the crowd of people that were walking down the short passage leading to the atrium, the main chamber in the school. As soon as I stepped in to the atrium, I was bombarded by the sounds of hundreds of conversations, and by the number of hallways radiating outward from the atrium. Fortunately for me, a big sign was posted that read, "FRESHMEN, REPORT TO CAFETERIA," and there was an arrow pointing me in the general direction. Not that I needed it, of course. Anyway, seeing no reason to hang around, I started off towards the cafeteria.
After numerous twists and turns, I arrived at my destination. I saw tons and tons of freshpeople (I HATE the term freshmen. That's so sexist!) milling around, and at the far end of the cafeteria there was a huge clump. Guessing that that was where I needed to go, I hurried over. On the walls they had posted long lists of every person's name, and next to each name was a room number that he or she had to report to.
Shoving my way through the throng, I went to the S list and looked for my name. After reading the list through twice, I began to worry. I didn't see my name on the list at all. However, under closer inspection, I realised what the problem was. Some idiot had alphabetized the lists by first name, so I should have been looking on the L list, not the S list. Rolling my eyes, I forced my way over to the L list, and found my name, which read Simpson, Lisa E. "Genius," I thought to myself sarcastically, "pure genius." I looked at the room number I was to go to. "075," I thought to myself. "That's in the basement. And all the way across the school, according to the map they gave me." Since I had been doing mostly nothing over the summer, I had enough spare time to memorize the map the school sent along with the ID card. And I'm glad I studied the map so far ahead of time, because the school was a four-story (five, including the basement) labyrinth of twisting hallways, odd ramps, staircases, obscurely placed rooms, and lots of dead ends. And I'm not exaggerating.
To get to the closest staircase to go downstairs, I left the cafeteria, turned right at the end of the hall, went down two ramps, took a middle-left at a 5-way intersection, and followed a meandering hallway with lots of alcoves for people to sit in. I located the staircase, and descended in to the bowels of the school.
MBHS was by no means new and shining, but at least the hallways above ground were somewhat cheerful and welcoming. However, in the basement it was an entirely different story. It was obvious that, upon the construction of the school, habitation by students was not in mind for the basement. It looked more like a place where the janitor kept his spare mops. The ground was ugly grey concrete, and there were many patches where the wiring in the walls was exposed (quite dangerously, I might add). There was a continual drip of water issuing from the squat pipes overhead, which caused the floor to be damp and mildewed in some places. The only light came from dim, dirty, bare bulbs hanging on wires from the ceiling. The Springfield State Penitentiary was probably a more cheerful and elegant building.
I plodded down the drab corridor, empty of all except a few students, until I came to room 75. There was a sign in ballpoint pen and notebook paper taped next to it, which read "MBHS Magnet Program" in crooked letters, as though someone had written it on a very bumpy surface. I sighed in disappointment at the fact that three-quarters of every day would be held down in this dank little room.
"Well," I thought to myself, my hand on the doorknob, "as soon as I step through this door and in to that classroom, I will be imprisoned by the shackles of education. I will be forced to spend six of my eight classes every day in this room full of nerds, geeks, and braniacs (not unlike myself). I will become like them, eventually forsaking all other aspects of my life in my quest for knowledge. I will gruelingly compete to be the best and the brightest in the class, doing whatever I must to be tops. My soul will be replaced by a bank of useless information. My—"
"Excuse me," said a male voice behind me, "but, although you may be soliloquizing within your own mind, and I respect your right to do that, there are others of us who need to get in to that room. So could you please either go in, or step out of the way?"
I turned around, ready to give that guy a piece of my mind. However, as soon as I saw his face, I froze. I felt a memory surfacing inside of me from some six years ago.
~~ "I'm in the wrong school!" I wailed, then quickly turned and ran out of the room. I ran straight in to this boy, with oval glasses and sandy colored hair. He looked a little startled at my abrupt appearance.
I could feel the color rising in my cheeks. "I'm sorry," I said, "Can you believe it? I'm in the wrong school!" I gave this nervous sort of chuckle.
He replied something about poor school naming, but I didn't pay attention to that. After he finished, I said, "My name's Lisa."
He replied, "I'm Thelonious."
I said, "Thelonious, like as in Thelonious Monk?"
He replied something about how his parents had named him after Thelonious Monk, and how he got beat up because he had a "sissy" name.
From his advanced vocabulary, I could tell he was an intellectual like I was. I smiled at him, and he smiled at me.
We went outside, and began spinning in joyful circles. We spun for what felt like hours. In reality, it was hours, and eventually I realized that I had to get to Springfield Elementary, so I could hand in Linguo, my science project. "Oh my god," I said, "we've been spinning for hours! I've got to get to my school and hand in Linguo!" I snatched up my stuff. "But I've had so much fun here with you," I continued, "I don't want to go."
"You must," he replied rather determinedly, "You can't sacrifice good grades for love!"
I knew that, but it disappointed me all the same. "Will I ever see you again?" I asked sadly, embracing him in my arms.
He embraced me back, "Yes. At the Magnet high school." We hugged for the last time, and then he released me from his arms and said, "Now go!"
I ran, and as I ran I felt tears well up in my eyes. ~~
It was Thelonious. He had kept his word to me from all those years ago.
I was overjoyed! I had thought, all those years ago, that I would never see him again. Now here I was, in this dreary doorway, and I had just re-met someone from my past who cared about me deeply.
But as I looked in to his eyes, I noted with despair that they held no spark of recognition of me. He knew me as no more than an annoying girl who was blocking his way in to the classroom. And, as Bart once said, I could pinpoint the exact moment when my heart broke in two. It was here and now.
"Well," he said, breaking the awkward silence, "my name's Theo. It was nice meeting you…" he ended awkwardly, not knowing, not remembering, my name.
"Yeah," I muttered, trying to not let him see the tears that had sprung to my eyes. I moved away from the door, which allowed him to pass through in to the room.
I sank down against the wall next to the door, pulled my knees to my chest, and put arms on my knees and my head in my arms. At this moment I had only one thought: "He doesn't remember, he doesn't remember…"
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Kind of a downer, I know. But don't worry! All shall be made good later on. This is not going to be a sad story. I want Lisa to be happy.
Lisa's memory was actually part of a Simpsons episode, for all of you who don't know that. In that episode, much crazy stuff happens, and as a result Lisa goes to the wrong school and meets Theo. I haven't seen that episode in a while, so the dialogue in the memory is not verbatim. However, it's close enough that it doesn't matter if it's verbatim or not. Still, if anyone know where I can see the script for that show, or hear it, or see it, could you please email it to me or leave it in a review? I want this to be as accurate as possible.
Other things: Can anyone tell me Lisa's middle name? I don't know if they've said it or not… Also, how old does anyone think Thelonious was in that Simpsons episode? Fourth grade? Third? I definitely think he was older than Lisa. And can anyone tell me the correct spelling of Thelonious and/or tell me who Thelonious Monk is/was? I'm not culture, you see, and I don't know these things. I suppose if I really must I will research these things, but if any of my smart, cultured, intelligent, wise, loyal readers know, that would be a lot easier and really helpful. Thanks!
Next chapter (tentative): We meet the magnet class. And we find out what this class does that is so special…
~ THE $E@0K|\|@R|\|@R Hammie Seao (my tentative full pen name. $E@0K|\|@R|\|@R is a title. Like Mrs. or Sir. Only 10 times better than those. And the THE in front of it means that I am the first and the only to use this title. I am the head $E@0K|\|@R|\|@R. And I deserve to be treated as such. ^__^)