Disclaimer: I don't own Home and Away or The Breakfast Club. Enjoy.
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Don't Forget About Me
Chapter Three: Why.
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She hasn't moved since before. After Dalby went off to annoy her. She just turned her head and tuned out of everything that's going on around her. She ignored the one person in the world who no one could possibly ignore, no matter how strong his or her will is.
How?
I wonder who she is, behind that vacant look that's taken over her face. I wonder what is going through her mind as she bites down on that lip. I wonder if she knows how intriguing she really is, because she's able to ignore the rest of the world.
Girls don't often appear mysterious to me. They've always been the same. Matilda has always accepted them. My friends have always accepted them. My superficial standards have always accepted them. They've never held that allure, that fascination, that certain charm that she has radiating around her.
She seems to be blissfully unaware of my presence. Of our presence. She actually doesn't care about where she is and who she's with. She's unassuming and so just, damn untouchable.
And now she's looking at me.
Crap. Quick, turn away Henry. Play it cool. You don't care about what she thinks either, remember?
Its been a minute, hopefully she's staring back out that window, looking at the freedom that from which we've been taken. Maybe I'll be able to sneak another peak at her. Maybe if I just inch my head that way…
Crap. She was still looking. She was also smirking.
Now I'm betting she thinks I'm a crazy stalker.
What is it about this girl that's driving me crazy with intrigue?
Is it the way she hunches her shoulders to sit? Or the way she bites continuously at her black painted finger nails while she stares out the window.
How is it that she can create butterflies in my stomach? Give me sweaty palms. Make me nervous as hell. Make me repeat everything over and over in my head. About the last look she gave me, or the last words she spoke to Dalby.
I wonder how she would look at me if I were to be on the 'dark side'. If I wasn't the jock head who was only interested in sports, booze and girls? Whether she would still smirk every time she caught me staring in her direction, or whether she would smile, like that smile Matilda gives boys who she's interested in.
No wait, she would never give a Matilda smile. She would always smirk. She seems like the smirking type. Like she knows something that you'll never know, about yourself, about life, about the big questions. She looks like she's got everything figured out, like she'll always be two steps ahead of you no matter how hard you try.
But I have to wonder that if I was on the other side, that if I knew her name, knew her, and understood her, whether she'd share her answers with me too. Or whether she'd just look at me with that same smirk.
I have to wonder about that. Then I have to wonder why this is all so important to me. Why do I want her to look at me and smile, instead of smirk? Why do I want her to smile for me?
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Why does he keep watching me? I can feel his eyes on me.
On my hands, on my back, on my face.
They are analyzing, they are judging. They are putting me into a category, as he probably does with any other girl he meets on the street. Putting me in his spank bank, then moving on.
That's what Henry Hunter does with girls. I watch him do it. I see him. He doesn't see me, but I see him. Every damn day. And he's always the same. A different girl draped under his arm. A flavour of the week. All blonde haired, blue eyed, beautiful and perfect. And fake.
But they fit perfectly together. Because that's what Henry Hunter is. A fake. A phony. A liar and a jackass.
Someone who doesn't deserve the status he's gained, because to me, he is the scum of the world.
But all because he believes himself to be greater than the common folk, god's gift to women, he thinks that we'll all drop to our knees infront of him, and praise him for eternity.
That our life would be so dull and boring without him in it.
And he keeps staring at me. It's beginning to weird me out.
So I turn. Turn to face him. And he looks away.
Loser, I think to myself, before smirking and keeping my eyes on his back.
Coward, I say in my mind, turn around and face me. You had no problem staring at my back for the last five minutes, so why won't you face me like a real man?
Then he turns, only slightly, and my smirk grows.
It's because you're only a shell of a man. You hide behind your sport and your 'quick wit' and your brawn. Behind your muscle and your tan and your sculptured bone structure.
And I wonder if I'd ever have fit into his world? How I would've felt, being one of the mindless drones that seem to follow him around. Being a member of the Henry Hunter cheer squad.
I wonder whether I'd have fit in, if I'd chosen to wear knee high white socks in year seven, instead of my black armbands and black painted fingernails. If I'd just smiled, instead of smirking. If I'd just listened to right music, worn the right clothes, spoken the right language.
I smirk to myself. I can't help it. There's just something so surreal about the setting that I've been thrown into. Something so weird about this reality, that I'm sure Matilda is pinching herself constantly to make her believe that it's actually real. That a bunch of total strangers, total opposites have been thrown in a room together for eight hours, with nothing or no one to help us survive.
Then, an idea begins creeping up from the depths of my mind. I see it in my head. I close my eyes, and picture the scene to its final detail. She saw the picture vividly create itself in her mind. Each line she would draw and each part she would shade.
Drawing is my one escape from whatever is going on around me. Drawing allows me to be drawn into another world, another time, where I am the creator. Where I am in complete control of my destiny. A rarity in my own reality, where my parents are the biggest control freaks, always yelling at me to behave like me younger, perfect sister, who reminds me vaguely of Matilda.
I shudder at this mildly scary thought, before turning the page in my sketchbook and allowing the pencil to flow across the paper. His eyes remain locked on me, but I no longer care. Let him watch. He'll see in the end. They'll all see.
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Henry is watching Cassie Turner aka freak girl from not my world and she's got this weird, twisted look on her face while she draws. It's almost like she's… well… concentrating. Oh god, I hope I don't look that unattractive when I concentrate on something.
Wait, I concentrate all the time. On my hair, and my make-up, and my outfit choices. And I never, ever look like that. Thank god.
My eyes stray around the room. Looking between each of the suspects that have been gathered here today by our wonderful principle. I still can't believe Lucas Holden, Summer Bay Highs resident suck up landed himself in detention. He must've cried so hard when Hyde told him.
Stupid dork. And he actually had the nerve to speak to me before. To tell me off. To tell me I was wrong. I was so shocked. Who actually does that? Not a no name, no social standing nerd with nothing better to do with his time than study, or play Dungeons and Dragons on the computer.
I bit my lip as I looked more closely at Lucas. He had his head bent over a book. Typical nerd, I thought, always taking something to read with him everywhere, because of his lack of communication skills. Looking further up, I saw that he too was concentrating hard at the task at hand. Whatever the hell it was. But the difference between himself and Cassie Turner was that he became almost, angelic when he concentrated.
His eyes opened, and you could see the clear blue. His free hand alternated from turning the page and running through his blonde locks. His face was all angles, all chiseled.
Almost perfect… I thought… before gasping loudly and turning to face the other way, feeling my face grow hot, even thought I didn't know if anyone had seen or heard what I'd just done.
I'd just imagined Lucas Holden to actually be cute.
I needed to wash my mouth out. Then my mind out. I was having a momentary lapse of judgement. There wasn't enough air in here. I hadn't had enough coffee this morning. There were so many reasons as to why I'd have, only for a second, thought of Lucas as anything more than the computer fixing, chess playing dork that he was. Maybe I was just being typical me, scouting out any male in range and analyzing him for his looks. Whether I knew him or not didn't matter. I judged by their looks, and that was it.
So I did what any other girl would do in my situation. I turned to judge Dalby. I couldn't very well check out my brother, and Dalby was the only other male in the room. So he was next.
Okay, forget the fact that well, he's a complete jerk. Look at him from another perspective. Every girl should have a crush on a bad boy at least once in their life. Why not see whether Dalby was a possibility for your crush Matilda, I thought, talking to myself in the third person. He is a bad boy that's for sure.
Well, he's sitting there, all sulky and stuff. Like he is too cool to be here. His hair sort of falls into his eyes, hiding them from the outside world. So he doesn't have to watch anything or anyone. So he doesn't need to interact with them either. It makes him kind of mysterious, I guess.
Looking at him more, I realised that his shirt was taunt, which allowed one to undress him with their eyes. You could see a hint of the solid stomach and strong arms that were held captive by his shirt, which just let the imagination go wild. His loose jeans seemed to add more to the ensemble, and while it appeared to be thrown together to the untrained eye, I knew that Dalby had spent at least ten minutes deciding. That's more than the average.
Dalby knew how to work with what god had given him. Licking my lips in temptation, I realised that he was a fine specimen of the male species.
Groaning inwardly, I turned away again.
I'd done it again. Now I'd perved on the two other guys in the room with me.
What on earth had possessed me to do that? And why did I feel like I wanted to do it again, I thought, looking between Lucas and Dalby once more.
Why did I find them both so strangely… attractive, or intriguing?
Was I losing my mind?
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The answer to the question is… forty-two. I laughed aloud at this before remember that I was in a room with six strangers, not by myself at home. However, there are some perks to being here, I thought to myself as I looked around the room.
Our library had been donated a few years ago, which meant most of the books were in better condition than the local libraries, and that there were hundreds of books yet to be discovered. They were lurking somewhere in there, waiting for a greedy mind to come and devour them.
As I continue to look around my eyes meet Matilda Hunter's and we both look away, ashamed and embarrassed that we were looking at something other than the desk in front of us. But what was she looking at? Probably Dalby. I heard that girls are supposed to have a bad boy crush at least once in their lives. And so far in her life she'd only ever dated guys that reminded me of her brother, which was mildly disturbing, but each to their own.
At least she'd dated people. The closest thing I'd ever had to a relationship was staring at the back of Mary Spencer's head in science for the entirety of year nine. Then one of Mary's friends had found out, and it had spread across the school like wild fire. It was the most embarrassing three weeks of my life, and I thought it would never go away. But then somehow every one found out that Marcus Jones had a crush on his maths teacher, so my gossip was ancient history.
I'd never looked at the back of another girls head again though.
Something about that memory didn't sit right though. There was something nagging in the back of my mind. Something that I should have noticed, but instead, I became distracted as Dalby started speaking to me.
"Yo, Holden. What you doing?" he asked, in a sing song voice that meant no good.
"I'm knitting a sweater. What does it look like I'm doing?" I replied sarcastically, waving my book around for good measure.
"It looks like you're pretending to read, while your actually having a good ol' perve on Miss Teen Australia over there." Dalby replied happily, knowing that as my face turned many shades of red, his mission to embarrass me at least once every half-hour was well on its way.
And just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, I heard a faint 'Eww' come from Matilda's mouth, followed by what sounds like, 'please, don't let him like me.'
Sighing, I knew that this could only go from bad to worse in the hands of Eric Dalby. So I was going to cut my loses and make a quick exit.
Getting up from my seat, I picked up my bag and threw it over my shoulder, taking about two steps before Dalby said "Where you going?"
"Away." I snapped quickly.
"Why?" he asked, his voice become happier and happier as he saw me grow angrier and angrier.
"Because if I stay here, I might just end up saying 'like' in between every word I say." I said, glaring at Matilda, making sure she knew I was talking about her stupid habit. "Or I might decide that breaking into the local bottle shop is the best idea I've ever had, and wind up in juvie before I even get out of school." I said to Dalby, pausing for effect.
"Or because if I spend another moment sitting here wondering why in the world I'm stuck in a room with such… idiots, my brain might just fade away into non existence. Does that answer your question?" I screamed before storming off to the back of the library, not before hearing Matilda say "Did he just pick on me?"
Why, oh why, did complete and utter idiots surround me? I thought to myself as I searched for the furthermost corner of the library.
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My god, that girl was so dumb, I thought to myself as Matilda began to get all grumpy because Lucas had dared to mock her.
"Life is cruel princess, get over it." I snapped at her, becoming crabby, just like she was. Damn crabbiness, being contagious. I mean, Holden hadn't exactly been kind to any of us. Calling us idiots too. But then again, we hadn't given him a reason not to. Why was that?
Hypothetically, you're sitting in a room with five strangers. You're stuck there all day. Think, white mice, lab rats. People are watching you, observing you. There's a puppet master, and you are his puppets. Do you stick to your own corner and try to make it by yourself, or do you team up, because you know that always, always, two heads are better than one?
Heh, I always did run against the crowd, so why should I bother to try making friends with any of them, only to have it inevitably thrown back in my face. No way was I going out on a limb here. Could ruin my reputation, and I couldn't chance that happening.
Instead, I seek solace in my own mind. Because lord knows I wouldn't find a matching wit or sense of humour here. I needed to entertain myself. Because, I thought, looking towards the clock, which read nine forty-seven, I still had all day here.
Pulling out my diary. My treasure. I open it to the last page I had written in, ready to make friends with it once more.
Hello Diary, how are we today? It's nine forty-eight on a Saturday, and I bet you're wondering why on earth I'm writing in you at this ungodly hour on a Saturday morning, because you're used to seeing me at about two or three in the afternoon.
Well, it all began on Thursday. I was sitting in science, imagining the many ways Mrs. White could die with only a piece of chalk and the chalkboard, when in stormed Eric Dalby, followed only moments later by Matilda Hunter. Now, I could understand why Dalby was coming in late. He rarely ever comes to class, let alone actually on time, so I just figured he was off beating up some kid.
Matilda Hunter on the other hand, is a very different case. With a few hair flips she sat down, huffing and puffing about being put on detention for wagging to go to a shoe sale. And I have to ask myself, I wonder if she managed to get any cute heels?
But then, before I know it, Mrs. White is choking and spluttering out the front, and turning a most exotic shade of red. And I scream, 'Quick, Mrs. White is an alien from the planet Sefflon, and she's about to attack the world…'
I paused here, sniggering to myself, with the image of Mrs. White turning red before sprouting testicles from behind her knees and suddenly becoming even fatter than she already is, but then I hear someone clearing their throat from behind me.
I whip around to see Dalby sitting there, a fake, innocent look on his face, and he twiddles his thumbs and whistles softly.
"Can I help you?" I bite out, angry at the idea of someone interrupting my Diary entry.
"What you doing?" he asks, in that sickly sweet voice he had used just minutes ago to annoy the crap out of Lucas.
"Seeing how many ways there are to kill you, using just this book and a ink pen. Number 27 is particularly interesting, as that also uses castration…" I started, but was cut off by the noise of a door slamming somewhere.
"Chill woman, Hyde is just going to sneak down into the basement and check on the secret documents that have all the other teachers dirty secrets in them." Dalby said, all knowingly.
"Well, in that case. Piss off and annoy someone else." I said harshly, before exiting like Lucas had.
Why? Well, I didn't exactly know, but I couldn't stand to be there any more.
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Why was everyone so touchy today, I thought to myself as I watched Taylor bugger off in the same fashion Holden had when I'd asked him simple questions.
I smirked to myself, knowing that I still had the whole day left to annoy every single entity in this room, and so far, I had managed to make two people leave. Now, if I could just make the Teen Queen cry, my day would be complete.
Okay, I was a bitter asshole, but it's not like they didn't deserve it. They judged me just as I judged them. It was a vicious cycle that had created itself some time between year seven and year eight. That's when something had snapped within me, and I'd just given up. I was still amazed that I'd made it this far without being expelled.
Then again, Hyde wasn't one for expulsion. He liked the slow, torturous route instead. Which meant months and months of these detentions, then I would still be able to sit for my HSC, not before failing, which would, in the end, prove Hyde right. Prove that I was a complete failure in everything. The last thing I needed to fail was life. And hell, I was well on my way to that too.
I mean, I could've been the Lucas of the school. Or the Henry. I could've been anything I wanted to be. And I chose to be me. A complete and utter failure.
Any spirit I had about school and learning had been sucked out of me at a young age. My father managed to see to that. Beating me up on a regular basis. And while he beat me, he would repeat, 'You're nothing. You're worthless. You're a waste of space. You're mother doesn't care about you. YOU. WILL. FAIL."
Can't imagine where I got the idea of me failing from, I thought dryly, as I subconsciously clenched and unclenched my fists as anger welled inside of me. Sometime I would hit the bastard back. I would beat his ass to the ground, and repeat every single word he ever told me. I'd show him that, despite everything, I wasn't a failure when it came to hitting people. He'd find that out the hard way.
I could feel her eyes on me, and as I turned sideways I met the unassuming eyes of quiet, controlled Cassie Turner. She just looked at me. There was nothing judgmental or superficial about it. She didn't roll her eyes like Taylor would, or shake her head like Matilda would. She simply looked. And smiled slightly before turning her attention back towards whatever was on the paper infront of her.
Why were the chicks in here so damn weird? Why did they all have to spin me out completely, take me out of my comfort zone and make me wonder about them? It was so damn frustrating, to look at them, watch them act like they knew everything. Because soon you began to wonder whether they did know everything. You began to ask why, why were they so damn intriguing.
Why did you want to know more about them all? Even that damn Princess, who sat in what looked to be deep thought. Even she was untouchable to me.
Why was today becoming more complicated by the second? And more boring by the second too, I thought to myself, as I looked up to see the minute hand move slowly towards the twelve. Not even ten, I thought. Pushing the chair out, I walked towards the door. I was getting out of here.
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AN: First off, thank you to my awesome Beta (or proof reader) xxNicolexx from BTTB. You so rock. I recommend anyone from BTTB who has stories, get them proof read by someone else, it makes them a million times better, because they can find mistakes that you simply miss.
Now to the story…that chapter was a bit different. And a bit long. It just sort of flowed out of me. Next chapter has some actual, real interaction between the characters. But between who? Read and review please. It makes me want to write more.
