Thank you to everyone who has left reviews and read this! I'm so happy and appreciate it all so much! You have no idea. Any questions you have will be answered in due time. Enjoy the update! ^^
Chapter Five: Ally
The first week has gone by, and in a blur I'm back out the door and at school again. Already the rumor-mill has people asking me if the new Ethics teacher and I are related. And I'm usually an honest guy so I tell them the truth.
"No! Now stop asking!" I snap as I head out of the lunch line, my flaring red eyes plainly telling Randle that I'm more than sick of answering that question. I'm also sick of them following me but I can only glare out one thing at a time. He and his posse bother me about it the most.
"Hahaha, he even has his weird eyes! Look, boys!"
Randle sneers at me in amusement. The minions, who I've learned from class, look like their fathers too. Those dads would be: Oliver, Enrique, and Johnny. They openly mimic Randle's behavior. What buffoons.
"It's official, Daddy Lover has made a new career choice. He's the Teacher's Pet! Hey, doggy, don't forget to bend over and howl in ecstasy after class!"
While they make orgasm sounds, laugh, and high-five each other as if they've just come up with the world's funniest joke, I'm on the verge of buckling. Why did Makoto have to talk Lin into skipping lunch with him?
Through watery vision I can see that the other three look remorseful, Randle however just keeps poking at me.
"Aww." He says with a feigned pout. Then he does that stupid baby voice, "Don't worry, baby boo, go to daddy. He'll dry those tears. He'll kiss them all way."
He proceeds to knock my tray of food out of my hands. I back away, feeling cornered. They've done this to me nearly nonstop since last Monday. No matter where I go or what I do, they're relentlessly there and ready to torment me. Thankfully, I don't have Ethics with them. I'm safe for an hour. His buddies, namely the lavender eyed green haired one called Olivander, try to stop him from picking up the brown goop known as refried beans but he pushes them off, yelling that he'll snitch on them if they don't quit trying to ruin his fun.
I look at Olivander directly, but really I'm just pleading for any of them to step in and help because clearly no one else in the room will! I turn to run, but am pulled back. My face and hair are covered in the smelly mash before I have time to protest.
"There, now you look perfect. Your daily job of being the school's shitface is done."
After he says that, seeming all-too proud and boastful, I hear laughter as Randle finally decides to let me go. My knees buckle in, slamming the rest of me down into a cold puddle of what I assume to be my blue Powerade drink.
A loud, ear-piercing whistle quiets the room into nothing but pained hisses and hushed murmurs of disapproval. Many sets of varyingly paced footsteps race from the open entrance and in my direction. I can't open my eyes so I'm not sure who any of them are.
A harsh hand yanks me up onto my feet, and the long, sharp nails dig into my skin.
"That's enough, let him go, Caroline." The principal says, sounding cold and nonchalant about the whole thing.
His wife roughly shoves me away, off to one side, no one lifting a finger to stop her. I can tell by her touch that she blames me for this, but I don't speak up. I'm too embarrassed to. Honestly, how could I still be so weak?
Another set of heavily soled shoes- these are wide, respect demanding, strides- steps up to me and I just stand there. Part of me is waiting for the much older staff member to publicly reprimand and ridicule me, but nothing happens.
Someone lifts me from the slippery, gooey floor and shifts me around until I'm on my back and stable in their wide, muscular arms. I can hear their heartbeat. The beats are quick, a mix of nervous and furious. Another thing I'm certain of is that my savior is a male.
As the nurse cleans me up, she gleefully says thank you to my hero but is silently shushed. Well that's odd. Why can't I learn his name? I try to ask her who it was but she said that they refused to be identified. Although I'm disappointed, I drop it, understanding why. At the moment, no one with an ounce of dignity would want to be associated with someone like me. I'm the school laughing-stock and the upperclassmen's punching bag.
I'm told to pack up and go home, so my Study Hall teacher dutifully gathers up all of my homework and gives it to me while I wait for my dad to show up. When he drives away, I tell him the story, getting a host of mixed reactions. Seeing I was still disappointed about not learning who got me out of there, papa affectionately ruffles my hair, making me smile.
Pulling into our little haven, the car standing still, he says, "Sometimes, people don't want to be known. They let their actions speak for them and that says a lot about a person. I'm just glad he was there when he was, whoever he is."
I take that to heart as we head inside, but the day still weighs on me. I refuse to eat dinner, much to dad's dismay, but he understands, leaving me be until bedtime.
The next day, as we leave for school, papa tells me not to worry. He's talked with the principal and it seems that I've got a watchful birdie. I ask who that would be, figuring it to be one of my friends who I still haven't seen or heard from, but he said the person chose to remain anonymous. I shift in my seat to look out the window, the rain from the cold front currently hitting us is soothing to watch. But, as the intensity of the thunderstorms increases, I feel my simmering anger begin to boil, but I do my best to quell it.
When papa stops the car, he turns to hug me goodbye but I slide out of the car before he can wrap around me, feeling horrible afterwards.
While things come and go as normal, meaning I'm constantly playing Twenty Questions with someone over some kind of stupid rumor, Lin and Makoto greet me at my desk in first period.
They appear happy, Lin in particular is (metaphorically) floating.
"So you finally made the moves on her, huh?" I say, teasing them both, but mostly Makoto.
"Are you doing okay?" Lin asks, not giving Makoto a chance to answer my half-question.
I glare heatedly at the new couple, whose faces both go from forlorn to frightened. I should be the one asking them questions. Such as, where the fuck were they when I needed them?! They couldn't have been that far away, could they? Did they watch it happen and laugh with everyone else?
"What do you think?" I snap icily, now feeling fed up with everything.
"From what I heard it was pretty bad. I'm sorry we, that we weren't there."
My hardened features momentarily soften at Lin before tightening back from the ferocity.
I turn away, keeping my head down. "Get out of my sight."
I hear them walk away, but don't care to chase after them.
Going about my day, I notice that my gangly group of pale skinned bullies aren't bothering me in the slightest, and I'm also seeing Mr. Hiwatari more frequently. He's usually roaming the halls heading to somewhere or helping a student in the hallway. I only have him once a day, for an hour, but this is the most I've seen him interact with anyone. Is he my cape-less crusader? Given his stern attitude, I'd say not. He's too confrontational and 'by the books' to do something so noble.
Come two o'clock that afternoon, my eyes are glued to the massive projector's screen that's covering the wall at the front of the room. We're being told to watch this clip from a long film I've seen countless times with papa.
"Good morning, Gandalf." Comes the Hobbit Frodo Baggins, happiness evident in his entire face as he gazes up in loving awe at his visitor.
The much taller wizard is friendly, sporting a long, wooden brown staff and donning an aged, all grey robe and half-pointed hat, his mile-long hair and beard matching it. He's based on Merlin and one of my all-time favorite fatherly characters. He's in my top three.
"Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?" Gandalf's deep voice rolls out, clearly ribbing at Frodo.
Mr. Hiwatari cuts the clip after the two laugh and jovially embrace one another.
"J. R. R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings." Mr. Hiwatari begins, his deep voice booming off of every surface as he walks, gently moving the projector out of his way and stepping over the thick cord to stand before all forty of us.
"Because of its success many scholars have thoroughly analyzed it. They've come up with many theories as to what certain events or images may subtly allude to. When asked in an interview about whether his book represented war, J. R. R. Tolkien answered no. To this day there are many who disagree."
After pacing around the room, discreetly making sure we're all paying attention, he writes on the chalkboard with a brand new piece of chalk. This school is so archaic it's ridiculous, and geez, how much chalk does this guy go through?
"Theory number one. This theory states that because he was a veteran in the first World War he must have included some of what he experienced. Most of it placed in the battle for Middle Earth."
He turns back to us briefly before lifting the chalk back up and writing again.
"The second theory says that because he was a devout Catholic the creatures known as Orcs represented demons, their home Hell, and Gollum the Devil himself. The immortal Elves are said to be the Angels and their home Heaven. There are many different variations of this theory. I picked the one that made the most sense."
The girl called Agatha raises one of her big hands into the air. I hear a collection of groans and I can't help but join in. She does this every day, and it's driving us all nuts, but our teacher seems to take it well. He's polite and gentlemanly with the girls, and the guys, if he hasn't had a bad day or a button pushed.
"Theory number three-"
He spots the high appendage, turns around to face her, and points to her.
"Yes."
Agatha lowers her arm, "Excuse me, sir, but what does this nerdy stuff have to do with Ethics exactly? This is supposed to be an insightful discussion about the study of human morals and behaviors. This is not an English or a Literature course. Can we start studying something useful, like, Aristotle, or talk about our mortality perhaps? Or, how our clarity and generosity are actually just two of the many dispositions that we've learned to use to our advantage? It's to benefit both us and all around us, like, with society and such."
Around the room all anyone is giving here are looks of major disapproval, I myself included. She's such a- Insert your worst insult here. I wish she'd just shut up. All that was seriously uncalled for. Who does she think she is?
Mr. Hiwatari purses his lips, looking calm, but his eyes divulge how unhappy he is. He steps away from the chalkboard and up to her desk in the second row. He examines her notes and jots down something with his red pen. In the meantime, the girls soak in the fact that he's slightly bent over. And they say guys think about sex more, I beg to differ.
After doing that, he stands tall, clicking his pen closed and placing it back in the pocket of his lapel. "Try and keep up, I'm on theory number three, Miss. Fernandez."
The rest of the class laughs at his smoothness. His mannerisms try to tell her, and the rest of us, that if she only listened she'd learn why. The gymnastics star doesn't seem to pick up on it though, appearing confused.
"But what does this fictional crap have to do with Ethics?"
Mr. Hiwatari scowls, and the room braces for impact.
He leans forward and firmly grips the edges of her desk, boxing her in. For once she doesn't look lovestruck, she seems utterly petrified. Hopefully, she brought a spare change of clothes, ya know, just in case there's an accident, or two.
With a sweet, forced smile, he says, "Miss. Fernandez, listen closely. If you spent less time writing crude, inappropriate notes or love letters, and instead wrote what I have up on the blackboard-" He scowls, openly showing how he feels. The room goes cold just before he screams out, "You wouldn't have to interrupt me every day!" He roughly taps her notebook a few times, "You have forty-five minutes left, young lady, best get to work."
He then viciously rips out the top paper containing what I'd assume to be a letter and folds it up. Sending her one last warning with his eyes, he goes back up to the front of the room. After placing the note in the top drawer of his desk, he picks his stick of chalk back up.
The last theory is on industrialism and how J. R. R. Tolkien hated watching his home, and subsequently the beautiful countryside, get destroyed. Ultimately, it turned into nothing but smog and steel machinery. I'm not sure which one I buy into really but I do feel for the author.
"As to why I showed you the clip- Your homework assignment for the night is to dissect the dialogue between Gandalf and Frodo. Why do you think they both said good morning the way they did? Do they seem close, if so, explain your reasons why? If they were in a different setting how would their current behaviors change? Play around with it, use your imagination. Give your own interpretations of the scene and apply at least one of the theories to it. I want it in a four-page report and it better be typed and edited. Have it on my desk by Thursday. It's Tuesday today, meaning you have plenty of time. No excuses. Let it be known that this is not a group project and I will know if someone does it for you. I'm lookin' at you, Mr. Granger. Miss. Kon, don't do it for him or you'll both get a zero. Lionel Wong, put that Weed away before I take it from you. And be sure to thoroughly clean out your ears, Miss. Fernandez."
With a lecture on self-discipline mixed in with some hilarious call outs, the final bell rings, and at it Mr. Hiwatari drops his nub of chalk into the metal holder attached to the rather dusty board.
"Class dismissed." He says. That is followed by his exotic eyes slithering around the room.
As I gather my things, I realize that I'm the only one left in the room besides my aged look-a-like. He's only talked to me once so far this year and that interaction didn't go over like I'd have hoped. Another thing I've gotten bullied for over the years is that I have an odd last name, Alexander. My full name is, Gou Alexander, and that's all I know about myself. It was only day one, so maybe he was just shocked by it? I didn't, and still don't, see why he would have been though.
Amongst the ocean of chatter and various footsteps, I hear wolf whistles and kissy noises. I glare at the doorway but they aren't intimidated. I guess nothing was done to them after all. Have I mentioned yet that I outright despise this school? No? Well, I do!
A heavy brick binder slams loudly down on a desk and it gets our attention, and it makes every one of us visibly jump. I guess they didn't see him in here, oopsy.
"You never learn, do you?! You just won't stop!" Mr. Hiwatari roars out, imposingly standing at his full height by the open, wall-sized window.
"To the principal's office, again! Now!" So, something was done then?
He briskly stomps over to them, making the boys run off to the teacher next door and then to the office.
Mr. Hiwatari comes back in a moment later, leaving the door open. He comes up to me, features much softer than before.
With a light, but kind smile, he says, "Best be on your way, Mr. Alexander. Tomorrow comes soon enough, and you have a ton to do."
"Yes, sir." I say with a firm nod, pulling my bag further onto my ever-broadening shoulders as I stand up. I go up to his waist without my wild hair. With it, I'm in the middle. When I leave the room I glance back to see him heading toward the headmaster's office, and in one of his hands he has a fistful of bright pink slips. Oh dear, this is not going to end well. In this school, those pink slips mean a long expulsion, and they can range from lasting only a month, to the rest of the year.
On the drive home, I'm not as talkative and that makes papa concerned. After some more looks and antsy body language I finally say that it just ended badly but I didn't get hurt any. And while he's not completely satisfied with the answer, he leaves me to myself.
Before I know it the second week of the year is done and the late-August weekend is here. This means I'm once more watching another two-day movie, or television series, marathon with papa and it somehow always ends with one of us contently falling asleep on the couch. Usually he wins, but this time I beat him by a few (very hard to get) minutes.