CHAPTER 5: Trini

Everything around me is black. I'm walking down an empty hallway, and a wave of depression washes over me. I'm feeling… sorrowful, embarrassed, empty, but I don't know why. I hear a high-pitched, demonic cackle echo throughout the hall. "Hello?" I call. Anger starts to flare up inside of me, and I feel like I can't contain it. The cackle grows louder and louder, and I can't take it anymore. I try to scream, but nothing comes out. Then a deep, bone-chilling laugh echos across the room….

"Trinity, its time to get up!" I spring awake, in my bedroom, panting.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. Please leave me alone." My mom leaves.

There are three main things I hate in this world: 1) selfie whores on Instagram, 2) a specific shade of orange that I despise, and 3) my mom coming in my room and saying "time to get up, Trinity" in the morning.

It's not even really having to get up that bothers me. It's that my mom comes in to tell me the obvious. Every. Single. Morning. I know when I'm supposed to get ready, and I don't need anyone monitoring my every step.

My family likes to keep a bland and "healthy" diet, so I'm basically stuck eating whole-grain cereal every day. I wouldn't mind keeping a healthy diet if I knew that my mom actually did her research on it, as opposed to finding an article about it on Facebook and basing her lifestyle around it. (Yeah, my mom is a typical middle-aged Facebook Mom. And I hate it.)

As I'm eating, I'm scrolling past my Instagram feed. Nobody appears to appreciate my drawings I post, and what's even more irritating is that I see some girls in my class who post nothing but a racy selfie and they get dozens upon dozens of likes. (If you're an aspiring artist, just keep this in mind: people don't want to see creativity on Instagram. They just want to see your boobs and butt.)

While I'm frustrating myself with internet culture, my mom walks over to me. "So, has any guy asked you to homecoming yet?"

Why is she so obsessed with me finding a guy to date? "No, and I honestly don't care."

"Trinity, you only go through high school once. Are there any guys you like?"

"No."

"What about Billy? You two could go together."

"I'm fine Mom. Please stop asking me." I would prefer she care or at least pay attention to my art, but nope. Apparently finding a high school boyfriend is more important, as well as going to church every Sunday.

On the ride to school, I see a slew of texts from Zack to the group. We had to take on an entire army of rock goons last night. Please try and not abandon us next time.

I can already tell lunch today will be awkward. (To be fair, it was 11:30 at night, so my apologies for needing sleep.)

"I'm so sorry for not getting your text. I was sleeping," Kimberly says to Jason and Zack.

Zack is surprisingly not mad. "It's fine. I'm just sad that the iHop is gone."

While I'm doodling, I see a boy sitting alone out of the corner of my eye. While I've never been good at recognizing what people are feeling, he appears rough around the edges. He doesn't look happy.

"Who's that?" I ask the group, pointing to the kid.

"The new kid sitting alone?" Zack asks. I nod. "That's Tommy Oliver. He transferred in a few days ago. Apparently he was kicked out of his last school."

Normally I would think of such things as just gossip, but there's something off about this kid. "Did you know why?" I ask.

"No idea," Zack responds.

"Can we not talk about people behind their back?" Jason says. "Just leave it alone."

Since I've been friends with Jason, he's always been a bit sensitive to school rumors. This could be related to a stupid rumor back in middle school that he and Zack were dating, but then again that hasn't come up in a few years. (Everyone was stupid in middle school. And that includes me for believing it.)

I'm tempted to go over and talk to him, but I realize that some people need their space.

Jason breaks the silence. "Guys, I think Zordon is hiding something from us." We all look at him. I'm intrigued. "Ever since we got the job, he hasn't explained anything. Who Rita is, who he is, why we were chosen, nothing. But something happened last night that makes me really weary about this whole situation."

"What?" Kimberly asks.

"When Zack and I were fighting last night, the monster said that Zordon was hiding-"

"Wait, the monster talked?" Kimberly looks disgusted.

"He was special, and apparently Zordon knew about him. He said that Zordon was keeping a dark secret from us." Jason pauses before saying this next bit. "And he said that the people who were Rangers before us died."

I'm not sure how to respond, and it appears my friends don't either. I suppose now's a better time than any to express my dream.

"Guys, I had a dream last night about Rita," I say.

They all look confused.

"...was she ugly, or was she kind of good looking?" Zack says. Jason shoots him a mean look.

"I didn't see her. But I was in the dark, and she was manipulating my feelings. I felt nothing but angst. And no, not the typical teen melodrama kind of angst. I mean the serious angst."

My teammates are having a hard time processing this.

"Was there anything else?" Jason asks.

"I could hear her, but there was someone else. Someone more powerful." I am pretty certain this is the most I have ever talked in my life.

"Could it just have been a dream?" Billy asks.

"No. It felt it. She was in my head. And there was someone else with her."

I'm pretty sure none of them believe me.

"I'll ask Zordon about it," Jason says. And that's the best answer they ever got.

I might as well add this to the Ranger Guidebook:

TRINI'S RULE #1: Sometimes your teammates suck. So just deal with it.

After lunch, I go to art class.

Naturally, being an artist, you'd expect me to love art class, right? Well I don't. In fact I hate it. A lot of it has to do with the "rules" of art, and techniques, and what not. And most of the class we have to follow a strict guideline, as opposed to creating whatever we want. Are rules of art important? Yes, but there needs to be creativity, or else everything is the same. (It also doesn't help that my teacher is kind of a hippie.)

We're currently learning how to draw hands (something I already know how to do) and it's the worst thing I have ever done. I don't need to follow a stupid technique to draw simple art!

Then something strange happens. Tommy, the new kid, sits down next to me, apparently deciding to take art of all things. He doesn't strike me as the kind of person who likes art, but then again he doesn't strike me as the kind of person who likes anything.

I decide to make him comfortable by doing the exact opposite of what he probably wants me to do: talk to him.

"...hi…"

"What?" he asks harshly. I hear a shakiness in his voice.

"I heard you're new here, and-"

"Yes, I got kicked out. No, I do not want to talk about it." He sounds offended.

"...I was just saying hi…" He doesn't respond. I think he's surprised that anyone is interacting with him at all. "Do you like art?"

"No. I just need an art credit to graduate."

Internally, I laugh. A lot of kids don't know that you can take literally anything else (theatre, photography, band, choir, etc.) for an art credit, and then they complain about art class. People are stupid. And I love it.

"Why are you talking to me?" he asks.

"...it's just, you're new, and I-"

"You thought I needed friends?" He sounds hurt. "I'm fine."

I decide not to talk anymore, but I see him struggling a bit. His hand starts shaking slightly as he writes. He raises his hand.

"May I step out for a moment, please?" He asks the teacher.

My art teacher, being who she is, is hesitant to let him. "For what reason?"

"I just need to see someone. Please." He says. She's contemplating what to do. "Please." Panic is in his voice.

"...okay. But please come back."

Tommy leaves, trembling as he walks. I hear my peers gossip among themselves. I wish I could morph and beat them all up right now.

But I don't. I just wait until the bell rings, a wave of relief crashing over me as I leave that class.

But then my communicator rings inside my bag. I rush into the girl's bathroom, and get it out. I take a minute to remember which button does what. (It's more complicated than you think! The buttons all look the same!)

"What is it?" I say, hiding in the girl's bathroom.

"Trini, a giant pudgy pig monster is attacking downtown. You'll need the Zords."

While I would question the description "giant pudgy pig monster," weirder things have happened since I've taken this job.

Also, RIP downtown.