Chapter Two: I Am Not Afraid To Keep On Living
Tommy's POV
Fuck you, mom and dad, fuck you.
Being a new kid isn't the most delightful thing in the world. You get looked over like some freak from another planet, and people feel the need to whisper to the person next to them, whether they're friends or random people, even though they know that you can hear them talking shit about you. They look at you from the moment they hear the door click open to the time you take a seat, and some people that are just freaks and have no idea what rudeness is, keep staring at you until you finally look up at them with a disgusted look on your face. I, myself, have never experienced such humiliation. I was usually one of the few people who kept looking at them until they felt uncomfortable.
I never expected I'd be that new kid in the situation.
I stood outside the door to the classroom for what seemed like a lifetime after being at the office and picking up a new schedule and such. My earphones were stuck deep into my ears, blasting Slipknot. I wasn't even concentrating on the music. It was just there as a distraction. What song was I even listening to? I couldn't remember. I took a deep breath and pulled my sunglasses and ear buds out of my ears before shoving them into my bag. I pulled out my scratched up iPod for a second to turn off the music, then shoved it back into the bag. I took another deep breath before putting my hand on the door handle. What's the worst that could happen? You're too cool to get beaten up, and nobody's going to spit a spitball out at you.
Who asked you, conciseness?
I don't remember putting weight onto my hand, but suddenly the handle clicked and I was forced to open the door. Remember when I talked about having all eyes on you? Yeah. I was experiencing it. I cursed under my breath and put each foot in front of the other, walking past a couple kids on the way to the teachers desk. I didn't look at any of the kids I passed, but noticed one guy with midnight black hair. It was unnaturally beautiful. The rest of the kids had dull browns and a couple blonds here and there, but this kids hair stood out. Wow. I'd need to ask him later if it was natural or dyed.
The teachers eyes were half closed, and he, too, had a head full of hair that was dull brown. I ran a hand through my bleached bangs as I gave him the slip I needed to get signed by every teacher. He gave me a double take before taking the other paper in my hand of my schedule and looking it over a moment before shoving it back into my hand. "What's your name, son?" he asked me in a low, monotone voice.
"Thomas Joe. Thomas Joe Ratliff. But Tommy's—" I didn't get to finish before he put a hand around my shoulder and turned me towards the class. They're eyes were all wide as they stared at me, and I awkwardly pulled on my tank top. The fish net holes were big enough for me to stick a fingernail through and stretch it off my sweaty body a tiny bit. "Class, this is Thomas Joe Ratliff. Please treat him with respect." I smiled as awkwardly as I had pulled on my shirt. "Alright, son, you can sit over there, the seat in front of Adam. Lambert, raise your hand." I looked over the room before a shy hand rose up slightly with a pen in his hand. It was the guy with the unnaturally black hair. His nails were painted black, like mine, but his weren't chipped of polish like mine. He had a journal in front of him, with tons of scribbles on it. He wrote? Oh wait. I suddenly noticed the glasses on his freckled face, and could see a glint of shine in his teeth. Braces. He looks like a geek... They're probably just notes from the class.
I sighed softly and adjusted my bag on my shoulder before shuffling over to the seat next to Adam. Prior to sitting down, I saw him roll his eyes and bend back down over his journal. I sat down and made a face to myself. Who is this kid? Doesn't he know who I am? Oh...wait... I heard the teacher go back to a lesson on Edgar Allan Poe. The name rang a bell in my head, but I knew almost nothing about him or his works. Only that he was some old author dude. I never found English, the subject, very interesting.. I saw no point in it.
I leaned down and took out my own journal and a pen, flipping to the page where I'd stopped writing lyrics the day before. I looked quickly over my shoulder at the Adam kid, still scrawling in his journal. I smirked and turned back to my notebook, thinking how big of a loser this kid was. Why are you judging him? You don't even know him yet. Maybe he is writing his own lyrics like you are. Why was my conciseness suddenly so worried about this kid?
Oh ew. No. Nuh uh. I was not gay. No way, no how. I had nothing against them, I just wasn't one myself. But Adam sure looked like one. But I didn't know that for sure, nor did I really want to know.
After about another forty minutes of drowning out the teachers monotone voice and scribbling more words and notes into my notebook, all the kids rose and left the room, including myself. I swung my bag around my shoulder and followed them outside into a stampede. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Adam eying me. Wow. That's the second time I've said wow about this kid. His eyes were ocean blue, and the black liner smudged around his eyes made them stand out even more. I kept walking, though, and was soon greeted by what looked like a couple cheerleaders. They had short shorts on and tight tank tops, although it wasn't even that hot outside. I smirked to myself as they crowded around me and pulled me along with them, asking me all types of questions, varying from "Are you new here? I've never seen you here before," to "Do you work out? Your biceps are really hard." Hey, I was small, but I still had muscles.
The girls and tons of other people crowded around me during the lunch period, complimenting me and, again, asking questions. Damn, these people sure had mouths. There were a few cute girls that I wouldn't mind sleeping with.
But my mind was overthrown with the sight of Adam Lambert sitting alone at a lunch table.