Ladies and gentlemen, I give you ...(drum roll)... CHAPTER FIVE! (trumpets) Thank you, thank you!
Disclaimer: I don't own "One Girl Revolution" or YouTube or Erasers or robot-Erasers (Mr. P called them Flyboys) or "Lord of the Rings" or that nasty drink at the end. That sludge belongs to the monster under my brother's bed. Or at least that's who my brother blamed it on. Yick. Uh, anyways...
"Mrs. Jonas, can my movie be a music-based film?" I look up from my computer with mild interest. I've been clicking in random places and pretending to type since last Thursday. Just because I can make a full video in less than fifteen seconds doesn't mean I'm going to bring it to the attention of the humans.
"Ashley, I might be able to better answer that question if I had a little more information. What is it you are trying to do?"
Ashley lowers her hand and turns her monitor so that the teacher can see it more easily. I twist around in my chair to get a better look.
"I want to play a song by one of my favorite bands and make my movie's events tie into the lyrics of the song." She pulls up a computer MP3, playing a thirty-second clip of her video at the same time as part of a song.
Drums play as a group of girls suit up for something. One puts on armor, another hauls on knee-high boots that match her tank-top's color, and a third hides a sword under her cape as she pulls the hood up to hide her face.
I wear a disguise;
I'm just your average Jane.
The "super" doesn't stand for model,
But that doesn't mean I'm plain.
A fourth teen enters, wearing thick glasses and a T-shirt that says "Mathletes" and holding a ninja star.
If all you see is how I look,
You miss the super chick within;
The camera zooms out as the girls charge several men with huge guns.
And I christen you Titanic—
Under-estimate and swim!
Ashley stops the video right as three of the six men are disarmed and thrown onto the pavement.
"So can I do it?"
"I guess so, as long as you put in a comment giving credit to the band that plays the song. And the project is still due this Wednesday, so I suggest you finish the video and the required visual and audio effects before you put all your attention into the song. I can't extend the due date for you if it's not finished." Ashley nods, and Mrs. Jonas walks over to help Jake.
So, we can make music videos? I know some people do that on YouTube for fun, like that centaur video, but I haven't really considered doing it for my semester project. Even if I did do a music-based movie, it would be really hard to get it to fit any of my memories in a way that would make sense. Plus, I don't know that many songs anyways. I spend my money on clothes, food, and other absolute necessities—radios and CD's, not so much. The project is due in two days, and I'm already having enough trouble planning for my video as it is. I don't have time to listen to hundreds of songs, pick a favorite, and then try to find images to match it.
"How is your video coming along, Frii?"
Jumping slightly in surprise, I quickly shove a grainy clip of a morphing Eraser into the computer as the teacher walks up behind me. "Fine."
"What is your film going to be about?" she asks as she bends down to get a better look.
I shrug, and add a few shots of Eagle Eye to the beginning before Mrs. Jonas can realize that I'm only twenty seconds into the project. "Werewolves."
"That sounds very interesting. I can't wait to see the finished thing." I let out a quiet breath of relief as she walks away. That was close. I'd almost forgotten that because of my pretending to work, people expect me to have most of my video done. I'd almost gotten caught. Gotta be more careful…
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZT! Stupid buzzer-bell.
"Okay, don't forget about the semester final on Friday! Study hard; it's worth a quarter of your grade. I'd rather not have to give you the info all over again over the summer. I finally have enough money to take a trip to Florida with my family—please don't spoil it for me! Class dismissed."
Everyone gathers up their Algebra textbooks and notebooks, and apparently I'm not the only one who was doodling for most of the period. Tiff comes up and grabs my sketches before I can put them in my binder.
"Wow! Cool werewolf! Then again, your werewolves are always really good. What's this one?" I zip my binder and shove it into my backpack before glancing at the specific drawing she's pointing to.
"An angel flying in a thunderstorm." Dark Wing was able to absorb lightning without getting hurt really badly…sometimes. He once flew around in a storm while I hid so that all the stupid robot-Erasers would get electrocuted by following him. I figured out how it worked not long after I started eighth grade: the robots were mostly made of metal, and apparently lightning is attracted to metal. I blink away a tear at the memory, and shrug on my backpack.
"You're always so good at drawing the expressions for angels and werewolves! I can see the anger in the dark angel's eyes; is that why he's making lightning and stuff?"
"He's not making lightning. He's just flying. In a thunderstorm. See you tomorrow, Mr. Johnsson."
"Bye, Frii," my teacher waves absentmindedly.
Tiffany continues to question me as we head out the door. "Well, if he's not making the lightning, then why does he look so angry? Why is he flying in a storm?"
I throw my hand in the air exasperatedly. "He just is! I don't write stories for all my pictures! I just draw stuff; it has no meaning whatsoever!" …Well, that's mostly true. I don't make stories for the pictures. The stories are already there. I just don't like telling them to people.
"Jeez, calm down! I was just asking a question!" Rolling her eyes, she hands me back my notebook. "So, are we meeting at my house for homework again today?"
"No," I shake my head. "My parents need me at home tonight, and I'd rather not get in trouble for being late." Actually, I need to get home and get some major brainstorming done for my video. And I need to cool off a bit. Too much stress can mess up a bird girl's brain.
"For what?"
"Uh—" I don't get a chance to finish my excuse, because Rob shows up and interrupts me.
"Hey guys! Guess what!" He doesn't give us a chance to guess, just continuing to talk at a speed equivalent to the Emilies on a sugar-high. "My dad finally set up our new flat-screen TV! So I was thinking we could do a movie jam tonight! I call Lord of the Rings!"
I take a second to register his words, then shake my head. "Sorry, I need to get home early today. My parents will go berserk if I don't get there, like, right now." I quicken my pace, hoping they'll drop the subject. No such luck.
"Well, if you can't come over to either of our houses, then we should go to yours!" I freeze, then turn back to face them.
"Tiff, trust me, you should just forget it and go home. I've told you what my family is like; you do NOT want to come over to my house!" Okay, that's technically not a lie. I have told them about my relatives, and they really don't need to see where I live. The part I lied about is what I told them my home life is like. I don't have a large family. I don't even have parents.
"Frii, come on! You're family can't be all that bad! Even if it is loud, chaotic, and huge, you could still introduce us! I mean, I have over twenty cousins; I've gone to enough family reunions to be totally immune to that kind of stuff." Tiffany crosses her arms.
Rob joins in the argument: "Yeah. We've been friends for almost two years now! You've seen every inch of my house, and you know just about everything about Tiff and me. But we don't know anything about you! What's so bad that you have to keep so many secrets?"
I clench my teeth. I do NOT need this! "Just drop it! You wouldn't understand!"
"What wouldn't we understand?" Rob looks at me like I'm talking in a different language. Maybe I am. I'm talking with a language called experience.
"Nothing! Just…Forget it!"
"Fine!" Rob spins on his heels and stomps toward the parking lot and his dad's car.
I turn and run down the sidewalk, toward the edge of town. I'll hide in some alley where they won't find me, and then I'll fly home after dark. This far north, dusk comes around six this time of year. I've only got an hour or so to wait.
Okay, so I'm not in an alley anymore. I snuck in the back door of a fast food restaurant, and I've been waiting for sun down in here. I bought a coffee to prevent myself from being kicked out as a non-customer, but I'm not drinking it that much. I've gone dumpster diving for dinner before, so I'm really not all that picky when it comes to putting stuff in my stomach, but I do have minor preferences. Like beverages that don't have shrimp pieces and bugs floating in it. "Coffee with sugar" is a pretty common order, but what I'm holding is more like infected sludge with coffee poured on top. I'd throw it away, but I have to be holding it to stay in here. So it appears I have fungus, tiny corpses, and that stench coming from the men's room for company tonight. Joy.
After sitting here a long half hour, I sigh and get out of my booth. This isn't worth staying another forty minutes.