Of course, school began with a bang.
I woke up to mom hammering on the door, bellowing that I was going to be late if I didn't get up. I sat up immediately, my eyes taking a moment to get themselves into focus. The turtle plushie was crooked in my elbow. I looked down at it. What a cutie, it was. Definately the most adorable plushie I had ever seen. I got out of bed and slid into the kitchen, and to my surprise a glass of cold milk, with beads of perspiration rolling down the crystal glass, accompanied by a steaming mug of coffee, and a stack of chocolate chip pancakes on my spot. I looked at mom, who was hungover, and smiling tiredly, and I smiled right back.
"Oh mom, you didn't have too."
"Yeah, well, I figured my baby should get a good breakfast for her first day of school. You're in grade 12 now. Last year. Try to make it, honey." she pecked my forehead and I sat down, and ate. I had been drunk last night with Okita, and had come home around two, and although I knew I was going to vomit every bit of this delicious breakfast in the toilet I enjoyed it for now. It was very good, although my stomach rolled and flipped, and I forced every bite into my mouth. After, I said thank you at least four times, and then went to the washroom and puked. Mom probably didn't notice. I felt terrible, because she had sweated over it probably, and the pancakes had been a little rubbery and the coffee a little bitter (She never really understood that two teaspoons of sugar was what I took with it), but I was a creature of habit.
After, I washed out my mouth, brushed my teeth until they were "dentist-clean", straightened my hair until it was pin-straight, and put on the school uniform. I hadn't tried it on, or even looked at it, but I wasn't impressed. I scrapped the blazer as it was an unseasonably warm autumn day. I did my make up, put on some jewellery to distract from the plainness, and grabbed my purse and notebook and stepped outside. Mom was lacing her boots up.
"Where you going?"
"Driving you to school."
"I thought I was going to take the bus-- wait, with what car, too?" Mom hesitated, stood up, and cracked her collarbone.
"No questions, baby. C'mon. Unless I'm not cool enough to drive you to school." The look in her bloodshot eyes gave me a warning and I shrugged, put on my sunglasses and followed her out. She frowned at me. "God, that skirt is a little short."
"Nothing you haven't worn before." she smacked me upside the head. "Hey!"
"Don't lip off to your mother. At least I do it tastefully." A black station-wagon was sitting in the driveway. I wanted to ask mom where she got it, but figured it was not the best. She would have told me if she had wanted too, and if there was one thing I learned it was not to push what was supposed to stay put.
Mom pulled to a stop in front of Karakura high, which was a large, industrial building. There were quite a few students standing and talking outside, laughing and chatting with faces that they hadn't seen since before the summer, old friends and new friends, and then me, new and alone. The bell rang while I was still in the car.
"Have fun. And stay in class." Mom warned, and I nodded, said good-bye, and got out of the car and walked towards the school. Butterflies pulsed in my stomach. I was nervous, but wouldn't anyone be? I should have got high before I came. I would go find a quiet place to smoke... no, not a good idea. I had a quick cigarette before I entered the gates, and then walked into the school and entered the push-and-shove world of high school, a strange place to me. Strange elbows and unfamiliar voices overwhelmed me and I pursed my lips. I hated crowds. I could only stand them when I wasn't sober. Which I was, and my stomach was starting to clench and my palms were starting to secrete sweat so much I had to wipe them on my skirt repeatedly.
I looked at my schedule, which had been mailed to our house yesterday, along with the uniform. According to it, I had math class first thing, room 121B. It was on the first hallway. Following the directions, I stepped into the warm classroom. Several students were already seated down, other kids standing around, talking and chattering. A heavy-set, balding teacher was sitting at his heavy oak desk, tapping away on a laptop. The fresh smell of chalk dust, school books and sneakers filled my nose and I squirmed uncomfortably, the atmosphere too bright and sunny for me. I thought that maybe someone should shut the blinds a little, because the sunlight was scorching my eyes.
I looked at the seating plan scrawled on the board. Apparently, I sat in the second last row, inbetween a Kurosaki Ichigo and Abarai Renji. There was my name, so American-Italian amongst the others-- Dante Corleone-- no one would have trouble figuring out I was a foreigner, here. I sat down in the seat, immediately irked by the uncomfortable plastic and wood poking into my ass. I placed my purse on the desk and opened my notebook, removed the new blue pen from the coil, and scrawled consumer mathematics on the first fresh page. I loved writing on the first, fresh page. It felt like taking its virginity. Weird, but satisfying. A few minutes later the second bell rang and the rest of the students filed in like a riot.
An orange haired boy, tall and cute, sat down next to me. He had a scowl on his face. Obviously I wasn't the only one excited to be here. A guy with his red hair tied up in a ponytail, sat down on the other side of me. He had a few interesting-looking tattoos scrawled up and down his arms and the side of his neck, and expensive looking sunglasses perched on his forehead. God, I'm stuck between two total douche-bags, for the rest of the semester. I put my head down.
"Hello, class!" The elderly, balding teacher said at the front. The class grumbled back, and lapsed into silence. "How was your summer?" Assorted grunts. "Oh. Well mine was terrific. Now, we have new faces in here, so I want everyone to stand up one at a time, state your name, age, and something interesting. Ya know the drill."
The kids stood up one by one and did so, until the orange-haired kid stood up next to me. He let out an irritated sigh before doing so.
"My name is Kurosaki Ichigo. I'm seventeen years old. I like Shakespeare." One collected snicker. I thought it was kind of cool. I had read Shakespeare's Macbeth and thought it was pretty cool, I had read it when I had smoked a few joints with my mom and she had told me to read it. Hard to understand, but eery all the same. I stood up after he sat down.
"Dante Corleone. I'm seventeen, and I like long walks at night." I sat down.
"Corleone?" The teacher piped up. I nodded. "Are you Italian?"
"Well..." All eyes on me. I squirmed uncomfortably. "Sort of. Half. I think. I'm not sure."
"Oh. Well we'll have to look into that. Next!"
"Abarai Renji. I'm, uh-- nineteen years old. I also like long walks at night." he looked pointedly at me and I looked away. Renji sat down, all smug like. Up and down the rows we went, although I had pretty much forgotten everybody's names.
"Alright. I'm Mr Kuji, welcome to grade 12 consumer mathematics. Now, I'll pass around your textbooks..."
About half an hour of note-taking, I stuck up my hand. I was shaking and felt extremely sick. It felt like I had to take a massive shit, or I had killer cramps. I knew what it was though-- withdrawals hit me hard, and they would hit any drug addict like a freight train when forced to sit in a stifling math class with a bunch of arrogant strangers while suffering from a hangover.
"Yes, Corleone?"
"Can I go to the washroom?"
"Sure. Are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm fine." I picked up my bag and walked out of class, going slowly and with composure. I started walking fast down the hallway, jerkily. It felt like a million little insects were pulsing in my skin. My gorge rised, even though I had nothing to throw up. I burst into the washroom, which was thankfully empty, banged into a stall, and vomited into the toilet. Streams of clear, white liquid slopped everywhere, toilet water bouncing back into my face. I moaned softly, my flesh burning like fire. I rested my chin on the lip of the toilet, listening to my blood roar in my ears and behind my eyes, and the eternal twitch and scream in my brain for that long, sharp needle and everything and anything inbetween and after.
I opened my bag with shaking fingers. The plushie was in it. I was surprised, for a moment. When the hell had I put it in there? Whatever, I probably hadn't noticed. I had started carrying that thing around with me everywhere, holding it to me when I was high and sleeping curled up around it. I pushed it aside and dug around at the bottom, and pulled out a prescription bottle with the paper scratched off. Inside was a rainbow of purple, blue, green and white pills; valium, xanax, prozac, zipoclone, vicoden, all the powerful trainquilizers that could stun the average, healthy horse. I popped two valium and waited until it washed over me, then I took a zipoclone and I lurched out of the stall, stoned, and feeling much better.
I floated into the classroom, sat down in my seat, and I wrote down the notes, high as a kite. Love it. Pills were like heroin you could swallow. I even had the tiny, barely noticable doped out smile. After class, I walked into the hallway and checked my schedule.
Oops. I guess the zipoclone was double-stacked. I fell over.
"Whoa!" Someone caught me, and we tumbled to the ground, because when a stoned person falls over, even if they weigh next to nothing, it's like trying to catch a six foot sack of raging potatoes.
"Oh shit! I'm so sorry!" I stumbled to my feet and lurched around. The redhead guy was getting back on his feet-- what was his name? Renji? I grabbed his wrist and hauled him up the rest of the way. "I must have. Tripped. I'm so sorry."
"It's fine, lady. I didn't mind."
"I-- oh. Haha." Good thing I was stoned out of my tree. I saw a teacher looking at me suspiciously and I ignored her. God, they probably think I'm drunk. If they searched my purse... well I could just say I was prescribed all those pills. Mom would vouch. I had nothing else, that I was aware of. No weed, no heroin, no coke. No alcohol. Yeah, I would be fine. "Thanks. Bye." I turned around and floated down the hallway, forgetting the incident quickly. I floated into English, when a hand fell on my shoulder. I turned sharply. Ichigo was looking down at me.
"Hey, I saw you fall on Renji. Are you ok?" He was looking right into my eyes and he frowned.
"Sure. I just lost my footing."
"You were standing still."
"Then I must have fainted."
"Oh."
"Thanks." I moved out of his hold and he followed me into the classroom. A young, pretty woman was marking down an assignment on the board, her petite glasses perched on her dainty nose. There didn't appear to be a seating plan so I sat down at the back before everyone else could claim it. I put my head down and floated and slept for most of the class, hallucinating the slightest bit. I woke with a start when the bell rang, and by that time I said fuck it, called Okita, and went to go see her.
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I wasn't even four blocks from the school when I decided to cut across the park, and then beyond the park it would only be like, four blocks from the theatre. It was empty, with everyone back to school and working. It was nice to walk across the cool grass. I took off my shoes and walked barefoot until I got to the road, then put them back on and crossed the street. I was at Okita's in ten minutes, and I walked in and she was sitting on the couch, her hair knotted up at the base of her neck and wearing a grey t shirt and black shorts, knee-high socks. Next to her was a skinny, tall man with a shaved head, a blonde stubble and one of his teeth knocked out. They both looked at me.
"Dante!" Okita said, smiling widely. She looked cracked out. "Come in!" I kicked off my shoes and padded across the carpet, sitting down on the loveseat again. "This is Chase. Chase, this is Dante."
"Hey, Dante." The man grinned. He looked like a skinhead. Those kinds of guys often made me crazy; I loved the bad boys, with a passion. I smiled at him.
"So, got sick of school already?" Okita asked. I nodded.
"Yeah."
"If you drop out, you can make money by helping me." I looked at her, surprised. We had talked about me helping her deal, and I guess it was a go.
"Really? Okita, that would be great!"
"Yeah? Good. Here." She tossed me a gram of heroin. "Go in the bathroom, though. You'll probably throw up on it." She gave me a syringe, a bent spoon and tubing, and I bounced into the washroom and shut the door. I dimly heard Chase say "nice ass" and I guess he was talking about me, which made my mood heighten more. I sat down cross-legged on the fancy-tiled washroom with the light flickering overhead, cooked, t-eed, shot up. The plushie was balanced on my knee. The sunlight shone through the window.
God, so high, so high... high... as... the... sky...?
No. Something was wrong. Wait, everything was ok. After all, didn't they say that death was the greatest high of all? I was falling, falling through the floor and through the earth and my coffin lid sealed over me, or was that someone standing over me?
I slipped into the darkness.