Clinch: Chapter Nine

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Yep, this was terrible.

This was awful and horrible and nauseating and nightmarish and oh good God he just wanted to go home.

"Where were you, Foster? Making out with your sister in Juvie?"

"Nice cast, asshat."

Crumbled up pieces of paper kept hitting him in the back, and he tried his best to ignore them. Could he please just melt into the floorboards? Or go invisible? Or disappear in thin air? Because this sucked.

"Lover Boy! Nice bruises! Did Juvie Girl rough you up a bit?"

"Hey, you'd better answer us, shitbag. It's rude to ignore."

"Whoa, we better back off, guys, his mom will kick our asses for him."

'Ignore it ignore it ignore it ignore it...'

He picked up his pace, and slid soundlessly into his seat in AP World History. He pulled out his phone to avoid everyone's stares. Isn't that what most people did?

One text. Incredible. A text message. From a person.

But it was from Jesus. 'Hey, good luck today man.'

Gee thanks.

The bell rang obnoxiously loudly, and his concussion-ridden brain pounded and ached in response. Was it always that damn loud? He slipped his phone back into his pocket.

He heard more people file in, and his head throbbed when their ludicrously loud belongings collided with the table, and when their seats clashed against the floor. No common courtesy for the concussed?

"Class, just pick any seat today." The teacher's stupid nasally voice pounded against his eardrums. "Vico, sit down!"

Vico.

"No more seats, Sugar." Vico replied, and chills ran up Brandon's spine.

"There's one right there." Brandon's eyes followed the teacher's arm...to her hand...to her pointed finger...which was...

...pointing to the seat next to him.

Oh no oh God oh nononono oh please no—

"Sit down."

"Fine,"

No.

Brandon refused to look. He kept his eyes stationed on his notebook, and ignored everyone's giggles and snorts. There was a reluctant sigh from He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, and Brandon sensed him flop into the seat next to him.

Fuck my life.

"Okay, you're probably going to want to take notes..."

Brandon nonchalantly leaned as far away from Vico as the desk would allow. His muscles were surpassingly tense, and his heart raced inside his chest, causing his still-tender-broken ribs to throb with a burning sensation.

He could practically feel people's stares burning a hole straight through his back. Jeez, didn't these people have anything better to do than—

"Brandon, how about you?"

What.

His head snapped up, and he condoned the headache the movement caused. The teacher was looking straight at him, the famous 'I'm waiting' expression on her face.

What? Did she ask a question? She knew he couldn't answer, right? What was going on—

"Do you need the question repeated?" She asked.

He looked at her questioningly, his eyes wide. Everyone laughed.

As expected.

"I asked what the greatest impact of the Neolithic Revolution was."

What should he do? What even? He couldn't make a sound without his mouth setting off flames of pain and his jaw falling off of his face. Hell, he'd had to eat the equivalent of baby food through a straw for the past two weeks.

Not knowing any other options, he pointed to his jawbone and shook his head. Of course, the idiots around him found this irrevocably hilarious.

"You can't talk?"

Brandon shook his head, his cheeks burning red at the students' laughter.

"Why can't you talk?" She asked.

Was this a joke? Was she freaking mentally incompetent? Are you for real right now?

In response, Brandon gave her his best bitchface, and she pursed her lips.

"Why don't you come up to the board and write down why you can't talk."

This had to be a joke. This couldn't be real. Yep, the Punk'd camera guys would jump out any minute now. This was ungodly.

"Now, Brandon." Nope, this was real.

The class roared in laughter, but Vico remained sullen, a little smirk on his face, but not laughing.

Just get it over with, dude.

Reluctantly, Brandon stood up, and resisted the urge to snap this teacher's neck off. Grabbing the marker, and giving her one last 'I hate you with every inch of my soul' look, he scribbled that his jaw was dislocated on the board.

"Dislocated jaw?" She asked. "How'd that happen?"

Cue hysterical laughter of his soulless peers.

'An incident', he wrote, his hand shaking with anger.

"What kind of incident?"

Kay, Good and Un-Sassy Brandon died with his happiness and his piano career. Therefore, he wrote; 'Why do you care'

"Fine, sit down." The teacher snapped.

Brandon exhaled slowly, and calmly made his way back to his seat.

Now, when Callie said "I feel like the whole freaking universe is against me", Brandon now understood. He really, really knew where she was coming from.

"Hey, Callie?" Lena called, quietly. "I think he had a really bad day, so just...talk gently, I guess, alright?"

"Okay," Callie replied, offering a small smile.

Cautiously, Callie entered the living room, where Brandon was practically buried alive with homework and loose leaf papers. And he looked miserable.

"Hey," She greeted lightly, walking further into the room. He offered her a little twitch of a smile, but his eyes told a totally different and painful story.

"Um...you know...I, uh, heard about what happened today...and about what the kids were saying...and I just wanted to tell you that it wasn't that bad, honestly."

He quirked an eyebrow. You're kidding, right.

"Sorry," She scratched at her arm. "It was worth a shot."

His eyes softened a bit, and she crossed her arms tightly across her chest, feeling awkward.

"You know," Callie continued. "I'm really sorry about what happened—about everything that's happened. Just...just don't listen to those losers, alright? They have nothing better to do than throw papers at you."

Brandon popped off the cap to his Expo marker and began writing quickly on the whiteboard Lena had given him. After a few uncomfortable minutes of him scribbling, he held up the board for her to see.

It read; 'I'm sorry that you had to take so much crap at school because of me and everything. You didn't deserve that, and I'm really sorry.'

"That's not your fault," She promised. "You can't control if you get attacked in the dark, or what the kids at school say."

Another twitch of a forlorn smile. She returned the same expression, and quietly left the room.

As soon as she left, Brandon let his head fall on top of his books. This sucked.

The end of the story is near...