This chapter will be in Michael's perspective. I apologize in advance that this chapter is going to take forever to come out. All of my other chapters in my other stories will take a while as well. I'm dealing with some personal issues in my life and I'm not as creative as I used to be. I will try to keep updating, but it's hard right now.
Also, we're going to be getting an appearance from a character that has crossed many of mine and my sister's fan fictions! I think you'll know him when you see him. He can transcend time and space and is immune to the plot!
Chapter Seven – Dealing with Shit
Michael's POV
I wasn't looking forward to the rest of the day. Our first few classes had been bad enough, but we still had gym class to not look forward to. We also had history, which wasn't so bad, but it was American History, and goths do not give two shits about their own country. Or any other country for that matter.
After we said good-bye to Karen and Firkle, Henrietta, Pete and I slowly made our way to a different building that held the most boring classes like history. What we saw when we reached the classroom made me stop in my tracks.
The strangest-looking, hump-backed, nobly-kneed, one bulgy eyed staring, vulture of a man was shakily standing in the front of the room with long, twig arms held out in front of him like a raptor. He had an L-shaped neck that seemed to defy gravity (and logic), and a crooked jaw that dangled under his large, hook nose. One of his eyes bulged out of his head, while the other was set to permanent squint. And he was about half Firkle's height. He also, for some unexplained reason, wore a monocle over his bulgy eye and a Viking helmet on his head.
"If you had to imagine what a vulture would look like as a human, that's exactly what it would look like," Henrietta muttered in my ear.
"That man is kind of terrifying," I murmured back.
The terrifying vulture man slowly turned towards us and looked us up and down without moving his head. His creepy noodle neck swung back and forth as he moved and the three of us couldn't help but stare at him in shock, our eyes slowly widening. And then this horrifying abomination suddenly spoke.
"You three!" he snapped in a high-pitched, gravelly voice that kind of sounded like he was trying to speaking with a mouthful of water. "Sit down already! I'm about to start class!" The three of us jumped with fright and quickly took the nearest unoccupied seats. He swiveled his head around for a moment to make sure we were all there before slowly shuffling over to the front desk (which was taller than him). He reappeared a few moments later with a stack of papers in his spindly arms.
"Good afternoon, class," he said in a much softer voice. "I am Professor Slackjaw, your history teacher." Of course, that was his name. "Before we get started, I'm going to take attendance, and then I'm going to assign you to your permanent seats for the year."
I felt my heart sink. Assigned seating? Really? There was a chance that I wouldn't be sitting with Pete and Henrietta while trying to ignore this scary abomination of a vulture man? What kind of bullshit was this?
He was very slow in calling everyone's names, and even slower in assigning us all seats. When he got to me, he pursed his lips and said that I would be taking one of the seats all the way in the back of the classroom. I let out a groan of annoyance when he sat the douches Rider and Bruce on either side of me. Henrietta's roommate Chris was also forced to sit in the back with us, along with some other rather tall kids. Pete and Henrietta were seated in the middle row, with only that pretty boy Trent in between them. Both of them did not look happy about that.
At long last we were all sitting in our assigned seats, but before this "Professor Slackjaw" could begin to explain what his teachings would include or what to expect, the bell rang, signaling the end of class.
"I hope it was my imagination, but it feels like the scary little vulture man was glaring at me the entire time," I confessed as I joined my friends out into the hall.
"Oh, it wasn't just you," Henrietta replied nonchalantly. "He was totally glaring at you the whole time." I gave her an annoyed stare.
"Thanks, Henrietta," I growled. "That makes me feel so much better." Her only reply was an uncaring shrug.
"Did anyone else notice that he sat all of the tallest students in the back?" Pete pointed out. I had sort of noticed that, but now it was a lot more obvious once Pete had pointed it out. But that was quickly driven from our minds when we saw that our last class for the day was gym. A goth's worse nightmare. We all let out a groan.
Gym class was by far the worst class yet. The teacher was a female drill sergeant, with the hat and the whistle and everything. She had big, beefy muscles and she didn't really speak so much as bark her words. She forced everyone to stand in a line from tallest to shortest, with our back erect, like we were in the military or something.
"Now listen up," she barked. "You will all address me as Sgt. Pepper! You will all assemble here swiftly and before the bell rings!" She started marching up and down the row of us, looking disapproving at all of us. "If it were up to me, we'd do away with these silly school uniforms and go for something more military. And you'd all have official military buzz cuts. None of this 'individuality' nonsense." She paused a moment to sneer at Pete, whose hair always looked like he had just rolled out of bed and was still dyed red at the roots. He narrowed his eyes at her, but didn't speak.
The teacher then proceeded to ramble about how if she ran the school, it would be more of a military camp than a school, and we were forced to stand for the entire ramble. It was torture. Needless to say, we were more than thankful when the bell mercifully rang and we were finally able to leave this abomination.
"Why do all of these teachers have to ramble?" Henrietta complained as we made our way back to our dorm room. "I don't think we'll have to try very hard to fail; with the way they go on, I'm not going to learn a damn thing anyway."
"I just wish jock stereotype wasn't in a majority of our classes," I sighed. "Especially gym class. It's going to be a nightmare!"
"If that gym teacher thinks we're going to wear gym clothes, she's going to be sadly disappointed," Pete added.
Before any of us could add anything more, we heard our names being called in a high-pitched, nerdy voice, and I didn't need to turn around to know that Seymour was hurrying to catch up to us. He was in most of our classes as well, and I wouldn't have been surprised if he complained that gym was his one blemish on his otherwise perfect record.
"Hey there, roomies!" he greeted in that annoying, nasally voice of his. "How's it going? Can you believe Sgt. Pepper? She gives that speech every year, it's crazy!"
I managed not to roll my eyes, but only just. I had no idea how we were expected to survive the week, let alone the semester. I wasn't sure what our roommate was so happy about. If I had to hear the same damn speech while standing at attention every year, I would go mad.
"I definitely need a smoke when we get back to the room," I muttered. "I feel like I'm about to go crazy by this point."
"Just wait until you get to swim class," Seymour replied. "That class is the worst."
We all groaned in annoyance. "There's a swim class?" Henrietta groaned.
"Once a week," the nerd told her, nodding solemnly. "And you can't weasel out of it either. I told the teacher multiple times about my asthma and how I can't swim, but she doesn't care. She doesn't take any excuse."
Great. That's just what I needed. To make a fool of myself in a swimsuit. I wasn't fat or skin and bones, but I happened to avoid exercise like the plague. All of us did. And I only swam if I absolutely had to. And there were other reasons why I avoided pools or anywhere where you could swim. Plenty of other reasons. Well, ok, there was only one real reason why I didn't like going near a pool, and that reason was walking right next to me.
"I just hope Firkle and Karen's day was better than ours," Henrietta sighed.
Firkle, at least, was not in our room by the time we got back. Henrietta came over and asked us if we wanted to take a walk with her to find other places around campus to smoke in the middle of classes. Pete mumbled something that might have been a word, and simply flopped onto his bed with back towards us, so I decided to go with her. I was dismayed when Chris followed us into the hall, saying she was coming as well. Chris was taller than me. I didn't like that.
We walked around campus for a long while, trying to find places near every building where we could smoke in peace but not have to walk far. Chris walked in between Henrietta and me, making me glare at her, though she didn't notice. The sun was already starting to set as well, which is good because goths hate the sun.
Our walk would have been almost pleasant if Chris didn't feel the need to complain about pretty much everything. It was like she was trying to prove that she was bad enough to hang out with us. She wasn't impressing me, at least, but she didn't really seem to care about me. I don't even think she knew my name.
The sun had set by the time we got back. We had found plenty of places to smoke, thank Satan. I had planned on going up to the roof to smoke as soon as I got back, but the sight that greeted me when I walked into my room kind of pushed smoking to the back of my mind.
Firkle was on top of Pete, who was laying on his bed and had the younger boy in a headlock, giving him a noogie, while Firkle was either attempting to claw Pete's eyes out, or rip his hair off. They barely looked up when I entered the room and they definitely didn't stop whatever the heck they were doing.
"Hey Michael," Firkle greeted with a grunt, trying to squirm out of Pete's grasp.
"What the hell are you two doing?" I wondered.
"Bonding," Pete said, nonchalantly. I let out a long sigh and rolled my eyes. To say that this was the only time I had walked in on Pete and Firkle trying to kill each other for no discernable reason would have been a flat out lie.
Pete and Firkle, as they've both told me, have a sort of older/younger brother dynamic. The two of them are constantly trying to annoy each other, but they wouldn't hesitate to risk their lives for each other. And Pete was usually the first person Firkle went to for advice, next to me, of course. To Firkle, Pete was the cocky yet still overprotective older brother, while Pete viewed Firkle as his obnoxious kid brother he never wanted.
"How was your walk?" Pete asked, still keeping Firkle in a headlock and ruffling his hair.
"Eh," I shrugged. "Chris came along and she kind of just complained the entire time."
Firkle had managed to wrap his tiny little hands around Pete's neck and was trying to strangle him, I think. I casually walked over and yanked him out of Pete's grasp and held him at arm's length.
"Do you know when our first swim class is?" I asked Pete, looking down at him as Firkle began kicking his feet.
"Tomorrow around three-thirty, I think," Pete replied, closing his eyes. "We have that instead of gym class." Firkle stopped struggling in my hands.
"That's when I have swim class," he told us. "We're going to be taking it together? I don't know if that's a good idea or not." I had to agree with him, though it was nice to know that I would be spending at least one of my classes with my best friend. I just hoped he and Karen would be the only people we would be sharing swim class with.
We were not so lucky. The next day just cemented how insane most of our teachers were. Mrs. Rogers, who we now knew was the only intelligent and normal teacher, went into a lecture about different elements of science and such. Mr. Stein, the math teacher, started writing complex equations on the board and told us to memorize them, while Miss Lutt just basically sucked face with her boyfriend the entire class. Mr. Slackjaw was definitely the craziest, if that's possible. He said that he would be teaching American History, then instead launched into a lecture about Norse history. When I asked how it pertained to America, he told me to put a sock in it.
I was practically dreading swim class by the time the rest of our classes were over. We had enough time to go back to our dorm rooms and grab the right stuff before forcing our feet to make our way over to the separate building that contained the pool. I was incredibly annoyed when Firkle, Seymour, Pete and I walked into the boy's locker room and saw all of the worst people already there. Asshole greaser Rider, that guy Bruce, pretty boy Trent, and what I assumed was the weedy little lackey were all in our swim class. Just perfect.
To my dismay, the lockers were all lined against the wall, with no rows of lockers to give even the tiniest bit of privacy. My friends and I picked the farthest corner away from the rest of those assholes, but I still felt completely exposed. I was surprisingly kind of shy when it came to undressing in front of other people, and I was contemplating on waiting for everyone to leave before I started changing. But, then again, this swim teacher sounded exceptionally tough, so I reluctantly tugged off my clothes while trying to not look at anyone.
Pete and Firkle were grumbling under their breaths as they got changed, but for some reason, I didn't feel like joining them in the angry muttering. The moment the three of us pulled our shirts off, I heard something behind us fall and I turned to see Trent staring at us out of the corner of his eye. He had dropped his hairbrush on the floor with a thud, and wasn't even attempting to pick it up.
I'll admit, I kind of hated Trent. He was the pretty boy stereotype, with at least three girls clinging to him at all times, so obviously any goth would hate him. But there was something else I didn't like about him, I just couldn't put my finger on it. The fact that he had impeccable abs but wasn't overly buff certainly didn't help. And he was wearing a speedo. God, what a douche.
Pete, Firkle and I all wore black swimming trunks, of course. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Pete was wearing a black chain necklace with a pentagram pendant. I felt my face start to heat up. I didn't know that he had kept it…
Seymour, ever the nerd, was wearing the dorkiest swimsuit that looked like it was pulled straight out of the 1920's. To be fair, he didn't look overly excited about this choice of an outfit. It was a full body wet suit and I felt myself grow annoyed just by looking at it.
"Ready?" Firkle asked, once we had shoved our stuff in a locker.
"As I'll ever be," Pete sighed. "Let's just get this over with."
I kept my eyes aimed at the ground as we walked past all the jocks and assholes and made our way into the main area. When we emerged at the end of one part of the room with the pool, I looked over to the other side to see if the girls had finished changing yet, and I caught my first glimpse of our teacher.
I had vastly overestimated how threatening she was going to be. I had expected another Sgt. Pepper, but instead there was a giant blob sitting in a high chair, and if Seymour hadn't specifically said "she" the day before, I would have never known if this thing was supposed to be a man or a woman. I was so busy staring at the blob person that I didn't notice Karen (who was also in our class, thank goodness) and Henrietta enter until they were standing next to me.
"Please don't tell me that's the teacher," Henrietta groaned, making me jump.
"I think it's supposed to be," I replied, trying to breathe normally.
Henrietta let out a groan and went over to talk to Pete before class started. I made the mistake of turning to look at them, and I felt my heart stop. Henrietta was wearing a black, lacey two-piece swimsuit that wasn't too risqué, but still showed off her curves. Pete and Firkle both had their arms folded, looking completely uncomfortable, but I could still make out some of the lean muscles on Pete. I tried not to stare, but I was kind of har-IT was kind of hard!
Suddenly, a whistle blew right in my ear, and I flinched, grabbing my throbbing ear in pain. Somehow, the blob had managed to get off its chair and oozed all the way over to the group of us without anyone noticing it.
"Alright, students, line up by the pool," the blob snorted. We hastily did as we were told, with Henrietta and Pete on either side of me. I noticed with some annoyance that Trent chose to stand next to Pete, who still angrily had his arms crossed. "I'm Coach Drowns, and I'll be your swim coach for the rest of your enrollment here."
"Seriously?" I could hear Karen under her breath.
"I have heard every excuse in the book people have used to get out of swim class," the blob barked, glaring at us with wide, popping eyes. "So, if you think you can get out of having to swim, you've got another thing coming. The only way you're getting out of my class is if you're dead. If you're thinking about skipping, I will hunt you down and drag you here myself."
I doubted that. Coach Blob looked like it could only inch along at a snail's pace and get winded after moving about a foot. I couldn't even tell where its face became the body.
The coach then ordered Trent to demonstrate the different swim techniques we would be forced to learn, which he annoyingly did flawlessly. Then we all had to swim laps over and over until our limbs nearly gave out. Everyone was relieved when the bell finally rang, letting us know that we could get the fuck out of there.
Unfortunately, the awkwardness and embarrassment didn't end there. The shower room had rows and rows of showers, each with dividers that only came up to about the waist. That was it. That was all the privacy we got. The only tiny good thing in all this, we soon learned, was that the water took no time to heat up.
Once again, my friends and I took the furthest few showers in the corner, away from everyone else, but we still could hear Rider and Bruce's loud argument over who had the biggest bulge in the front of their speedos, while also listing which of the girls wore the sluttiest bathing suit. I drowned out their voices and instead let the warm water wash over me, staring straight ahead at the wall and trying not to think about anything. I just let my mind go completely blank.
I think I managed it a little too well, because I swear the next time I blinked, someone was snapping their fingers in my face. I blinked several times and looked down to see Pete and Firkle standing in front of me, their hair still damp, but completely dressed with their bags slung over their shoulders and confused looks on their faces. The water flowing over me was bordering on freezing now, and a quick glance around told me that the shower room was now empty apart from the three of us.
"How did you two get changed so quickly?" I asked my friends. They stared at me.
"What are you talking about?" Pete asked. "You've just been standing there staring at that wall for over ten minutes now."
"You wouldn't even respond when we called your name," Firkle added, cocking his head. I refused to look either of them in the eye and I hoped that they wouldn't notice my face slowly turning red.
"Um, I guess I just zoned out a bit," I muttered.
"Well, come on," Firkle said. "Karen and Henrietta are probably waiting for us, and you know Henrietta never likes to wait."
"I still have to get changed first," I snapped at him.
"Hurry up then," he replied, rolling his eyes. "I'm hungry."
We worked our way back into the locker room, which was also deserted. Beside me, Pete cast a quick glance at me before turning to our shorter friend.
"Firkle, why don't you and the girls go on ahead and find a table at the cafeteria," he said suddenly. "Michael and I will catch up shortly."
Firkle looked at him with wide eyes and opened his mouth as if he were about to argue, then decided against it. He instead gave a shrug and headed towards the door, giving a backward glance at us. I swallowed my nervousness and quickly strode over to my chosen locker and sat on the bench in front of it. Pete sat down next to me, making no sound except for a soft sigh.
Neither of us spoke for a long moment as I dried myself. I tried not to look bothered as Pete glanced at me, but I don't think I was successful. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he decided to speak.
"So, are you going to tell me what's been bugging you?" he asked. I paused in pulling my pants back on.
"What makes you think something's bugging me?" I replied, not looking at him.
He rolled his eyes. "Because you've been acting weird almost since we got here," he pointed out. "And not the sort of weirdness of someone hating this place, but the weirdness of someone who's hiding something."
"I haven't been acting weird," I growled, knowing full well that what I was saying was a flat out lie. Pete didn't look convinced either, narrowing his eyes at me.
"Really?" he hissed. "You freak out when I ask you what you said, and you just stand around and zone out in the showers, and that's all supposed to be normal, is it?"
I frowned, but still refused to look at him, and I was silent for long moment. He let out a frustrated sigh and stood up, glaring down at me.
"Well, if you don't want to tell me what's wrong, then fine," he snapped. "Have it your way!" I watched as he marched over to the door. "Tell the others I wasn't hungry," he said over his shoulder. And then he slammed the door behind him.
I stared after him, sadly. I wanted to tell him what was wrong, I truly did, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I couldn't tell him my biggest secret, the one I've been harboring since the fifth grade. Or any of our friends for that matter. They'd never look at me the same way again… wouldn't they?
Well, I think this chapter is long enough, and I'm flat out of ideas for it. So, Weston will be taking over, and hopefully get the next chapter out sooner than me. What's up with Michael? Wouldn't you like to know? You're not going to find out until half way through the story! Make sure to read and review, and again, I apologize for taking so long to get this chapter out.