Fiction

I walked into class, ignoring all of the funny stares and sat at a random computer that was away from most of the people I didn’t like. I hoped that we wouldn't have assigned seats in here and I’d end up sitting next to someone I hated or even someone who hated me. I wouldn't know why anyone would. I’d never done anything wrong to anyone, but for some reason it seemed everyone was out to get me in this damned school.

I just wanted to get this class and the entire day over with and go home, but even at home, I wasn’t happy. My parent’s entire attention was on my brother, Kyle. He was the bad kid and always got into trouble somehow. They knew I was the good kid and that I wouldn't do anything that needed their attention, so they shut me off into a corner and focused on Kyle.

I guess I was okay with that, most of the time, but when I did need them, they were never there for me. I didn’t see much point in even going home if I had anywhere else to go. I would probably go to a friend’s house and stay there if I had any. I know I sounded pathetic and like a poor excuse of a human being, and that’s exactly how I felt, like a waste of space. I was sure that’s how everyone else saw it.

Even though I wasn’t physically bullied, being verbally insulted and being put down was just as bad if not even worse in my case. I knew how the world saw me. Maybe if I actually stood up for myself just once, they would treat me differently, but then, yet again, I don’t expect anyone to change in my circumstance. It was just the way of life and because of that, there was nothing I could do about it.

The hour ended in a blur with the teacher droning on and on about what the class was going to be about and what we would be doing this year. It was just computers, I'm sure everyone knew by now what we were going to do.

I gathered my things and headed out for the door. I was hoping to avoid any kind of contact with anyone when everyone was trying to squeeze out the door at the same time. Of course no one was courteous enough to let me go out so I ended up being the last one through. I went straight for my locker to put my backpack up since I never got a chance to the last time I was heading for there.

I put in the combination that was different from last year even though the locker number was the same. As soon as I opened the door and just finished shoving my overstuffed bag inside, my cell phone started to vibrate in my front pocket. I wondered who would be calling at this time. I looked around me to see if there were any teachers around who would see me. There was only Mr. Plummer, the math teacher for the junior year standing by the water fountain in between the bathrooms. I guess he was monitoring the halls while the students all talked and headed to class.

I hid behind my locker door, pulled the phone out of my pocket, seeing that it was my dad and answered it. “Hello?” I asked into the receiver.

“Leah?” My dad asked back. The man didn’t know how to use a cell phone properly, so he was never sure if he called the right person or not. I couldn’t tell you how many times it wasn’t.

“Dad,” I growled into the phone turning away from an adult staff member who was passing by so I wouldn’t be caught. “Why are you calling me? I'm in school.”

His voice grew forceful, like usual when he was tired of hearing me complain. “Don’t get that tone with me. I have every right to call you when I need to. If anyone has a problem with that, then they can just take it up with me.” I rolled my eyes. “Anyway, I was calling to tell you that I won't be able to pick you and Kyle up after school. I've got to work a little late tonight, so I won't be home until 5:00.”

I groaned. “But dad, I though you said-”

“I know, I know. Maybe you two can catch the bus or something. Just don’t forget to tell your brother so he’s not standing there waiting for me after school.” He said, interrupting me mid-sentence.

“What?” I shrieked. I was lucky these halls were loud enough to where no one could hear me. “The bus? There is no way in he-. I'm not going to ride the bus. I would rather walk home in the damn sun.” I slipped.

“Leah Marie Taylor!” He yelled through the speaker. “Did you just curse at me? That’s it, you’re grounded young lady. There is no way I'm going to let you hang with your friends this weekend.”

I faked a laugh. “What friends? Oh wait, you wouldn’t know, would you?”

“What are you talking about? You have plenty of friends.” He said.

I rolled my eyes. He had no idea. “Look dad, I got to get to class. I’ll see you at home.” I said, slamming my locker shut and hanging up before he could answer back.

I was fed up with my parents trying to act as if they were the best and knew everything about me. They knew nothing about me. They didn’t know that I was miserable and depressed, or that I felt like a complete reject. They didn’t know that I had nothing to believe in, that I didn’t really have a religion, or even that I cut myself. It was something I started in the seventh grade and couldn’t kick the habit. I know it wasn’t like being addicted to cigarettes or alcohol, but after I had started, I just couldn’t stop. It was a thrill that sent adrenaline through my veins. I didn’t do it as often as I used to. Maybe once or twice a month, but there were definitely scars that the razor blade had left behind.

I was going to be late to class if I didn’t hurry. I looked down at my class schedule. I had art next. All I really needed was my notebook and a pencil, which I carried with me all day just in case I was going to be assigned homework. You would be surprised how much work I had to do last year on the first day. I was given work within the first 10 minutes of class before, believe it or not.

I looked for room 502 as I made my way down the 500 hall. This hall was made up of the art classes, robotics -which was part time math class for the 12th grade-, welding, and then at the end was ROTC. I know, weird combination, but you had to stick those class that didn’t belong with anything else somewhere, and besides that, they were the few classes that needed the bigger space.

My class was the second one down as you entered the hallway and on your left, past the water fountain. I opened the door into a fair sized room with the teacher’s desk and work area at the very left in front of a black board. The teacher sat at his desk, on his laptop typing up something and then printed it off in several copies. On the board was written Mr. Waytula and had the date underneath it.

Since my dad decided to call me at a bad time, most of the good seats were taken. There were only a few that were spread out across the room. The tables were set with four of them touching at the corners, making a big square. People sat with their friends, as you would expect. The few seats that remained were rather the one that was next to a table that was occupied by the jocks and their preppy girlfriends, which I knew they weren’t going to let me into their little group. One was at a table with a couple of punk kids. I was definitely not sitting there.

The last one was by a couple of smarties, as I called them since the term nerd was kind of offensive. I didn’t fit in with any of them. Finally, I realized there was a table open with two seats left to take. One was in front of a boy I knew since the sixth grade. I met him at the nursing home my mother worked at. Both his parents worked there now. His name was Shane Touché. He was pretty nice, and actually friendly, unlike any one else in this room.

After the sixth grade though, he stopped showing up to the nursing home after school, like we both used to do and rode the bus home instead of waiting on his mother for a ride. The nursing home was right next door to the middle school, so it was more convenient for me just to catch a ride with my mom. We didn’t really talk during school, just at the home so we never really became friends, just acquaintances. I probably haven’t talked to him since then.

Next to him was a kid named Trey Godwin. He wasn’t really much of an important person compared to his jock of a brother, Chase, who was pretty popular. They looked alike, but were completely different. Trey kind of had a stutter, but he was a cool guy for his grade. Chase was in 12th grade while Trey was in the 11th. I knew Trey better than I did Chase because he was good friends with the people Shane hung out with, which weren’t really bad people. He was nice, but we never actually said a word to each other.

I wondered if it would be okay with them if I sat in one of those seats. I sighed and decided to take my chances. If either of them asked me to move, I would. To where, though, would be my problem. I went for the one in front of Shane since I knew him better. As soon as he saw me, he stopped talking to Trey. H e gave me a look, like he thought he remembered me from somewhere. His eyes grew, as he must have remembered.

“Oh, hey!” He said, smiling widely. “I remember you. What’s up?”

I returned with a friendly smile. “Hey. I haven’t seen you in forever.” I sat down and put my stuff down as I took his greeting as a friendly one. At least I knew it was cool with him to sit here. Trey would just have to deal with it if he didn’t like it.

“Leana, right?” Shane asked, pointing a finger at me.

I tried to hide the annoyance with a smile and shook my head. “No, Leah.” It seemed like every one that had at least acknowledged me thought my name was Leana.

He nodded his head and put his hand down. “Oh yeah, that’s it. How are you?” He asked.

I nodded back. “I'm good, you?”

“Good,” He said, shaking his head up and down, pursing his lips.

“Good,” I smiled.

The teacher stood and clapped his hands together. “Alright, I'm Mr. Waytula. I'll be you second hour teacher for the rest of the semester, unless you decide you don’t like me and get your schedule changed.” He laughed, trying to make a joke even though I'm sure that it’s happened before. Well, so much for small talk, but I was kind of glad it was over.

Mr. Waytula was the type of teacher who you would rather really like, or really hate. For me, I liked him. He was cool, and somewhat nice, but if you got on his bad side then you better start doing things right in his class. He liked to joke around a lot, but he was very critical when it came to your artwork, but some people really needed the critique, not to be mean or anything.

He started to pass out the sheets of paper. “When I get to you, tell me your first and last name. If I don’t pronounce it right, forgive me, it’s only the first day of school.”

He chuckled. “This is the first semester of the art class schedule. We will be going over it in a minute. I need you to put your name on it and put it up after we’re done so you don’t lose it. I am not going to make another copy for you. I pay for this paper through my own pocket change.”

A couple of people rolled their eyes. I agreed with them though. Who hasn’t heard this speech from at least one of their teachers? You break it or lose it, you buy another one, that one or the lecture about how they don’t get paid very well and if something happens to something, they are not going to be the ones to replace it, you are. Either one I've heard a thousand times before, just like everyone else.

He got to our table now and handed the two each a paper and then me. Trey said his name first, and then Shane and I went last.

“Leah Taylor,” I said quietly, taking the sheet of paper.

He gave me a look, like he didn’t hear me right. “Leana?” He asked.

I shook my head and sighed. “Leah,” I said more clearly.

He nodded. “Oh okay. Speak up next time. Welcome to my art class.” He said and then went to the next table, saying the same thing to everyone after they had told him their names.

I looked over the sheet and studied it. First, we were going to be doing 3D perspective. That was something I was looking forward to. I wasn’t very good at straight lines. The printer on his desk made a beeping sound, saying it was finished with printing. He looked at it for a second, finished the paper out and grabbed the others. He gave us each one of what looked like a list of rules and procedures. First thing on the list, no roughhousing. It was understandable, especially if you were going to be dealing with paint. You wouldn’t want that to get everywhere.

Once Waytula read over both papers, I kind of got a viewpoint on what his class was going to be like. The entire semester was dealing with black and whites, rather it be paints, charcoal, or ebony pencils. I preferred black and white over color anyway. Once I drew something, thinking it turned out great, I would end up adding color to it and it would turn to shit. Rather I couldn’t color, or I was more of a black and white artist.

The bell decided to ring then, letting us know it was passing period. I stood and gathered my things, turned to Shane and mentioned it was nice seeing him again. He gave a nod in return and said ‘you too’. I opened the door to leave and kindly let a couple of people go first. I was the second to last out the door since most of them took advantage of the kindness and shoved past me. I opened the door, about to leave myself when the door swung open way to fast and smacked right into someone’s face.

Notes