A Stormy Day

Carl scowled as the sniggers in the room grew after the math teacher introduced him to his new classmates and it wasn’t because he was overdressed in his blue dress shirt and jeans.

“Take a seat, Stormy.”

She had said it again. He had introduced himself as Carl Miller from California but she had to correct him with “the roster says Stormy Miller.”

He groaned, he had told his mother to enroll him as Carl. At least back in his hometown, everyone knew she had never outgrown her obsession with the hippie lifestyle of the mid 60s and when he was born she named him Stormy. Lucky for him, his grandmother insisted that he have a sensible name and Carl was tacked on. There was a reason he never forgot his grandmother’s birthday. So what if the other guys called him “grandma’s boy” which sounded much worse than “mama’s boy”. It hadn’t mattered because everyone called him Carl. Until now.

He stared at his new classmates, most of them probably from middle of nowhere Augusta, Kentucky, and he knew they would enjoy ribbing him about his name. No one was going to call him Carl. Why hadn’t his mother called him something foreign? It was a strict rule. Foreign names were always cool. Always. Pimply-faced Dea from his old school had hit it with the popular crowd when she pronounced her name, Dee-ah, and penned her name on the board with a flourish. She was nicknamed D.E.A. Yeah like the drug enforcement agency. Lame, right? He had hoped it would become un-cool when some of the popular guys started experimenting. No, it didn’t. She only became more popular. “The D.E.A is coming” was a big joke among them. Carl was certain it sounded funnier when they were high.

His name, Stormy, had no such hope.

“Take a seat Stormy” The teacher shooed him away from the front of the class.

“Carl.” He snarled but inside, he wasn’t scared of course but close to it. As he moved down the row looking for an empty seat, he found himself muttering the words his mother recited daily from her inspiration books. She had started that after his father left. She insisted it made her feel better and the women who’d been in her yoga class said it worked.

He was desperate.

I am a confident woman- uh boy – I am not afraid of the new. I am a phoenix rising from the ashes. I am –

“The seat beside me is free.”

Carl swiveled his head towards the soft-spoken voice coming from his left and he blinked. This girl was heaven with long curly blond hair, pink lips (noticing that made him blush) and a scarf around her neck. When she gestured again at the seat beside her, he heard the colorful bangles around her wrist jingle.

A late bloomer, he hadn’t paid attention to girls until last year at the age of fourteen. He had finally started to notice something other than his video games and boy was he glad he did.

Hoping he didn’t trip over his feet, Carl rushed to the seat almost hitting someone on the head with his book bag. Oops. Sorry, man.

“I’m Rose.” She smiled then spoke in a low whisper “Actually it’s Rainbow Rose but everyone calls me Rose. I’m sure they’ll call you Carl.”

Right. Carl thought but he smiled back. People would call Rainbow whatever she wanted to be called. It couldn’t be helped. It just couldn’t. He stared at her and was blindsided by the strangest thought.

His mother would love her. She said she wanted a daughter to talk about boys, share toe-rings and most importantly to braid her hair. His hair was long but he drew the line at braiding it. The point was Rose would be around him, in his house. He could do it. He could ask her to hang out.

Rose had returned to writing in her notebook as the teacher droned on. Somehow Carl managed to pull his book out of his bag and place it on the desk all without taking his eyes off her.

“Stormy!”

He flinched, averting his gaze to the teacher. He hoped she hadn’t noticed him staring. No such luck.

“I suggest you take your notes and stop staring at Rose.”

The class tittered again and Carl felt his cheeks flush. His stomach churned. Rose had looked up from her book to meet his gaze. He gulped, swallowing a few times but his stomach didn’t quit. There was no way he was going to puke and make his day completely horrible. Was she going to laugh or ignore him or worse? His friends said pity was the worst. Please don’t let her feel pity.

She stared unblinking for a few seconds and suddenly she smiled all wide like, winking -badly- before returning to her notes.

Just like that Carl’s first day went from horrible to amazing. He might not mind being calmed Stormy. After all, if he was a storm then she was a rainbow. They made a perfect match… in hippie land at least.

MD Irvine: .com/~mdirvine

TaD Writing Prompt #3

This week, we're going for something humorous. There are three things you must do with your prompt:

1. Write it from a male POV.

2. Someone in the story, not necessarily the MC, must suffer humiliation of some kind.

3. Include the line, "I am a phoenix rising from the ashes!"