And, last but not least! The unassuming-awkward-best-guy-mate-type-character:
Hamlet Fellows. Just call me Ham. Everyone does.
I don't even like ham; I'm a vegetarian- which, as it goes, just seems to incite the animosity of all the meat heads in the torture chamber they call high school even more than my tuba playing. So I'm in the marching band. So I walk into walls because my fringe is forever too long- note to self, go to barbers... anyway, I say so what?
Hamlet Fellows says SO WHAT? Didja get that, Jude?
Ok, this is where my insignificant, invisible loser voice putters out, because Jude Sawyer happens to be a can of bug spray to us lowly flies A.K.A the Wall Paper People.
The WPP for short- we'd be thinking of getting buttons and t-shirts printed up, if we didn't avoid each other like we do the Very Pretty People. VPP(usually shown in some swirly gold font- which would be printed on a tablet of gold, set atop a pedestal of gold, hidden inside one of those Indiana Jones type temples, bursting at the seams with poison arrows and humungous boulders, whose sole purpose is to crush you flat, until you're nothing but a stain on the ground. Forget pancake. Those things'll kill you better than that.)
Juvenile sense of humor aside, there's only one thing worth sticking around for in my school.
Hamlet Fellows' epic memoirs- last day of summer.
A zombie's swollen, rotten head went spinning off into the air, propelled by some strange pink goo- it looked like the kind of rocket ship Professor Frankenstein would dream up. Squid whooped and fist pumped, already training the barrel of his insanely enormous bazooka on his next undead victim.
Burr and Rajeev were lagging behind the oily haired hero, their fingers slipping and sliding like crazed miniature penguins over their controllers, fighting back a mob of hysterical, brain baring, ripped shirt wearing pixels.
It's honestly not very hard to see why I'm the coolest one in our… well, I wouldn't call us a "group", we're more like… political allies- we're together for the strength of numbers.
Let's take Squid for example- the man lives in black, pizza stained hoodies and walks like a stretched out version of the Humpback of Notre Dame, all slumped over, curled in and slow, like a prey mantis. Ever since he was a creepy little kid, the guy's been obsessed with two things: sea creatures, what happens when you poke them and germs. He's germ phobic and has offended many a female caller by wiping her hand fully with a wet wipe before even thinking of shaking it.
Call it a quirk or call it rude- the guy just can't help it that he was born differently- by that, I mean without shame and with zero tangible knowledge of social ques.
Next- Rajeev. Indian background and a big talker, he walks like he's constantly break dancing and is literally obsessed with his hair- combing it, slicking it back with gooey gel or spiking it up, he'd marry it if his parents would let him. He's pretty popular with females until they realize how much he likes to practice his pout in the mirror. Even though he has an ego the size and diameter of the Super Bowl, he's bearable and could smooth talk his way out of anything- including, but not limited to, speeding tickets, shady dealings, prison and restraining orders.
All 'round, he's a good guy.
And finally good ole' Burr. Bulky and broad, with a thick layer of sinewy muscle, he has to duck when going through doorways and is pretty much a walking wall of meat. I had him pegged as a beef-brained bully- because, you know, he could make even a pro-wrestler pee his pants- until I realized he's about as scary as Hello Kitty. Speaking of which, he has a major weakness for the pink wearing feline and happens to be an expert on all things Anime.
He could break my arms like I had tooth pick bones and twist me into a pretzel at his convenience… yet; he can't even step on a spider without whimpering.
He generally doesn't say very much… in fact; I have absolutely no idea what the heck he even sounds like.
The bottom line is, that if we wondered the halls of Creepy Crumm High alone, we'd be eaten alive, decapitated, or murdered with a bloody butcher's knife, like the ignorant midriff bearing girls in a horror movie.
Trust me; it really bruises your ego to be the belly button pierced girl in a horror movie if you're a guy. We'd rather be the chainsaw wielding psycho any day.
It's a pride thing.
"Ha! Take that you decaying abomination of the video game world! You're no match for the Squid man!" Squid suddenly cried, making to high five a silent Burr, before remembering the whole germ thing and halting mid-five.
"Dude- I thought we went over this, no one is going to call you freakin' 'Squid man'!" Rajeev drawled, rolling his eyes and tossing his controller onto the couch cushion next to him. Immediately, his hand dived into his jeans pocket, searching for his comb.
Squid shot him a dirty look, shoving his hood over his head and glowering at him from the shadows- this is his 'I'm silently strangling you with the force' look.
"You're not scaring anyone Squid," I quipped cheerily, leaning back in the old, busted up recliner that we called 'Old man Sam'. It was like the throne of the basement and wars had been fought over its heavenly squishiness.
(For a dumpster chair, it sure knows how to treat a teenagers ailing buttock.)
Squid muttered darkly under his breath for a bit, but before he could curse me with one of his computer game inspired spells, Rajeev threw a pillow at him. On contact, it released a cloud of dust and left Squid spluttering and groping for his disinfectant spray, while spouting a few choice swear words in klingon.
Rajeev sniggered and Burr bit his lip and sort of wobbled, like a piece of laughing, living jelly.
"Man, this summer sucked- where were all the girls?" Rajeev moaned finally, getting over his hysterics and wiping away his tears of amusement. He was now restraining a flailing Squid by holding his head at arm's length and letting him swipe uselessly at the space of air between them. The flopping, long limbed Squid was not a fan of this. He spewed weak insults, threatening to unleash the wrath that is 'the Squid man!' and was slowly going purple in those acne spotted, gaunt cheeks of his.
"Interesting question Raj my man- where do you think they were? I'll give you one guess. Go on, guess," I replied lazily, letting my head flop back against Good Ole' Sam, closing my eyes and gesturing like a patient in a Therapist's office.
"Uh- with Sawyer?"
"No duh, obviously. But the other correct answer is- anywhere but with you."
"Ooo, ouch. That hurt Fellows."
I smirked and balanced my advanced physics text book, that I had been skim reading earlier, over my eyes, like a sleeping mask.
"I live for sarcasm, dear Raj."
Rajeev snorted, and let a flustered Squid fall onto the floor in a tangle of Squid limbs and Squid-ness. Burr grunted and immediately began helping the poor cephalopod mollusc of a boy, to his feet.
He's crazy loyal, Burr.
"What an empty life you live, Ham," Rajeev sighed, tutting.
"My life? You're stuck in a dusty basement playing video games on the last day of summer, eating stale popcorn and beating up innocent, soft boned Squid over there. And I'm the one with no life," I snorted back.
"You're here too brainiac!" Squid suddenly cried, having been lifted bodily from the ground like a paperweight and placed neatly back onto his feet by Burr, who was busily dusting him down diligently.
"Ah, of course! I hadn't thought of that- oh wait, yes I had! I'm here out of choice. I'm staying forever loyal to the future Mrs. Fellows, by not saying yes to the many girls who had asked me out this evening," I stated curtly, not moving from my drunken sloth position and continuing to wave my hand in the air passionately.
"'Future Mrs. Fellows'? Don't tell me you're still hung up on that Plain Jane, Maude," Rajeev asked, folding his arms and pretending to actually be interested.
"It's Cilla- and I can't believe people still call her 'Maude', it was a mix up on the roll call sheet-"
"It's not my fault I get her mixed up- she looks and acts like a 'Maude'-"
"What do you know, Raj? It's not like you've had many girlfriends to speak of! Well, not many that actually lasted."
I was sitting up now. I could feel my face going a rather uncool shade of traffic light red. My ears were burning and my neck was sizzling under my collar from the stupid girly blush- if we were having a barbeque, I'd be able to fry meat on my skin (which would have Squid in hysterics, because that's definitely unsanitary).
I blame genetics and upbringing- until Sandy came along, it was usually just mum and me, in a house stuffed to the brim with chick flicks and self-empowerment books, tucked in neatly next to Shakespeare and Jane Austen.
It was Squid that came to Rajeev's rescue (who was gaping like a fish, opening and closing his mouth like he was kissing the top of the water in order to suck up fish flakes).
"Now now, Ham my man, even though that is completely true, it was against group rules to speak it aloud- and if there is an imaginary wedding, I call best man, because I'm awesome like that."
Burr gave his usual grunt, showing his distaste at the choice- saying silently; "Nuh uh, I call best man!".
What can I say? My friends are a bunch of girls- although, they do mean well.
Being an assistant to the director sucks. NEVER opt for the job, no matter how much you love film, ya understand?
(First it's coffee, then it's too hot for coffee, then it's "the heart-throb feels he can't work with simpletons, such as the best-guy-mate, and I have to make him happy- then there aren't any extras and I have to go and yank some random yahoos off the street!)
I can feel a migraine comming on...