The first time I entered the halls of Winslow High, I knew this must be what hell looked like. The lights were fluorescent nuisances, the floors were so clean they squeaked, and all around me, a bunch of other freshmen, who all thought they were some big shit. Here goes another year of putting up with airheaded pricks, full on dicks, and preppy bitches. Speaking of which, I catch a glimpse of Chastis Jefferson, and immediately summon my best death glare. She's prissy, she's popular, she wears designer shit, from clothes to makeup, to her damn hair product. She's basically everything I despise in life, not to mention, everything I strive not to be. She tests my resolve of not breaking someone's face in, she's so freaking prissy. I swear she has makeup on everyday, and it's always some fancy looking shit. How does she even have time for that? I barely manage some eyeliner and mascara on a good day. However, I somehow manage a modicum of foundation everyday. Where she's all pink, popularity, and class, I am dark color, ripped skinny jeans, tattoos, and piercings.
Let me clarify, Chastis Jefferson is your stereotypical popular girl. Long, flowing, blonde hair, ugh, this isn't a fucking Disney movie, just cut it off already. Anyway, she's curvier than me, and has annoyingly full lips. She looks like a fucking disney princess, and it just makes me want to strangle her. Not out of jealousy, but just because she's so annoyingly cheerful. I keep waiting for fucking birds to start twittering around her, or maybe people to burst into spontaneous song and dance.
I have an industrial bar piercing in my right ear, along with three lobe piercings. My left ear has nine piercings going from my earlobe, up to the tip of the ear. I have a nose ring as well, even though it's small. It was my first piercing and I did it to piss off my parents when I still lived with them. I became an emancipated minor when I was sixteen.
Now I live in crappy apartment with a bratty dog, but it's still a better life than what I used to have with my parents. I have a part time job working as a trainer for both dogs and horses, and it pays more than well enough to take care of all my expenses month to month. I took all my classes online until this year, when my uncle, the principle of Winslow High, informed me that I had to have a minimum of 50 hours of physical attendance at the school. It sucked ass, and I had no doubt that "daddy's girl" Chastis Jefferson had talked to her dad and he made sure, as a member of the school board, to make my life a living hell. That's why I'm physically at this hell hole called high school. I have to spend the next semester actually at this school, taking actual classes that I don't need and spending time around people, who just want to be my friends with me because my uncle is the principle. I don't know why they think that'll get them a free pass with Barrett, he doesn't even give me a free pass and I'm his niece.
The one bright spot in this purgatory though, were my friends, Xalen, Reaper, and Cat. Cat's real name is Lee, but Cat is just the nickname I'd given her when I first met her in middle school. I gave her the nickname because she acts so much like a cat it's uncanny. Admittedly, like a clumsy house cat that pretends they meant to fall like that, but a cat nonetheless. Reaper's real name is Rachel, but she hates that name, just because her parents treat her like some precious china doll, when she's anything but. She goes by Reaper, because that's the name she chose in the ring. We are both involved in fight rings under fake names, i.e. Reaper. Xalen though, he's a different story. He doesn't do any of that, and he is certainly the goody two shoes of our group: straight A's, an honor student, and top of our class. I'm ranked second in our class, by one grade point. But that's not the point. The point, is that he's not overbearingly goody goody, instead he just...balances us as a group. I've known him since I was 14, he knows me better than just about anyone. He knows what went on with my parents, why I became emancipated when I was 16. He knows what I do in the early morning hours, when no one up to anything good is out. I beat the shit out of people once or twice a week for some decent money that I use to pay my rent, and I use the money I get from my part time job for groceries and other necessities. No one outside of Xalen, Reaper, and Cat know what I do, that's the way I'd like to keep it.
I am headed to my first class of the day, Biology. It's technically second hour for everyone else, but since I don't have to be here for the first class of the day, because I already have most of my mandatory classes completed. The only ones I don't have are Biology and PE, which alternate days on my schedule. I get into the class before anyone else, and greet the old potbellied teacher, Mr. Krupp. Then I take a seat at the back, just where I like it. I was pretty happy with where I was sitting and looking forward to the microbiology unit, when Jefferson walked in. Krupp took one look at her and assigned her a seat next to me. Like, right next to me, and I swear to god, I wanted to punch Krupp in the face. It's like watching the beginning of a bad chick-flick. The two people who despise each other get stuck next to each other and they slowly fall in love and ride off into the sunset, blech. If I end up getting feelings of any kind other than hatred, someone please punch me and talk some sense into me.
Class begins and Krupp begins to hand out the syllabus, and I vaguely listen until he starts talking about microbiology. I Actually enjoy looking at life on a microscopic level, seeing how things interact with one another to create bigger things, and eventually, a grown organism of some form or other. However, we don't start the microbiology until next semester. I throw my head back and groan. I look over and see Jefferson stuck in her own little airheaded thoughts, I jam my elbow into her side and get her attention.
"You'd better not ruin this for me by not paying attention. If I'm going to be stuck with you as my partner for the rest of the year, you'd better do your own goddamn work."
Little Miss Priss sneers at me and says," I'm sorry did you forget the fact that I don't care? And the fact that I'm here with," She pauses looking me up and down as if in disgust,"you as a partner. Someone with obviously no class or an inkling of what a woman is supposed to do."
I scowl at her and say,"Oh, I suppose your definition of what a woman is supposed to do is stay at home, bake cookies, pies, and other completely idiotic things and pump out babies like some kind of factory? I'm sorry, but I'd rather not be tied down by some guy's 50's mentality. After all, what's the fun in being what others want you to be. I'd rather be who I want to be."
She gives me a sickly sweet smile that contorts as she finishes the sentence,"Do you know why a woman is in the kitchen? No? Because that's where the knives are."
I hear her mutter some kind of insult under her breath, I don't particularly give a shit what it is, I've probably been called worse by my own mother.
I smirk at her and reply,"Oh hun, don't you know? Never bring a knife to a gunfight."
After that I turn and readjust myself so that my feet are on the table and I am reclining on the back legs of my chair. I feel as if my satisfied smirk will never leave my face, and I don't wish it to either, I know it pisses the bitch off.
Next thing I know, Jefferson is shoving my feet off the table. She places her books where my feet were. I can't help but raise an eyebrow at her, does she really think that'll stop me? I smirk as I slowly, and deliberately place one boot and then the other on top of her textbooks, not taking my eyes off of Jefferson, just to see how far I can push her. I know, I'm a little shit, what else is new? I don't give a shit if I screw them up, because hey, not my books, no skin off my nose. I have all my textbooks online so I don't have to deal with the mess. Jefferson takes her books out from under my feet, causing my boots to make a loud thud on the surface of the table. I glare at her for a moment until Mr. Krupp fixes his old, beady eyes on us. Of course Jefferson has her "angel smile" on, which I secretly refer to as her medusa gaze. I simply look at Mr. Krupp and roll my eyes, he sees me as a good kid because I pass all my classes and for the most part, am a straight A student. Nevertheless, I take my boots off the table and that's the end of it.
The bell can't ring soon enough, but when It does, I am out of the room faster than a bullet. I refuse to spend anymore time next to that, thing, than I have to. I make my way to the lunchroom for my lunch as quickly as I can, I want to get in, and get out. Unfortunately, about 20 thousand other kids have the same idea. I may be over exaggerating a little about the number, but it doesn't feel like it in the small cafeteria. It makes the space feel incredibly tiny and claustrophobic. I make my way out into the courtyard, hoping to get away from the hustle and bustle, and just be, for 30 minutes, and there stands an enormous weeping willow. It is beautiful in it's sadness. However, as I begin to try to find a way through it's lush green curtains, I see someone is already sitting underneath its branches. I can't tell who though. I leave them be and move to the other side of the tree, so as not to disturb them and leave them to themselves. I imagine this is where most students would come if they needed a moment to themselves in the insanity of high school.
I keep my ears open as I eat in silence, listening to the breeze move the long tresses of the willow, making sure that I do not miss when the bell rings to signal passing time for the next class. Algebra II is my next hour and whoever is up there, smite me now to save me from my future misery. Luckily for me, as much as I hate math, once I understand the basic principle of how to do an equation, it comes easily to me. The class goes by quickly, and as usual, I am the first one out the door and the first one into my last class of the day, halle-fuckin'-lujah. It's a class that I actually like, Military History. It's taught by one of the oldest teachers in the school, but it's not so bad. He's surprisingly pretty chill, but he's always monotone. I fall asleep in his class, but I always get my work done, so it's not really an issue. As I sit and wait for the bell to ring, I plan out my evening. I'll have to head back to my apartment on the shadier end of town, yes there's slums even in upstate New York. I have to feed Roxie, my pitbull mix. She's such a sweetheart, and a great guard dog. She was one of my dad's last presents to me before he passed. The other thing he gave me was his old Indian Scout motorcycle.
I remember when he first gave it to me he said,"Don't worry, you take care of it, and it'll take care of you. Also, it'll drive Marie batshit." I remember him saying that last part to me with such a shit-eating grin I couldn't help but laugh a little at his antics.
My dad and I always got along, but my mom(I just call her Marie now) and I, that was a different story entirely. She'd hit me when he wasn't around, and then give me make-up and tell me to cover it up before he got back. mountain roads. I could use the de-stress before I go to the gym to warm up for my fight tonight. The last year my dad was alive, he did the best thing he could possibly do. He signed my emancipation papers so that I could be away from my mom when he died. He had prostate cancer and it was already stage 3 when we found out.
I'm drawn out of my memories of my father by the bell ringing. I gather my bag and grab my leather jacket and my helmet from my locker. My leather jacket is black and the inside is lined with kevlar for safety reason, even though I'm one of the best drivers I know. My helmet is a full face helmet. It's patterning is almost like graffiti. A mixture of grey, black and white. I chose the helmet to match my motorcycle.
My bike sits where I left it and I can't help but sit for a minute and admire the beauty of it as a vehicle. It's all smooth lines and chrome. It took me forever to finish restoring it, with help from my dad, but now she runs smooth enough, she might as well be purring. Yes, I call it a she, and her name is Toothless.
I start my bike up and start putting my jacket and helmet on. First stop is home, I need to feed Roxie, take her for a walk, and grab my duffel bag for the gym. The Gym I go to is closest to where I live, but enough of a drive, it gives me just enough time to clear my head and get into the mindset I need to be to fight in the ring. Lord knows no one at that place fights clean, always bringing knives or some other shit into the ring. I can't afford to be distracted.