Chapter 2: The Hell of Scholastic Life

A day at school for Landon.

Sitting alone at lunch is one of the worst parts of my day.

I’m forced to share a fine meal, scrumptiously prepared by Fiona, with these cocky, ignorant and facetious people. Why must I spend time with people I cannot stand; I could easily go home and nap or read during this time? These people don’t even have interesting conversations.

D****t why must Fiona actually do s**t for this run down school? I’d rather enjoy spending time with her, her beautiful brunette hair, that flowery yet, Okay! Can’t do that anymore!

Off to the left I see one of the “jocks” laughing and talking s**t about the girl one of the pathetic losers banged the night before to all of his friends; laughing about it with no sense of decency.

Does he not care that she is standing right beside him. He's speaking of her as if she was his hired escort and how she begged for it. In my analysis, she was probably screaming for help. She seems so flustered and embarrassed by his stupidity.

Sadly I know her from one of my classes, poor girl. Her name is Victoria. She’s so sweet and to think she lost her virginity to that scum.

Awakening from my thoughts I look straight ahead under the shade of the tree grove and see the socially labeled “emo” kids grouped together.

These supposedly misunderstood and over-emotional a******s are the biggest hypocrites I know about.

They hate others because they don’t accept them for who they are; however, if you aren’t just like them, they don’t accept you either.

I would know, freshmen year I thought of joining their little brigade of black haired twigs; didn’t work out to say the least.

I wasn’t, oh, what was that phrase they used, oh, I wasn't “truly emotionally scarred.”

I would like to see which of them has the courage to ingest an entire bottle of pills or truly take that razor blade to their wrist with the intent of sweet death, not scars; scars to show to others as proof of their miserable existence.

In that group, I want to see whose life has truly hit the bottom of the dark pool of reality to the point of no return, when the cool blade cuts skin and frees that person from pain.

Guarantee not a single man or woman, not they aren't worth those words. The boys and girls in that little gathering have nothing close to a logical reason to consider themselves “truly emotionally scarred.”

I am an horrible b*****d, I know

In the final head turn to the right, I see a large collection of what society would call, “nerds”.

Probability would state that these people would be my friends. They are intelligent yes, but they lack something. They lack the ability to travel outside of their World of Warcraft subscriptions, where video games and comic books rule.

I know why they don't like me, I was brutally honest with them. I have a seriously bad habit of correcting people; it’s why they don’t talk with me anymore; I’ll just correct them and move on.

This is my school. This is my own personal hell that I sit through each day.

That is, until I see her walk by; the perfect woman in this hell; the diamond in the rough. She, being my complete opposite, is liked by all and accepted where ever she travels. Ah, how you are the girl I dream about, Fiona Rhyder.

Her every step, every breath and every thought is a glorious praise to the creator.She is perfect from every angle, and she is the only one that I have ever been able to talk openly with.

She catches my gaze, I don't pay attention but hear a small giggle.

I stand wavering in my usual honesty, with doubt; doubt of what she really thinks of me, and how someone so content could ever be friends with me.

“Hey Lanny what cha’ staring at?” Giggle.

Shocked by the sudden words spoken to me I fall to my demise. How the hell did she come upon me without my even noticing? I swear if I were Superman she’d be my kryptonite, well, you know, without the whole dying thing.

While offering a hand to help me up she continues to laugh at me, “Lanny you really can be a spaz sometimes you know? What happened to being so cool, calm and collect? Oh! And since I got you to the ground, point for me!” Giggle.

Where does she find the happiness that emanates from her?

Using the ever soft and smooth hands that belong to Fiona, I help myself up and ask, “How do you do it Fiona?”

“How do I do what mister?” What a quizzical look.

“How do you have enough patience to deal with me?” S**t, that’s not what I wanted to say.

“What do you mean? I love you Landon . . . You’re my best friend” God damn my luck. Shot through the heart with a word-shaped rocket.

“I know that,” I lie, “I just am amazed that you’re still here with me.” Why must I hide my true feelings and opinions from this beautiful woman?

“Landon, we’ve had this talk a thousand times.” She approaches and hugs me tightly, and for a split second, I feel entirely content.

“I’m sorry Fiona, I just…. I don’t know what was bothering me . . . can we forget I brought this up . . . again?” I knew damn well what was bothering me; myself. I wanted to tell this angelic being that I loved her, but how do you chance ruin a beautiful friendship?

“Of course,” What a smile, I’m melting away. “Let’s get going Lanny, it happens to be time for class. We had better get going soon else we will be late because of you, again!” She’s hiding something; she usually gives me crap for bringing something up; but what?

With the help of Fiona I get up, she's stronger than she looks. I'm standing, brushing myself off, when a rush of pain comes to my head.

Staggering, I look out ahead, and notice someone dressed in strange attire.

She's shorter, with spiky, dark black hair. Her eyes stare at me, with a look that could steal one's soul. Her stare isn't angry, nor is it gentle. She notices my stare and forms a small grin. I notice I'm staring and come to my senses.

Fiona's packing up my stuff, such a lovely woman.

The pain subsides and cautiously, I look back; she's gone.

Trying not to think of things too much, Fiona grabs my arm and we start our journey to class. That girl, she looked so familiar.

Walking to class with Fiona feels like walking on air. I so far have received around 20 looks from nearly every guy we walk past, her arm wrapped around mine. They must be thinking abominations towards me right about now.

What do I care? I have this beautiful girl hanging onto me, ever so close, oh, a scent of floral perfume, from Fiona? Didn’t I buy her that perfume?

She’s beautiful, kind, bubbly, and smells like the most glorious bouquet of roses; and she’s walking with me.

If time were to stand still, I would be the most excited man in the world. Too bad things never slow down enough for us to really take heed of the moment and enjoy it.

Only three classrooms more, no! Why must my time as king end! Fiona says hi to some of her girl-friends, she stalls us for a mere 5 seconds, I’m so thankful for that.

We continue on and finally stop in front of the large blue door. Stupid door, ending my time with Fiona. Upon entering the classroom, we simultaneously notice that our teacher is non-existent.

Oh s**t that’s right; I am supposed to be “teaching” this class today. Damn you Mrs. Rosaline Anderson; you and your adultery!

Fiona takes her seat, front row, middle column, right in front of me. Fiona turns to me and points to a note lying on the “teachers” desk. I unwillingly get up and walk to the desk, grab the note and read:

Dear Landon:

Thank you for this, I have a prior arrangement to attend to. Please just have the class finish their writings on the dystopian analysis of Fahrenheit 451. These will be due Monday, September 3^rd.

Thank you so much Landon,

Mrs. Rosaline Anderson

P.S. Fiona asked me to have you help me if I needed it!

Ok that’s easy I just have to tell them to fin-, Wait a second! Fiona! What’s her reason? Oh forget it, what's the point? She's on top of her game as always.

I turn as I hear Fiona giggling in the front row as she empties out her small blue Jan Sport backpack: Fahrenheit 451 and her already finished essay, 2 pencils, a single pen, one large eraser, and not to my surprise, my essay neatly printed and prepared to be turned in. I turn and walk towards the whiteboard, deciding I’d really rather not speak to these infinitesimal beings, I write the assignment on the whiteboard:

 “Finish Papers.”

‘Nuff Said.

“Hey smart-a*s, why the hell are you writing up there again? I do believe this is Anderson’s f****n' class,” I hear from behind. Charles McVallisin's narcissism is as active as ever.

The laughter of idiotic jocks rings in my ears.

Standing, trying my absolute best to hold back my anger I am struck in the back of the head by a small eraser.

I feel the mockery from all but one of the class. I feel the anger build within; that anger comprised of years of dealing with this annoying and petty tormenting. I hear the laughter and congrats he receives from his immature goonies.

“Do it again Chuck!” The cheers from the class are a dark stain against this already tainted school.

My hand slowly forms a fist, anger beats stronger every second. My body nearly overwhelmed by white-hot rage.

The sheer thought of attacking him causes my body to shake from resistance, the body begrudgingly obeying its master. The pain from the sudden surge of a headache causes me to cringe. My eyes shut tightly, I cannot do anything to continue this ridicule! I must never let them see my pain.

“Let me take care of them”. The voice in my head dribbles into the back of my mind. The voice frightens me. My face grows pale, my eyes wide with pupils the size of a pin-prick. Shock. The pain subsides, the pleasure from the thought of strangling him enchantingly beautiful. My hands slowly around his neck, the crunch of his esopha-

No!

I must ignore such violent outbursts, to not worry Fiona.

I say nothing.

I walk to my seat.

I sit.

I ignore the people looking at me.

I feel Fiona worrying from the front row.

I love her.