The Rainer-On-Parader

A Story by Jenn

Hooray for cynics.

The Rainer-On-Parader

        "Oh God. It's the tests."
        Ms. Campton gathers the stack of papers on her desk, the shuffle somehow menacing in an odd sort of way.
        "I flunked it. I know it. I flunked it and I just know it."
        I bury my face into my arms, anticipating a giant F accented with that red Sharpie I know far too well. Ineptitude isn't much of a stranger to me, since it's not like I don't deserve to fail. Let's just say that when I should have been dedicating all my heart to the wonders of binomial expansion, it was just me and Guitar Hero and at least half a dozen Red Bulls.
        "Oh, Aiden!" Ellington giggles, gently slapping my shoulder as if we were the closest of chums. She flashes her signature Colgate ad smile. "Don't be so pessimistic!"
        I slightly twitch.
        Don't be so pessimistic? Don't be so pessimistic?
        You know, I take much pride in my abilities as a rainer-on-parader, and it genuinely hurts when my work is not well received. It exerts much more energy one could imagine to be constantly putting people down and plowing over all the precious, little optimists who dare to scamper in my way. And it's pretty exhausting to slap some sense in these precious, little scamperers, especially when you meet the epitome of everything you can't stand.
        Nancy Ellington. Where to start. The girl infamous for dotting her i's with disgusting little hearts, claiming each heart represents how we're all perceived through her eyes � "unique and valuable in our own special ways." The girl who has not even a drop of caffeine in her system, yet prances to class every 7 AM while the rest of us remain barely conscious, coffee pumping through our veins. The girl who propagates and taints the youth of America with her trail of tacky glitters and smiles, dishing out crap left to right, with encouraging words that amount to nothing.
        My mental tangent shatters as Ms. Campton places a Scantron onto my desk. I hold my breath.
        "Oh." Wry smile. "Well why don't you look at that. Fifty-nine percent. How beautiful. Oh wait � but that's not all. One teensy percent away from passing." The Scantron crumples in my hand. "Ain't life just lovely."
        And here comes Ellington to uplift my mood.
        "Aww, Aiden!" she squeals, drowning me in her unwanted sympathy. It's difficult to disguise my cringe. "You were so close! That's okay though, I know you're capable of succeeding. Remember, if you believe, you can achieve!"
        Nancy Ellington: a broken ATM only capable of spitting out over-chewed clich�s.
        She tosses back her perfect blonde ringlets."I deeply feel for you Aiden, but I'm confident that I aced this!"
        "Oh?" I say. "Well I wouldn't be so optimistic. Y'know, when you have such high expectations, it just makes it easier to be disappointed."
        She flicks my heed away as if it were some bothersome mosquito. How ignorant. She doesn't realize that by clogging your head with pretentious dreams, you just mislead yourself into believing in some sort of hoax. Being optimistic solves nothing. What's the point of hoping for the best when you're just making the way back down that much farther?
        A conspiracy begins taking root in my mind.
        I flash Ryan an urgent expression, beckoning my head in the most casual yet you-better-get-your-butt-over-or-else-I'll-expose-those-embarrassing-photos-of-you-at-Kevin's-party-two-years-ago-which-I-accidentally-deleted-one-day-when-I-was-going-through-my-memory-card-but-still-hold-against-you-as-decent-blackmail way possible. He takes a stroll to the pencil sharpener, deciding to drop by my desk on the way. I grab the drawstrings of his hoodie, hissing, "I've got a plan. You be the bait." I shove him away just as Ms. Campton turns a suspicious gaze towards the two of us.
        "Hey, Elling � um... Nancy." She twirls toward me with a curious glance, nearly slapping me with her curls. I shudder. Smells like baking apple pie at Grammie's. Disgusting.
        "Well, I think you should go comfort Ryan over there," I coo. "He seems pretty upset over his grade. Maybe you should, I don't know, cheer him up a bit."
        Ellington's face illuminates at the thought of impacting someone's life for the better. She bolts away.
        Alright, now that the victim's occupied, time to commence part B.
        Think Aiden, think. Whose handwriting kind of resembles Ellington's? Well, of course, nobody could ever perfectly embody Ellington's nauseating scripture, but there's got to be something close. My eyes lock onto a moussy-brown-haired girl.
        Ah, of course. Jenna.
        "Hey Jen, come over here, will ya? Did you bomb?"
        She shrugs casually, holding up her Scantron. "Nah, not really. Got a B-minus. Not bad." Oh, but to Ellington? Her entire world would collapse into ruins at the sight of such a grade.
        "Erase your name and put Ellington's � quick. Make it look like she wrote it."
        Jenna showcases an amused smirk, but decides against questioning my intentions. This probably doesn't come to any surprise to her � she's used to my shenanigans by now.
        "Dude, you forgot to dot the i with a heart!" I cry as Jenna hands me the counterfeit Scantron.
        She laughs and mutters, "Oh, how could I forget," and artfully sketches away.
        I dispose of Ellington's real Scantron and slap down the forged one onto her desk. Adrenaline and a twisted sense of entertainment rushes over me. Now, we play the waiting game.
        Ellington's Jimmy Choos clink against the tiling, a rhythmic, steady pulse. I watch as she strolls closer and closer to the desk beside me, and I find myself unable to conceal a sinister grin. She spots the test and her pace instantly quickens and she whisks up the Scantron in a frenzy, her eyes scurrying over the jungle of empty and scribbled-in bubbles. At last she spots the red Sharpie and �
        I hear the shatter.
        "So Nancy," I say, malice seemingly dripping off my words. "How'd you do on the test?"
        You know, I take much pride in my abilities as a rainer-on-parader. And I've got to say. Nothing, absolutely nothing, feels quite as rewarding.