Two

When I went to English class, she wasn’t there. Hugo did attendance, and paused after saying Ruth’s name, but there was silence. It wasn’t surprising; Ruth often skipped classes to smoke or toke or just leave or whatever, but today was different. I don’t know why. I guess I just missed her. If you can even miss something you don’t have. I don’t even know her.

After class ended, Chris met me by my locker with his customary greeting: “Got a smoke?”

On this rare occasion, I did, and I handed him a Belmont. He grinned, and put it behind his ear, making it invisible behind his Jew-fro. “Got a light?” I handed him my lighter. He shoved it in his pocket and smiled at something behind me. I turned around and saw our friend Trina coming towards us.

“Hey.” I said.

“Hey.” She nodded at Chris and me. “You got anything on you?”

I shook my head; I had nothing at the moment. She sighed and looked down. “I hear you promised some to Ruth.” Chris looked at me. “You promised some to Ruth!? How much?”

I frowned. “What’s it to either of you? Yeah, I did. 1.5. Tomorrow. How did you hear anyway?” This last question was directed to Trina.

She blushed. “Oh. I just heard it somewhere.” She said vaguely, and waved her hand away from herself. “Let’s all of us blaze tomorrow, right?”

“All of us?” I asked.

“You know. You, me, Chris, Stitches, Baby, Adrian, Karina... We could ask Ruth if you want.” She looked at me expectantly. I sighed, and chose to ignore the last comment.

“Fine. I’ll provide. But you a******s better pay me back this time. We’ll meet by the tree, as always.”

“Are you gonna bring Ashley?” Ashley was the name we gave my bong. I grinned. “Of course.” Then I realized that I was late for class. “Oh, damn. Guys, I have to go; I’m late for physics.” I waved a quick goodbye and tore off running to the third floor. The door was open. A good sign. I could hear Mr Redd talking about something, and he had his back to the class. I stuck my head in the door, and made eye contact with Stitches, who was in my class.

A short bit of information about Stitches:

His real name is Sidney Rosen. We called him Stitches because when we were younger, he’d always be getting into scrapes and so forth. Anyway, so one time he cut his arm up pretty bad. This kid was always sort of a dumbass, but even more so in seventh grade, which is why instead of going to his mom so she could take him to the doctor like a normal kid, he decided to fix it himself. Obviously, that didn’t go over too well. He took his mom’s sewing kit, threaded a needle, bled all over his bed sheets, and tried to stitch himself together. He called me crying that his arm was burning, and when I came over (he lives across the street from me), I freaked and called my mom over. We took him to the hospital. The nurse in the emergency room had a laughing fit. She called another nurse, who called the doctor and they were all in hysterics, laughing at the poor little Sidney with stitches in his arm, crying his eyes out with his best friend by his side. They gave him an ice pack and some painkillers and told him to wait. When it was his turn, the nurse called out “Stitches?” and he came running towards her, holding his arm out for the shocked emergency room to see.

And that’s how the nickname happened. My mom started calling him that first, then I started, and eventually it caught on. He didn’t mind. In the end, he got actual stitches and that’s all that really mattered.

Anyway.

Stitches then gave me the signal we devised long ago, to demonstrate that the coast was clear:  a thumbs-up (I didn’t say it was a particularly original or creative signal), and I crept into the classroom using stealth skills that can only be described as ninja-like. Unfortunately, at the last minute, I was distracted by the sight of Baby Rabinowitz’s magnificent chest, and I crashed very hard into a chair that had been placed most inconveniently in the middle of the room.

“Mr Kieselstein?”

“Mr Redd?” I answered, sucking in the screams of pain that would have been issuing from my mouth and rubbing my injured leg.

He pushed his glasses up his nose, and narrowed his eyes at me. Not a good sign.

The way I see it, life is easily divided into two categories: Good and Bad. For example:

 Baby Rabinowitz is wearing a white tank top: Good.

I failed my math test: Bad.

Some things can seem Good or Bad but will actually end up being the other. For example, the world ending might seem like a Bad thing, but when you think about it, you no longer have to do:

-          Homework.

-          Chores.

-          Life.

And so it is obviously a Good thing. You just have to be more positive about things (Said the boy with the pains shooting up and down his left leg).

Mr Redd looked at me and rubbed his temples. “Sit down, Kieselstein, and don’t let me catch you trying to sneak into my classroom again. This is Physics, not Ninja Training. Not that you have the aptitude to do either of those things.” He added under his breath.

“What’s that, sir?” I called out cheerfully.

“Nothing. Sit down. Open your book to page 473 and read, Kieselstein. And I don’t want to hear another word come out of your mouth until that bell rings and signifies the end of your time in my class.”

I sat down beside Stitches and opened my book to page 473, but I didn’t read. Instead, I thought about Ruth and Trina and Chris and how I was going to get enough weed for everybody by tomorrow.

Reviews

[Marquise]

This is Physics, not Ninja Training HA!!!

ver clever writing young lady.. the finish should be interesting...