Peter Pan and the Spiders From Mars

“Kay-Jell? Is it?” The lowly secretary looked up from the desk. She had a grey head of hair that was contortioned into a cotton candy-esque style.

“No,” I sighed, “it’s pronounced ‘shell’, you know? Like the ocean thing?” I mimed listening to a conch shell, but she didn’t seem amused. The secretary pursed her lips and handed me some papers.

“Okay, Kjell,” She said it empathetically, “Here is your class schedule, your locker number, and your combination. You can go right on ahead to your first class and I hope you have a great day. Welcome to St. Ursula’s!” She clapped her hands. I took step back in shock.

“What the...?” I swallowed nervously, “Um, okay. I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Come back soon! But not too soon!” I spun around and walked out of the school’s office, noticing the cross blatantly nailed above the door. Walking down the hallways, I caught on why the tuition was so high. The floors were pristine and the lockers covering the walls had been repainted and had shiny new lockers hanging on their handles. I didn't even know the color of the floors back at Middlesex High because there were always papers strewn over the ground and the actual cleaning occurred maybe once every three months. Not only that, but the lockers were rendered useless because so many Freshmen had been beaten into their steel doors.

I found a drinking fountain at the end of the hallway. I turned the dial and sure enough, it worked. This place was magical. My schedule told me that my first class was in A23. A23? Where the hell was that? The secretary had failed to give me a map, instead keeping me completely lost in this hell that bears workable drinking fountains. I wondered aimlessly around the school in search of amusement. But that’s when God decided to get in the way. Well, that’s what I get for entering a Catholic school.

Smack dab in front of me was a sign. One arrow pointed back to the office, another pointed left to the cafeteria, another to the “U” section of the building, and then, straight ahead, was the “A” section. I guess this was a sign from Heaven that I should go to class. I stormed past the sign and into the double doors that constituted the entrance for the building. Clutching my papers in my hand, I hesitantly opened the doors for A23 and took one step inside.

And took one step back out.

All over the walls were quotes by Shakespeare. On the blackboard, in delicate cursive, was the phrase, “literary features”, and stacked on each students desk was the Metamorphosis. Even in my desperation, I could see that it was an English class, my mortal enemy.

English to me was the Devil. It, quite literally, is the scourge of the underworld. In my last English class, at Middlesex High, were slogged through idiotic novels like 1984 and The Prophet. Do authors not understand that their underlying messages just aren’t entertaining? When I read a book, I don’t want to be smacked in the face with the idea of existentialism or with the concept of global media crisis. I just want an entertaining book. The kind where I’m not left with a tingling sense of worry that Earth really is in the shitter.

Hoping that they hadn’t seen me, I marched back out of the building and tried to find a decent place to relax. But with the crosses hanging everywhere, it was difficult to sit down and close my eyes. The bell rang, signaling the end of first period. Bodies spewed out of the doors and headed towards their new classes. I thought of Debbie.

My guilt conscious weighed down when I thought of my foster mother. Sure, I didn’t love her or even consider her a mother, but she at least cared for me. Debbie always had a look of disappointment and worry whenever I had gotten myself into trouble. Brent just looked angry. That’s why I had resorted to doing my activities at night. So I wouldn’t have to see those fucking faces. Begrudgingly, I glanced down at my schedule and headed to my next class. Debbie had better make me some lemonade for what I’m doing for her.

Mrs. Rochioli’s classroom was at the end of the hallway and the students who were sifting through the doorway had a glazed over look in their eye. Not a good sign. Students slumped down at their stools underneath at the lab counters. Microscopes and a chart of the periodic tables were at each station. Hesitantly, I took a seat at the back. Mrs. Rochioli stepped into the classroom.

And boy was she a teapot of a woman.

Barely five three, Mrs. Rochioli spoke out in a mousy voice, but I was pretty sure she was yelling. She tried to maintain order in the classroom, because, you know, bored teenagers are so hard to handle, but seemed to actually fail. Eventually, she came up to me at the back of the classroom, having each student glance back at me with disinterest.

“Sweetheart, would you introduce yourself at the front of the class?” Mrs. Rochioli whispered. I sneered at the thought, but nodded my head. I slipped off the stool and stomped to the front of the room, Mrs. Rochioli following me. “Class. Class!”, she yelled, “please welcome Kay-Jell.” I twitched and turned to correct her.

But there, sitting in the middle of the classroom, was a boy. A boy so devilishly handsome that my voice caught in my throat. He was slumped at his counter, his bark brown eyes pressing me down to the floor in scrutiny. Caramel hair that made my mouth water was coated like frosting and his skin was so rich that I wanted to reach over and lick his cheek. He was like Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory, except human. Oh sweet God, you are a funny one.

“Kay-Jell?” Mrs. Rochioli placed a hand on my shoulder, noticing that I was lost in a reverie of delicious red apples and chocolate boys. I twitched in annoyance at the mispronunciation, but I was distracted once again. The same boy looked me over, his eyes melting into fudge, before staring straight back at me. I squirmed under his gaze. Electric shocks swarmed through my body at the mere thought of me in his mind.

I gasped. Took a step back.

The boy stood up, still staring back at me, and walked away from the lab counter. His thundering steps carried him slowly to the front of the classroom. He was coming towards me.

“Thomas?” Mrs. Rochioli looked at the boy in confusion. I gasped again at the sound of his name. It was so perfect. Thomas reached out and slipped his hand into mine. I trembled at his contact, not knowing how such a god could be in my presence. Thomas leaned in further, making our chests connect. I barely made it up to his shoulder. He wrapped one strong arm around my back and began leading me out of the classroom. Somehow knowing that I wasn’t coming back, I turned to Mrs. Rochioli.

“It’s Kjell.”

Thomas tore at my lips, letting a small bit of blood drip from the corner of my mouth. I tangled my fingers in his hair as he led me down the hallway away from Mrs. Rochioli’s classroom. I stumbled my way because Thomas was pushing me, leading me backwards. He had his arm so closely wrapped around my waist that my ribs were digging into my liver and kidneys. I tried desperately to get closer to him, to lay against his spine. Thomas dug further, eating at my ravished neck and ears. My chest pounded for air.

My back hit a wall, but Thomas pushed against it, opening a door that led to the boys bathroom. My thick boot slipped against the slick tile, but because Thomas was grasping onto me so tightly, my lack of balance didn’t inhibit our actions. Clawing at my skirt, Thomas shoved us into the last stall in the bathroom. My back was pressed against the toilet paper dispenser and Thomas’ hands roamed my stomach.

Taking action, I hurriedly reached up to his collar, feeling my way to the shirt buttons. I ripped them apart, some flying into my face because of my ferocity. Thomas got the message and helped me pull off his shirt. When his was gone, he began with mine. Without resistance, I rested my hands against his bare chest, leaning my forehead on his while he concentrated on each individual button. My lips felt bruised and I grew impatient as each button was undone. Thomas was taking care. When he unfastened the last one, I flung my shirt off, tossing it onto his own discarded one, and pressed myself closer to him. Thomas nipped at my neck. I stroked at his back, traveling downward until I reached his belt. I followed the leather delicately until I reached the buckle.

“NO!” Thomas pulled back, grabbing my hands. His palms could wrap around my wrist two fold. My mouth dropped at his outburst. Rejection shuddered through my body. I stood here, exposed to this boy I barely knew and he just threw me away. But I wanted him so much. Tears poked at the edges of my eyes.

Thomas leaned against the other wall, the window behind him streaming light from the bright morning sun. The illumination only made his caramel hair seem milky and seductive. His skin glimmered vanilla and I was so tempted to disobey his order and take a bite out of his shoulder. Thomas looked up at me from his spot of disappointment. Once again, I was astounded by the incredible nature of this boy. His grip on my wrist evolved into a delicate grasp of my hand. He pulled me closer, smiling.

If he were an evil old witch, I would be so screwed.

“Later.” He whispered in my ear. “Later.” I smiled at his words. They implied that I would see him again. And again. And again. I heard the faintest of noises and glanced up at the window sill above us. There, sitting and clapping with hands smaller than my pinky nail, were two faeries. One boy and one girl. And they were made entirely out of glass.

I gasped. The sun beamed right through them, displaying their rosy tint and the glossiness of their form. I had never seen faeries more than once in a day. And I had never seen more than one at a time.

“What is it?” Thomas poked his head up from my neck.

“There’s a...” I pointed up to the window sill, but bit back on my words. The two faeries looked at me coyly, their giggles clinking like silverware. The boy tucked his arm around her waist and drew her back into him, kissing her on the cheek. I swallowed nervously. I glanced back at Thomas who was watching me with patient eyes.

“Thomas?” It felt so right to say his name.

“Yeah?” He smiled.

“What’s your last name?” Thomas laughed, my heart aching with self pity. There was no way I was here now.

“Well, I guess we should get to know each other after what we just did. It’s Trovatelli. You?” I was mesmerized by his phrasing. I looked down at his shoes. Loafers. That explains it.

“Miller.” I gulped. He nodded. “I’m, ah, new here.”

“I gathered. Or else we might have done this sooner.” Thomas placed a warm palm on my bare shoulder. Then, seeming to realize that we were both shirtless, his cheeks turned pink. “Um, we might want to get back to class.”

“No!” Now it was my turn to protest. When he turned to push off the wall, I pushed him back down.

“I want to know...” I racked my brain for something to say, “about your life?” It was the first thing that I could think of. But Thomas grinned. I looked down in embarrassment. God, I was an idiot. Thomas cleared his throat as if he about to began a magical tale of mystery and wonder.

“Okay,” Thomas shifted his weight, his arm still crossed around my back, “I’m Italian. And that pretty much explains everything.”

“What? Like the Sopranos?”

“No, just my family lives in an alarmingly stereotypical dynamic. I have a lot of brothers and sisters. We have a huge family. And we own a restaurant.”

“Wow”, I mimed surprise, “that was a fantastic story in which you revealed absolutely nothing about yourself.”

Thomas shrugged his shoulders.

“I bet you’re going to be Valedictorian. You seem almost too perfect. There must be something wrong with you, like you’re secretly boring or something.”

“I,” Thomas narrowed his eyes at me, “am not boring.”

“Mhm,” I continued, trying to get a rise out of him, “you are. And once you get into your Ivy League college, you’ll be happy. But when you graduate, you’ll have nothing to live for.”

Thomas quickly let go of me and bent down to pick up his shirt. He jerkily slipped on the sleeves and was about to leave the stall, but I stepped in front of him, blocking his escape. Thomas glared down at me, his eyes oaken, and his mouth tight lipped. I knew I had gone too far. I stepped back, my skin touching the door when Thomas placed both hands on either side of my face.

“Look, Kjell, I’m half Sicilian. Do you know what they’re known for?”

“Their amazingly good looks?” He wasn’t amused.

“Their short temper. And when people joke around, I don’t find it very funny. Not when it’s insulting at least.” I cowered under his gaze. “I don’t just go around grabbing the first girl I see and lead her on. This is serious, Kjell. I’m serious.” Thomas licked his thumb and wiped away the dried blood on my chin. The anger seemed to subside, but his words were reminiscent of a year long relationship. This was the first day. We were supposed to be serious? I nodded my head, knowing.

I was supposed to be here.