Someone out There Loves You

"FUCK."
My alarm clock had failed me. Again. I had exactly fifteen minutes to make myself decent and run two blocks to school.
I jumped up and scanned the room for clothes. Tshirt? Okay, stank of B.O. I grabbed a can of air freshener and turned sweat smell into “Citrus Medly.” Jeans. Underneath clothes. Okay, dressed.
Three minutes used.
I ran into the bathroom. Oh God, the grease on my face would put McDonald’s to shame. I rushed the rest of my cosmetic tasks. Eh, good enough.
Don’t forget, Clayah.
RIGHT.
I shook a red and white pill onto my hand from it’s home in an orange Walgreen’s bottle. I was born with a really bad heart disease. The doctor’s couldn’t really figure it out. After trial and error (very unpleasant error_ they finally found a medication that would at least make it bearable and keep me alive. As far as a cure…pending.
Eight more minutes used.
I shoved my feet into my Vans and grabbed my backpack. Mom and Dad had already left for work, so a ride was out of the question.
I’m not exactly in excellent shape. Not fat, but not thin. (I do confess, I have stretch marks. Why I don’t know. Probably because God hates me.) But when adrenaline is coursing through your veins, you’d be surprised how fast you can run.
How long you can run, however, varies.
My watch told me a block and two wheezing lungs later that I had eight minutes to get into school, to my locker, and to History. I was screwed. Whatever. I’ll fast walk.

Finally I made it too my locker and spun the combo lock. The bell rang, laughing at me.
“Oh, bite me,” I mumbled to myself.
“Well well well, if it isn’t Shit Shier. Talking to yourself again?” Chuckles followed.
DAMMIT. Last thing I needed.
“Morning, Darren,” I spat.
Darren Wilcox. School bully. At the moment flanked by his dumbass following of football players. He fit all the cliches-- tall, strong, quaterback of the football team, leather jacket. And his gorilla brain didn’t give a shit about gender. He’d beat up anyone he didn’t like. Mostly freshman.
I fit both categories.
“So emo kid,” he said. He grabbed me shoulders and spun around, slamming my back into the lockers. “Since you’re late for class--again-- I think you need to learn a little lesson about being on time.” Darren cracked his knuckles. “What level of beating should it be?”
I took a look at his disciples of the day. Chuck Brown, Bill Gredge, and Ronnie Lang. Three more jocks who enjoyed causing me pain, which was easy considering their immense strength and Neanderthal attitudes. Joy.
“You know, Darren,” I said snidely. “I noticed you’re not in class either. Maybe you need a punctuality lesson.”
Darren’s face went blank. Silly me for using “big words.”
He shook his head and narrowed his eyes.
“Smartass today, are we? Guess we need to pound some sense into you.”
Chuck and Bill lunged forward, grabbing me by my upper arms. Ronnie grabbed my shoulder length hair and balled it into his fist.
“Let’s add a little color to your pale face, goth girl,” Darren grinned. He pulled his fist back…
How I loved Barrington High.

I opened the classroom door quietly. Mr. Hendricks stopped mid-lecture and turned to see me. A look of disapproval set on his face.
“Clayah,” he said coldly. “Thank you so much for joining us. Do you have a pass?”
I looked at my feet.
“Very well then. Sit.”
Dragging my backpack behind me I plopped into my seat. OW. Okay, plopping was a bad idea.
I could hardly hear Mr. Hendrick’s talking. All my brain could register were the bruises in the shapes of kneecaps forming on my stomach and a nice black eye making itself known on my face.
I had been in high school for three and a half months. And fuck, did I hate it.
Barrington was a suburbia outside of Chicago. Barrington High was it’s small slice of hell. And when you live in suburbia, have black hair, pale skin, skinny jeans, like punk music, and most other “emo” stereotypes you can think of, you get beaten to a pulp pretty often.
The only relief I could find was Rush and Ruin. My band. My jobs were vocals and being the baby of the group. A couple of the guys were already out of high school. It wasn’t weird, though. Our ages varied but we were all still tight friends. And what we had in common included being outcasts.

The rest of the school day was the same as always. Detention, spit balls, constant shit talk because people apparently think I’m deaf. Lunch was the only breath of air.
“Holy hell, Clayah, you look like shit.”
“Thanks Drew, that makes me feel so much better.”
Drew Bryant. A rawsome drummer, a sophomore, and the only other girl in the band besides me.
She frowned at me. “Darren give you shit again?” I nodded.
“Who was flocking him this time?”
“Ronnie, Chuck, and Bill.”
“…Ouch.”
“No shit.”
“Hey ho hey, how goes it, all?” Mark slid in next to me. Mark was a junior, and my best friend since I was in the third grade. We met when he and his family moved into the house behind us. Years later, he played lead guitar in R&R.
Mark took a good look at me, raising his eyebrows. “Dude, Clayah--”
“Yeah I know.”
“You know,” Drew said, “You should really tell someone about that.”
“You know that won’t do any good,” I said. “Besides, everyone knows he’s punching my lights out, and voicing it will just make it worse.”
Mark shrugged in Drew’s direction. “She’s got a point.”
“So Shit Shier’s making sense.”
Drew rolled her eyes. “You know, Madison, you really need a better hobby then you’re boyfriend.”
Madison sneered at her. She was Darren’s girlfriend, and an aspiring “actress.” But everyone knew the only acting she could actually do was acting like a bitch. Right now she had decided to stop by our tables and give me shit as she made her way to her posse.
“Yeah, seriously Madison,” Mark said, “Piss off.”
“Protecting your girlfriend, are you, Demia?” Madison giggled.
“I am not his girlfriend, and you really need to cut that out.” I had just yelled. Little intense there.
Madison sniffed. “They call you emo for a reason.” She turned and stalked off.
“THAT’S IT.” Now I was screaming. Madison turned around again, wearing an “I dare you to mess with me” face. There’s a dare I would take.
“Call me emo one more fucking time, and I will ever so gladly kick your ass.”
She grinned and walked up to me. Her nose was inches from mine, and I gagged on her overkill Abercrombie & Fitch stench.
“Emo girl,” she snarled.
I grinned back at her. “Let me take a leaf from your boyfriend’s page.”
I turned slowly toward the table and grabbed my lunch tray, dumping the wrapped hamburger off of it. Then I took a step back and swung it to hit Madison across the face.
The whole lunch room went silent as Madison held her cheek and gawked at me. I was terrified. I was so dead. (Teachers didn’t fucking care about anything that happened at lunch, because they thought of it as their vacation, so they weren’t a problem.) But I was so goddamn exhilarated.
“You…you… you… BITCH.” Other than that, Madison had no comeback. She ran out of the lunchroom., probably to find Darren and tattle on me. I was getting my ass kicked later, but this time it was worth it.
As soon as I sat down the lunchroom went back to it’s normal buzz. Mark and Drew stared at me in wonder.
“In the words of our idols,” Mark said. “Three cheers for sweet revenge.”