They Laugh At Tragedies

I walk to school every morning. It’s not fun, but it’s necessary. My dad likes to sleep until 1 to 2 P.M. I don’t own a car. So I walk. It’s not a long distance—as are the benefits of living in a pretty small town—but still. It would be nice to not have to get up earlier than most people just so I can make it on time.

I pull my jacket tighter around me and continue my trek down the rainy sidewalks until I hear a car horn honking. I turn around, seeing a car pull up next to me. The passenger door opens, and Marissa, the tiny girl from next door, gets out.

I force a smile onto my face, waiting for her to say something.

“Hey, Alexa! Wanna ride with me and Vince? I made him stop for you. I don’t think he noticed you…” she trails off, looking down. She seems to do that a lot. She looks back up at me, smiling. “Well?”

I shrug. “Sure.”

I walk to the car, stopping at the back door, opening it, and getting in.

“Hey, Vincent,” I greet him, faking another smile. He’s smoking a cigarette and staring at his sister expectantly.

She looks back at him, confused. “What?” she whispers, as if I can’t hear her. Idiot.

He gestures to the back seat with his head.

“What?” she asks again.

I see Vincent roll his eyes at me through the rearview mirror before he finally speaks. “Go sit in the back.”

“Why?” I hear Marissa ask dumbly. Then she looks at me and realization dawns upon her face. “Oh. Okay,” she says, opening her door and coming to the back of the car.

I get out and sit in the passenger seat. Vincent immediately starts driving. All I can really say about his driving is that it’s probably five times faster than a rollercoaster and ten times more precise than a calculator.

Vincent pulls up at the only middle school in our town. I stare at him before asking, “Vincent, you do know that this is E.S. Junior High, right?”

He only stares at me. Marissa speaks up while grabbing her bag. “Yeah, I’m actually not a freshman. I got that little bit of information wrong,” she says sheepishly.

How the hell can you get something like that wrong? “Oh… Um. Wow. That’s…” I trail off.

“Funny, right?” Marissa asks, giggling awkwardly before getting out of the car and closing the door delicately.

“Side-splitting,” I reply quietly even though she’s already up the steps and entering the school.

I hear Vincent’s low chuckle next to me and turn around, eyeing him warily. He adjusts his baseball cap and sticks his tongue out at me before driving towards our high school.

Prick.

* * *

It’s lunch time, and I’ve come to the terrifying conclusion that this is probably the most boring first day of school in my life.

My dismal entourage today consists of the school’s anime geeks, two annoying girls who get giggly at the mere mention of any anime hunk; the school’s resident stoner, I think his name is Jon or something; and Ahmed, a moody Arab guy who I know pretty much nothing about due to his insanely silent, morose demeanor.

Come to think of it, I have no idea why I’m sitting with any of these people. I guess it’s because I don’t have any set group of friends who I stick with for the whole year. It always changes. That’s probably my fault.

I stand up and glance around the cafeteria, deciding to sit outside today.

The weather’s pretty windy, which cheers me up a bit. I sit down on the school’s front steps and rummage through my bag, grabbing a can of Diet Coke out.

I sit there for a good deal of time, sipping from the can before spotting Vincent sitting with half of the guys from the park. I ponder the injustice of it all. Vincent just moved here, and he was able to make that many friends? He’s not even the social type! It just seems unfair. Not that I’d want that many friends. I’m fine on my own. I don’t need people. People are—

“Well, look who it is!” I hear that awfully familiar smooth voice and look up to meet Dante’s piercing grey-blue eyes.

I grin at him. Finally someone slightly worth talking to. “I didn’t know you went to E.S.” I tell him.

“Yeah, well.” He holds his hand out to me. “Come on,” he continues.

I look at him dumbly and say the smartest thing that comes to mind: “Huh?”

He chuckles and points to where Vincent’s sitting. “Come on,” he repeats.

I get up warily and follow him to the tree they’re all sitting under. As soon as we get there, Dante abandons me and sits with the same menacing-looking guy he was talking to yesterday. I roll my eyes. What was the point of asking me to sit with him?

I look around the group until my eyes land on that familiar baseball hat. Vincent’s staring at the clouds, holding a can of Dr. Pepper carelessly, a trail of smoke blowing from his nose.

Dork.

I walk up to him and plop myself down next to where he’s sitting. He seems to be shaken out of his reverie, because he’s not looking at the clouds anymore. Instead, he’s staring at me.

“Well, look who it is,” he grunts sardonically, placing his Dr. Pepper down on the grass. For a moment I get a flash of Dante saying those exact same words to me.

I point to his cigarette. “Why do all of you smoke? Is it, like, some kind of trend with you guys?” I ask, smirking derisively.

“Most of these guys have anger problems. Smoking calms them down,” he says, gesturing to the guys with his hand.

“What about you?” I ask. “Do you have…‘anger problems’?”

Vincent doesn’t reply. He shrugs instead and continues blowing smoke out at anything and everything.

I gaze at the grass quietly and spot a spider. Subconsciously, I grab it, tearing off its legs.

Ah, nostalgia.

Vincent stares at me.

I contemplate telling him about the therapist my dad makes me see every week.

“My dad makes me see a therapist every week 'cause he's an idiot. According to my therapist, I have anger problems, OCPD, mild ADHD, borderline personality disorder, and a bunch of other shit I tuned out. They’ll tell you anything to make you seem crazy. I say, fuck that.” I tell him all of this dismissively.

“Maybe you are crazy,” he says quietly, then, upon seeing my frown, continues, “I like that, though. Besides, you don’t seem borderline to me.” What does he know?

We don’t say anything else. For some reason, I enjoy talking to Vincent more than I would care to admit.

He takes off his baseball hat and puts it on backwards, giving me a goofy little grin.

He’s such an idiot.