American Royalty

"What were you doing talking to Dallas King?" I looked up, pulled out of my daze, to stare into the questioning eyes of Samson. I felt small in comparison to him, and everyone else around me, and slowly stepped to the side, pressing myself against the lockers.

"To who?" I questioned confused. My disorientation was either from lack of sleep, or the drugs I was on. Or maybe even both.

Samson shook his head, here but not really here. I could see the faraway look in his eyes. "Never mind." For some reason, Dallas King sounded familiar and not because he'd just insulted me in front of the whole school, because of something else, something important. "What are you on?"

Dismissing my thoughts on the 'king of the school', I responded coolly, "I fired up in the girl's bathroom." My eyes fell on Andrea Young as she breezed by to catch up to Dallas King. I rolled my eyes at the two. The school was a walking stereotype. Everyone conformed to a label. I'll admit even I did. I was the habitual druggie. Everyone knew that. "You can go to class," I told Sam as I turned to look at him. His hazel eyes were full of concern.

"What about you?" he asked, the question anticipated. He was always looking out for me. He took overprotective to a new high, and as much as he disapproved of my lifestyle, he never once ridiculed it.

"I'll be in the lunchroom, I'm hungry." It was the half-truth, and Samson didn't ate it up (no pun intended), nodding his head and making his way to English. I waited till his body disappeared in the midst of people before heading towards the lunchroom. I wasn't particularly hungry, but I had the munchies.

The crowd of students that had gathered in the lunchroom to socialize dispersed as classes began and I found a table in the corner of the cafeteria next to a vending machine, chowing down on a bag of Chex Mix. The cafeteria was relatively empty now except for the few stragglers. There was a group of girls sitting at a table across the room gossiping, and a few outcasts at their own table mumbling incoherently. I was the only one that was sitting alone.

After a few minutes of silent eating, I retrieved a crumpled dollar from my bag, and decided to get a drink. Standing up, I crossed over to the vending machine, and attempted to get the machine to eat my dollar. After my seventh try, it was finally flat enough to go in. I stared at my options for a long time before deciding, oblivious to the person beside me who was wrestling with the snack machine.

After I got my drink, I went back to my seat, staring at the new kid's back as he stared at the vending machine where his bag of chips was stuck. I choked back a laugh, and decided to help him, getting up, and knocking him out of the way as I did so. I swiftly kicked the side of the machine and watched as the bag of chips fell into the receptacle, and then sat back down.

He got his chips, and then turned to look at me. I tried to remain oblivious to his staring but it was a bit hard. "Thanks," he said in a tone that was congested. "I'm Toby Szekely." He was holding his hand out to me but after a moment of staring at it, he returned to his side. From his suspenders to his thick glasses, it was plain to see what stereotype he was, and what friends he would have.

"Cooper Motley," I answered finally. As I sized him up, I noticed his nose was tinged blue as though someone had knocked him out, and his lip was busted. I could see he was a bit shaken up too. I wanted to ask him if he was okay, but I couldn't find the compassion in me to do so.

He pushed his glasses up onto his nose, wincing a bit. "Like the Mötley Crüe?"

I smirked. "Of no relation." He stood there awkwardly, and I slowly retrieved a handful of chips from my bag, and dropped them into my gaping mouth. Taking the hint, he turned to leave but I stopped.

"Hey!" I called and he turned around. I gestured to the bench across from me with my head. "Sit down." He inched back to my table, and slid onto the bench across from me, readjusting his glasses again, and then pulling open his bag of chips.

I watched his movements uncaring to the fact it was rude to stare, and noted how nervous he was. "Chill, relax dude, Jeeze," I found myself saying before I could halt my motor.

He laughed abruptly, and then murmured, "Sorry."

"Don't apologize, just lighten up. I'm not going to rape you or something." He took a deep breath, looking flushed and shaken up, and then placed a Dorito in his mouth, emitting a loud crunch when he began to chew.

When he was finished chewing, he leaned in close to me, and asked, "So are you really a, uhm, a…."

"Druggie?" I questioned with a laugh. "I guess you saw Dallas' little show, huh? Well, yeah, kinda, sorta, I guess you could say that."

Toby looked down at the table, messing with his hands in his lap, and asked, "Why?"

"Have you ever done drugs?" I asked although I knew the answer. Toby shook his head no. "Then you really wouldn't understand."

Toby looked up smugly. "I'm pretty smart."

"I was too," I responded wistfully. "Once."

"Can I ask you something?" I waited for him to continue. "Can we be friends?"

I chuckled inconclusively. "Why would you want to be my friend?"

Toby avoided my gaze as he answered, "Because you're the first person that's been nice to me."

"Well, I'll have to check and see if there are any open slots in my clique," I said with a laugh. Toby laughed too, and it was one of those rare moments of unity, fleeting at that. The bell sounded, and Toby scrambled to his feet, knocking over his bag of chips.

"I have class."

I nodded my head, and gave him a weak smile. "Yeah, you should probably go to that, Spazzy."

He seemed virtually unfazed by my nickname. If anything he seemed more nervous than insulted. "Can I…can I eat lunch with you?"

"Sure, whatever…sure. It's a date," I watched Toby's expression change, and resisted giving into my laughter as he cheeks lit up and he nodded his head earnestly before running off to class, and I sat there for a moment, deciding what I wanted to do next, before getting up, and throwing away my trash. I still had a little weed left, and I figured I'd smoke that, and then get to History class.

The dumpsters was where I usually did most of my lighting up, it was the renowned druggie corner, and while I hated clichés I still had to stick to them. The school would be in chaos if I didn't, if any of us didn't.

"What are you doing?" Looking up from the ground, I caught and held the gaze of the Student Body President, Jesse Mendonça.

"What does it look like?' I asked as I inhaled the blunt and blew the puff towards him. He visibly stiffened, and I could tell he wanted to move away or swat at the air, or both, but he didn't.

He stared at me for a long time, and under the haziness of the drugs was another feeling, one that felt foreign, and made my skin crawl. "Put it out," he said at last, and I snorted unattractively.

"Yeah right, you know how expensive this shit is right here? Worth more than your life. And mine. Put together." Jesse still didn't seem to care for he plucked the blunt right out from between my fingers, and stubbed it against the dumpster, chucking it inside when it was dead.

I stared at him with my mouth slightly ajar, feeling the last of the weed escape in a small puff between my lips. Jesse didn't say anything, but instead pulled a detention slip off his pad, and pressed it into the palm of my hand. "For smoking on school grounds," he said stepping back to leave. "You're lucky I don't send you to the Principal's office for the illegal substance."

He walked away before I could muster a snarky remark, and I watched his form dissipate between the lackluster buildings of the school. Angrily, I crumpled the detention slip and tossed it into the trash behind my blunt.