Cemetery boy

School. I force myself to go, who am I kidding? If I skip, as I was originally planning to do, then I’ll just be stuck at home all day watching Oprah. I always hate first day, if not, just for the pathetic new kids who seem to get it in their head that if I’m sitting by myself that I must be lonely and in need of a friend. They never stop to consider the fact that I just like my own company over pathetic whiney teenagers.

First lesson: Math.

I’m in my normal seat by myself at the back of the classroom throwing pencils at the fat kid in front of me. I don’t notice when one of the new kids walks in ands starts talking to the teacher. I don’t even notice when they start walking towards me, but I do, however, notice when they sit next to me.

“This seat is taken,” I say without looking up from my pencil neatly aimed at Gerard Ways's oversized backside.

“I expect that the exception is for stalker, is it not?” That voice. My head snaps up in a second to see the boy from yesterday, the weirdo from the cemetery.

“What the folk?” I could nearly kick myself, my voice was so star struck it made me seem pathetic remembering a random kid I should have forgotten.

He smiles, “As much as I’d like to say meeting you here was due to my brilliant stalkerish abilities I can assure you that it was merely left to pure chance.”

I had a very attractive “What the hell?” expression on with my mouth gapping open like an idiot. I couldn’t believe this. He was wearing flamboyantly coloured clothing including unnecessarily tight pants that were...surprisingly distracting. It made me look more out of place then usual with my completely pitch black clothing.

He smiled again and took out his textbooks. I needed to stop staring at him, I turned to the front of the classroom where the teacher began doing a series of sums on the board that made no sense and quite frankly looked like jumbled up squiggly lines. I groan loudly, were we really going to need to use this in real life? A few members of the class turn around to glare at me for being disruptive; I poke my tongue out at them. It’s quite a nice feeling acting like a 5 year-old sometimes.

When the hell are we meant to know Em=WTF anyway?

The teacher turns to glare at me for messing up her lesson and I gave her a sarcastic wave,
“Mr Ross, may I please to talk to you outside please?”

“No sorry miss I’m busy doing my work...I’m afraid you’re distracting me.” I give her another smile...she doesn’t return it. Instead she said in what I think was meant to be a threatening voice

“Outside. Now.” Brendon stared at me as I finally rolled my eyes and got up. I didn’t look at him back. Mrs. Tunic leads me to the hallway outside the classroom, “Look Ryan, I know you’ve been through a lot this summer, but you really need to...go back to focusing on your school work, the way you were before all this I mean.” She looks at me with...pity, as if I was some sad pathetic creature dying before her. Me a dying animal she feels sorry for? I’ll give her something to be fucking sorry about—

I reply with every ounce of malice I had in me—which was quite a lot actually, “Go back to being a sheep you mean? Eating useless bits of information and spitting them out when the exams come.…can’t wait for the work force, stuck in a great job all day and earning shit loads of money, get a trophy wife and have loads of children that can’t spell or count...yeah, can’t fucking wait.”

I walk back into the classroom with a smug smile on my face—that should teach her to feel sorry for me. My class doesn’t look up when I walk in, I’m the loner that makes an idiot of themselves...they think it’s for the attention. They think that because I behave differently and hate them that I’m wrong and vile. I think that sometimes too.

Mrs. Tunic goes back to teaching with a slightly dazed expression on her face. Brendon is smiling as he writes down the sums. Why the hell is he smiling? What the fuck has he got to smile about?

“You never answered my question,” he whispered softly while still writing down from the board. My stare turns into a hard core “shut the folk up” glare.

“I asked why you weren’t sad, but I think I understand now. You are sad, you’re dying on the inside, but you’re trying to cover that up by pretending to be a first class prick.”

“Don’t analyze me.” I say shortly. I wasn’t able to put a cent of malice into it, instead it
sounded weary. I try to make that less obvious by adding, “Anyway what the hell do you mean be pretending to be a first class prick? I am a first class prick thank you very much.”

Brendon laughs, why does this guy have to be so fucking happy all the time? “Can’t believe you actually fell for that—all in order to call yourself a prick!” I feel a light smile crawl to my lips, “...Hey I made you smile”

My smile fades immediately, “Doesn’t make us fucking married.” I say.

Still smiling he looked at his watch, it had a weird sort of design but then it vanished beneath the cuff of his shirt in a second, “Gotta go” He muttered.

I raise my eyebrows, it was only 10 minutes into the period and he wanted to leave? I take a glance at the teacher who’s still writing on the board. When I look back to where Brendon was sitting he was gone

What. The. Fudge?