The Look Alike

*Zane’s POV*

Sunlight filtered through the dust encrusted blinds, sliding slowly up Zane’s cheek and into his eyes. The start of another day, oh what fun would unfold? Let’s see…all the jocks calling me fat ass, emo-shit, or my favorite-- art freak. I opened my hazel eyes and grudgingly crawled out from underneath my checkered sheets. In the distance, my mom was thumping around in the kitchen as if that’s going to wake me up faster. Inching slowly to the mirror, I pulled on some jeans and a black shirt before inspecting my face in a mirror. Okay, time for the check list: Baggy jeans? Check. Shirt meant for a walrus? Check. Black hair that hasn’t seen a comb in years? Check.

You may wonder why I refer to my clothing in such a manner…well, I was pretty chunky as a kid and finally managed to get to a respectable “normal” size. However, my fellow students refuse to let me forget my “awkward” stage. It doesn’t help that my mother keeps telling me I’m an obese turd…okay, she says it nicer, but still. I entered the sunlit kitchen, light revealing a small plate on the table with a single carrot stick. See what I mean? She watched as my hand went for the lone vegetable…like I was going to eat it in front of her?

“Zane, I know you want to just eat and eat, but this is for the best. Now have a good day at school,” She chirruped oblivious to how aggravating her comment was to me.

“Yeah, thanks mom…what would I do without you?” I toned dully, walking out towards the bus stop.

--School—

I slid into my homeroom, trying to draw no attention to myself as I traipsed to the back of the room, but of course the jocks smelled their prey. Ben Taylor, king of jocks, stuck his foot out and kicked my walking leg…resulting in me being in a heap on the ground and the jocks laughing their asses off.

“Hey look, the lard ass can’t even hold his weight anymore!” Ben cackled to his friends.

“What are you, a middle schooler or something?” I grunted, heaving myself up into a standing position.

“Want to say that again, freak?” Ben growled warningly, laughter forgotten.

“You know I’m not fat anymore, but no, you still act like a retard and pretend I still am fat. Nice one, asshole,” I hissed, finally fed up with them.

“You little-,” Ben started angrily.

“Mr. Towers, if you’d so kindly take your seat so we could start class,” Our teacher, Mr. Morgan interrupted.

I finished my walk to my seat and plopped into the seat, my baggy clothes hanging uselessly in every direction. I’d get new clothes, but mom thinks I’ll regain my fatness and then I’d be wasting her money/time. Got to love my parent, bless her soul. Ha. Mr. Morgan began talking about upcoming events, like that mind numbing speech we were forced—I mean, honorably being able to attend wearing our nicest clothes. Which meant nothing to me because I have none, so I turned my failing attention to the group of girls twittering excitedly about something. Intrigued, I strained to hear their conversation…probably about make-up or something.

“Oh my god, I know!” One girl whispered shrilly.

“Yeah, I get to meet him AND the band…I wonder if I should make him something,” Marcy, the leader of the group, squeaked happily.

“So, are they coming here to get you?” Another girl asked quietly.

“Yep, tomorrow after that boring speech. Think I’ll get freak boy to draw me something for him,” Marcy giggled, casting an eye towards me.

My ears burned as I turned away from the group of girls, great…so now I’m called freak boy…great. Glaring at the clock as it rang shrilly in the room, I slipped out the door before the jocks could find me.
The day was uneventful, the way I like it. I sat under a dead tree and sketched a superhero, all the while keeping an eye out for a roaming herd of jocks. Instead, I spied that same group of girls coming closer…I squinted, weighing my odds. Hopefully they wouldn’t see me, but then you’d have to be blind…which unfortunately they weren’t.

“Hey, frea-Zane!” Marcy said sweetly, not caring her attempt to cover up the word “freak” had failed.

“Um, hi…” I replied, going back to my sketch.

“So, you’re like, a good drawer right?” Marcy asked innocently.

“I like to think so,” I grunted, hating where this was going.

“What if I gave you ten bucks to draw a picture of batman and to have it done by tomorrow after school?” Marcy said, pulling out money.

“I’d want to know why and what for,” I said, eyeing the money suspiciously.

“It’s for the lead singer to a band I won a contest to meet,” Marcy sighed happily.

“Fine, but no comments on my style,” I conceded, groaning inwardly as I took the ten.

“Goody, I’ll pick it up after school tomorrow,” Marcy smiled before walking off with her friends.

I was still holding the ten in my hand as I thumped up the stairs to my room. Chucking my bag full of already finished schoolwork, I sat at my desk and started sketching the picture she wanted. One might ask, “Why Zane? Why would you do this for someone who makes fun of you?” Well, simple. I needed the money for art supplies and better snacks. I mean carrots? Really!? With a sigh, continued deep into the night making sure it was good enough for the Queen bee—I mean, Marcy.