The Life Of Noodle

“Talk. Talk. Taaaaalk.” I stared straight at the black board and the things the teacher was writing on it. What is the teacher’s name, anyway? Mrs. Stanley? Mrs. Stevens? Oh well.
“Come on! Just one word!” the annoying boy said as he jabbed me with a pencil. ‘I’ve got one word for you,’ I thought to myself, ‘It starts with “Fuck” and ends with “Off”’. The boy wasn’t trying to be mean; he just wanted me to talk. Something I don’t do. It’s not that I can’t, I just won’t. It has nothing to do with a traumatic experience; I just figure that you can’t say anything stupid if you don’t say anything at all.
I’ve been at this school for about a month, and everyone but this guy has given up on making small talk with me. I don’t even know the boy’s name. All I know is that he bugs me. I turn around in my seat when the boy jabs his pencil hard into my back. I give him a Would-You-Like-To-Die look but he wouldn’t be able to see it anyway because my bangs cover the top part of my face. It makes it hard to see sometimes, but I like the feeling of being covered by my hair.
“Noodle! Turn around and pay attention!” the teacher screeches at me. I shall name her Mrs. Screech since I can’t remember her name. The boy drops the pencil on his empty notepad and I turn back around. If you’re wandering about my name, yes it is Noodle. Not legally of course, my parents aren’t that weird.
I got the name noodle for two reasons; One, noodle was my first word instead of “Mama” or “Da Da”, and two, I’ve been told that I look like Noodle from the Gorrilaz. My hair is short and purple, and I even wear a hat like hers. The one with the goggles on them, I don’t know what it’s called, a pilot’s hat? Whatever, just know I don’t go anywhere without it.
After about ten more minutes of hearing about Pearl Harbor the bell finally rings, signaling the end of first period. Even after of only forty five minutes of school, I want to go home. I walk out of the room and into the hall way, where teens are rushing to get to their next class. Some even push each other down, but I think the people who do that do it for laughs, not because they are eager to learn.
I walk past the bad kids of the school, who are laughing at something that is probably not that funny. I hate that my locker is right by their hang out spot: the bottom of the back stairway that no one uses. I go up to my locker and start to open it. I don’t have a combo lock, I hate those. I have a classic pad lock and keep the key around my neck. Yes I know, I’m lazy.
None of them notice me, so I take a quick glance. I want to see if I can remember any of their names. The short one with a half- shaved head that’s red on one side and has a really long fringe is Frank. The geeky one with awkward knees that has only one facial expression is Mike. Or was it Mikey? Defiantly Mikey. Ray has a huge hair and Bob is the blond. The last guy if the group is by far the calmest. He doesn’t look like a bad ass, just a mysterious looking dude. He has shaggy black hair and I hardly ever see his face because it’s either buried in a comic or sketch book. I think his name is Gerry.
The last two are both girls. One is a small girl with blond and blue hair. I think I heard someone call her Callie once. And the last is a mean looking red head. I’ve heard lots of things about her. Like she once kicked a puppy for barking. I know I shouldn’t believe rumors, but I wouldn’t put it past her. I’ve seen her give me plenty of dirty looks, but I think that’s just her face. I also think she’s dating the Gerry dude. I don’t see how they can work for each other, but what do I know?
I shove my history book in the locker and get out my English one. I slam the locker a little harder than necessary and jump at the sound of it.
“Jeez, what’s your problem?” I look at the red head whose name I don’t know. She looks like she’s disgusted with my very existence. I try to hold back a smile.
I don’t say anything (duh) and walk away. I hear her yell “rude” at me, and I hold back a laugh. I kind of get a kick out of annoying people.
I get into the English room right about two seconds after the tardy bell rings. But that’s enough to make the teacher (whose name also slips my mind) send me to the office for a tardy slip. I leave the room without complaint and head towards the security office. When I get there I see the Gerry guy sitting in one of the chairs. The security guard motions for me to take a seat and I take the one farthest away from Gerry, which leaves only one chair between us.
The guard is on the phone with what sounds like a parent. After a few minutes of waiting I kick my booted feet on the wooden table in front of me. This earns me a raised eyebrow from Gerry. I ignore it.
“You late too?” Gerry looks at me. He doesn’t really look like a Gerry; I think I have the name wrong. I get lost in thought and he looks at me, expecting an answer. I just nod my head while looking straight ahead. He doesn’t try to talk anymore after that.
The guard finally hangs up the phone and starts to write us both our tardy slips. He hands me mine, he already knows my name. There aren’t very many Noodles and Belleville High. He asks the guy for his name and it turns out his name is Gerard, not Gerry. At least I go the first letter right.
“Okay, go back to class and meet me here tomorrow during lunch for detention,” he says. Gerard groans, and I get up. I leave the room quickly and head back to class.

Detention with Gerard from the bad ass group. Sounds fun.