I Can't Save You From Yourself

I am not particularly a very self conscious person. At least, that's what I tell myself. I rarely notice the people carrying on with living their lives around me while I keep to myself and ignore the chatter that surrounds me.

It's never a good day in California. For anyone really, I don't care how special and popular you are, you all have your things that make you tick. I however just don't like engaging in conversations about ‘fashion’ and ‘boys’ and all the other things the girly girls like talking about. I personally have nicknamed those girls the Barbies.

I looked up from my faded, yellowing copy of ‘Wuthering Heights’ that I had gotten from my great grandmother when she passed. It was her favorite book and when I was younger, we'd sit on her porch swing during the summer and read it together. She had a big farm house outside of Berkeley, it was two story and painted white with a wrap around porch and three big oak trees in the front yard protecting the house. After she died, I don't go there much. It's still in our family though because we could never find a buyer the past three times we'd put it up for sale in the last two years. Which I don't mind, because I love my grandmothers house, even though it's vacant right now.

I sat at a single round table at the far corner of the cafeteria. Across the room, the different ‘species’ of students sat at their chosen tables and well, I guess I adopted the one I now sit at alone. There are the Barbies, they sit in the big white table right smack in the middle of the long room, center of attention. Giggling over some stupid joke one of them had told. While others are busy looking in complexion mirrors while reapplying their fourth coat of lip stick just today, and we are only half way through the school day.

I rolled my eyes and scanned the rest of the room, discreetly tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. There were the jocks, the nerds, the outcasts, the shy ones and the goths, and then the ones that just don't care about seating arrangments and their titles at school. I am classified among the shy ones. Though I don't sit with them because I like my distance when I can have it, which is rare during a school day.

Then... You've got your pot heads and 18- alcoholics. Oddly enough for them only being eighteen they already look like they've practiced alcoholism for years. One table, in the far corner held a handful of boys. There was one with shaggy brown hair who was taller and leaner then the others, I'd seen how he sized up to the others. I don't know everyone in the East Bay High-School by heart, but I am pretty sure that his name is Mike. There were others there as well, another guy with brown hair who's name I know is Jason Andrew Revela. Then the other two boys at the table I can't remember their names. One has unnaturally blond hair with brown highlights. His hair was kind of shaggy. And the other one was really hyper looking. I could tell that from here, I watched him, he also had light brown hair. He was slightly shorter then blondie but fit in pretty well.

I avoid the pot head group at all costs, that one along with the Barbies. I know that one of them in that table sells joints someplace in town to school students. And if that does not make him a weirdo, I have no idea what will.

The bell rang and I jumped, I had been lost in thought apparently, I shoved my book back into my bag. I picked up my tray and dumped it. I turned around to brush unnoticed out the cafeteria doors, but the toe of my boot caught on a leg of a chair that had been angled away from one of the pristine white tables and stumbled forward. I threw my arms out in front of me in reflex, half expecting the impact of the floor. But instead I hovered above the tile. I looked up at a sickeningly recognizable face. He smirked down at me as he settled me onto my feet awkwardly. I pulled my straps up onto my shoulders.

“The—thank you...” I stuttered. Looking up at him shyly. If there is one thing I can't do, it's eye contact. I just can't look into someones eyes without my eyes flashing everywhere but...

Mike smiled warmly “Sure.”

His group of pot heads were waving at him to join them at the doors on the other side of the room, I knew that those doors led out to the parking lot. Going to smoke a joint before class are we? I thought smugly. Then mentally slapped me when Mike spared me one more smile before brushing past me towards the other door. I now was aware of the laughter around me and realized that everyone had seen me trip and almost fall. And when the Barbies can get some dirt on the shy people and use it against them, they will.

“A little footloose are we?” snickered Sandy. She is the captain of the volleyball team and is a cheerleader, dates a jock (who cheats on her, whole school knows it but her) and is made out to be a perfect girl because of her perfect face and wavy blond hair that settles down her spine perfectly. I however... See absolutely nothing great about her. She is also dubbed captain of the Barbies by yours truly.

I cut a glare at her, incapable of finding a voice to shoot her back a snide comment. So I pulled my backpack straps farther up onto my shoulders and ducked out the doors into the hallway. School is my personal hell on earth, I wouldn't be here if it weren't so important to my parents to have such a fabulous 'education' where I'm bullied every damn day I'm here.

I began to trudge off towards my first class since Sandy had made me late. I pulled open the door and settled roughly at my desk. Looking up at the chalk board and then to Mr. Varner who eyed me warily for my brisk entrance. I pulled out my notebook and pencil and prepared for the test we'd be having today for American History.

I was busy taking notes when the door swept open ten minutes later and a very glazed looking Blondie and Mike came in. Mike stumbled towards the back of the room to his seat. Four rows behind me, and Blondie settled lazily into the empty seat to my left, making no move to get out textbooks or anything besides a sharpie permanent marker and began doodling on the desk top like nobody's business.

Lost in his doodles that translated the mood of his glazed state from his joint he had obviously smoked outside before class, were pictures of cigarettes with smoke seeping from them and pictures of people with X's for eyes and appeared to be in as confused states like he was. I looked back to Mr. Varner who had his back to the class, writing down a list of subjects on the chalkboard. He turned around and set his list down onto his desk and looked over the class room. His black rimmed glasses settling upon Blondie drawing on the new desk that the school had replaced his previous one only two weeks before, because for the same reason, he had drawn all over it. And I don't think that in that moment Mr. Varner was incredibly happy with blondie.

“Mr. Armstrong, what do you think your doing?” he scolded impatiently.

Blondie giggled and slowly looked up at Mr. Varner. One thing I noticed about him is that he couldn't seem to settle his eyes upon the teacher with full attention. But just looking past him like he saw something behind him of interest.

“Wha? Haha... I? I'm just... Drawing.” he gestured lazily to his drawings. I began to wonder silently how many joints he had smoked. His brain seemed to be fried.

Mr. Varner's eyes narrowed at him, but he let it go for now, because kicking out Blondie before a test would make it hard for the rest of us to concentrate. However, Mr. Varner took Blondie's permanent marker and exchanged it with a sharp pencil and his test sheet. Mr. Varner handed them out throughout the class room and began his introduction to the test, which I couldn't concentrate on because Blondie was tapping on the desk top with his brand new pencil... Lovely.

I caught Mr. Varner casting sharp glances at him throughout the introduction. Blondie just continued to tap absentmindedly.

“Begin your tests now.” he commanded.

Blondie had used up his qouta of patience for the day, he dropped into his chair and watched us begin in silence, his eyes kept straying back to Blondie. I looked down and concentrated as hard as I could on the question, but I could feel the nagging feeling of someones eyes on me, watching me intently without shame. I looked up briefly and met the dark green eyes of Blondie.

I know this sounds stupid to say about one of the pot heads but, they are the prettiest green eyes I have ever seen. I mentally slapped myself for that thought and dropped my eyes to the test again. Answering a few questions at minute intervals, the time to finish up was wearing thin and I could not concentrate. I'd toss quick glances over at Blondie's paper every now and again. Not a single question answered.

He was leaning back leasurly in his chair watching the clock tick and watching me... He'd stare in my directions for long periods of time without blinking... How weird is that?

I finished in the nick of time and Mr. Varner called that time was up. I read over my answers anyways, even though it was too late to change them now, I was pretty sure they were all right. Mr. Varner instructed us to finish a list of people involved in a important American event in history.

After I finished that and the bell sounded, I could swear that this has been the longest hour of my life. I began to pack things into my backpack again and stood up, laying my finished test upon Mr. Varner's test in the forming heap of others. I pulled the straps of my backpack up onto my shoulders. Took one last look at the room, my eyes meeting Blondie's. They were not glazed anymore and staring at me for something to do, but in interest. My eyes flitted to Mr. Varner and I waved weakly and made my way to my next class.