Not all Blondes do Backflips

14 - Two of Us

Dedicated to sanlana for the banner.

Listen to Twist and Shout by The Beatles or Broken Arrows by Daughtry.

   

14 – Two of Us

   

When I walked out of the Principal's Office, Paul and George were nowhere to be found.

A teacher must have forced them to get to class while I'd been in the Principal's Office with the middle-aged Pillsbury Dough Boy. Every single hallway I speed walked through was quiet and empty which meant classes were already well underway.

Where're you speed walking to, Lennon?

Fυck if I know.

Hell if I even cared.

All I knew was that I just wanted out of here.

The only thing I really cared about right now was finding a place without any witness to my impending explosion.

I was tired of this goddαmn school, of walking past strangers in the hallways instead of people I'd known my entire life. I was sick of seeing forest-type trees through the school windows instead of the palm trees from our hometown in California. I, a girl who didn't really particularly care for school, was even constantly irritated by the classes and how they were taught very differently here than in my old school.

The fact that the cafeteria food here was inedible was just the cherry-shaped rat poop on top of the shit sundae that was my life here so far.

You can kind of see why the the sight of all the neon-colored flyers plastered on every available surface of the school only added to the very negative emotions I was harboring for this place.

In the past two weeks that I'd been here, more crαp had gone down than in an entire year at my old school and in my old hometown.

Drama, I could definitely deal with but not this much and in such a short span of time.

Everyone had a point where things just got 'too much'.

Was I there yet?

No.

I wasn't there yet, for sure.

But I was pretty dαmn close.

In a perfect world, I should have adjusted at least a little bit to life in Middle of Nowhere by now. Hell, I should probably have stopped calling it that stupid fυcking name a week ago.

At the most, I should've just been tagged as the sweary, bιtchy new kid.

I shouldn't be known as the crazy-αss-bιtch-slυt-whσre.

But the world isn't perfect.

In fact, it's rarely even decent.

Most times, it's just an oblate spheroid of unquestionable fυcked uppery.

I don't even have the energy to lecture you on how stupid you must be to know that the world isn't just as round as a beach ball.

“Lennon!”

The sound of Finn calling out my name was becoming a strange, repetitive occurrence in my life. I was still on the fence on whether it was of the good or bad kind. My foot paused mid-step and I had to resist the very strong urge to take off my shoe and chuck it behind me.

“Go away, Finnigan,” I managed to calmly – but irritably – say instead of knocking him out with my shoe.

Did Finn listen?