It All Started With Women's Rights -Frerard-

Rules and Regulations

It seemed a little odd to be the new kid on the block in a world full of old-timers. I had always lived in my small town. And this? This city was fucking huge. I didn't get it. People stared at me where ever I went and it bothered me. Only one person had ever smiled at me. Only one. And who was that? A homeless man who then proceeded to follow me around asking if I had seen his wife. I had asked what she looked like and he then told me her name was Mildred the Grapefruit. 

I then quickly got away before I got stabbed or even worse.

The school I got enrolled in was 'small'. It sure wasn't. Maybe for this city, but for where I'm from, it's like a college campus. The halls were the size of our old house. The bathrooms were the size of my bedroom. Even better yet, the school itself was about the size of the town I lived in. It was a very nice school, though. From what I read on their website, they were a five-star school. It seemed to live up to its stars. I mean, the kids looked stuck up and rich! Don't even get me started on the teachers. All of them had some kind of prejudice on me because I didn't have millionaires for parents. Sure, my parents weren't rich, but they were happy. Happiest marriage I've ever seen. They just opened a music/bookstore downtown. That's why we had moved in the first place. Thankfully, business took off right off the bat.

I had made a list in a notebook of rules I had discovered I should not break if I was going to survive this damn preppy school (and other things as well):

1. Do NOT participate in PE

2. Eat alone at lunch, (unless you want to die)

3. Art class is the only one where people are nice, (take advantage)

4. Do NOT talk at all in Trig (you will surely die)

5. Don't mention any classic rock to the music teacher (she'll kill you)

6. Don't walk the east corridor between the times of 1:45 and 2:22 (that's where all the couples make out)

7. Don't make eye contact with any male that is taller than you

8. Don't talk to any girls if they look at you (they are judging you, not asking to chat)

9. That group of 'punks' in the corner are actually total dicks (don't go near them at all costs. They use the word fag like it's going out of style)

and 

10. There is only one teacher that doesn't hate you, (make an alliance)

That was it so far. They had specific social queues, too, but I ignored them. No way I was going to conform to the eyes of the beholder. I thought I was cool and that's all that mattered. I was very 'out there' for this school. I mean, I didn't think I was. People said I looked weird in the school uniform and that 'my hair doesn't look right'. To hell with that negative shit. I thought I made the uniform look less shitty and that my hair looked fucking rad, thank you. 

As you can tell, I don't take anyone's shit. It's genetic. My parents are just like me. We are one big stoner happy family. Or that's what the rumors around the school said. In all honesty, none of us have touched drugs with the exception of my mom. "The 70s were a good time", she had told me once. My mom was a riot. Her stories from when she was my age were always my favorite stories to hear. Apparently when she was 12 she had set her grandparent's house on fire on accident. She was baking a cake.

Anyway, back to now. It was Monday and the start of a new trimester. Thank God. The teachers I had had were like little demons, picking at every breath I took. Even my parents agreed. My parents and I are very spiritual people and that for some reason makes people hate us more? Like why would that matter? I honestly thought it would make people want to get to know us better, but I guess not. It did the exact opposite really. Why did people hate us so much? 

Ah, wait. I never told you about the one teacher who doesn't hate me, did I? It was a surprise to me as well. When I walked into the classroom for the first time, I was not expecting this teacher. Apparently, he was the most hated teacher in the school because he had abstract ideas and a colorful personality. Typical. All this school wanted was for you to be this perfect black and white cookie cutter student or teacher.

I thought he was cool. He was extremely ecstatic about life and very positive. He also had a unique style, unlike all the other teachers. From the looks of it, he could be a spiritual person like our family. He was always playing some kind of classic rock softly in the background during class. The other kids found it distracting, but I found it very relaxing. He didn't throw out compliments like other teachers did. 

"I only praise those who have praise-worthy work. I will, however, give you advice on your work so you can have praise." He had announced, writing the agenda on the board once, and then throwing the marker at a kid who was talking, making me laugh.

The other kids hated me because they thought he didn't practice what he preaches when it came to me. In truth, he praised me, because he enjoyed reading my work. He said I had a special talent for creative writing and should maybe pursue a career on the lines of it. That only made them hate me more. If you hadn't of already guessed, he taught creative writing. My favorite class.

Moments like the marker throwings happen quite a bit. No one usually laughed. I did. One time a kid had been writing erotic fiction about two of their favorite movie characters and then he proceeded to grab it from the kid, read it out loud, and act out some scenes. By the end, I was wheezing. One time he made me come up to the front and read something of mine. When I was finished, he put a hand on my shoulder and stood up tall with a look of pride.

"That, my students, is an example of good flow, great grammar, and intriguing plot. Take notes."

Needless to say, that class was the reason I breathed. I had somehow managed to talk to the school about having this class two times a year instead of just one. They agreed, telling me that the teacher would enjoy that, too. I was slowly becoming his favorite student, I could see.