Blending In Was Never Easy For Anyone (Young Clintasha Short Story)

CHAPTER 4: The Notes Don't Always Float

"What is this?" I looked down at the tray of food in front of me.

If you could even call it food.

Clint laughed. "It's lunch."

"This? No, this is a method of torture." The mashed potatoes tasted like soap and the green beans tasted like straw. And I didn't even want to know what the chuncks in the gravy were. Oh, and the 'chicken' looked more like it had been made from foam and had the crumbs glued on to it.

"Have you never had school food before?" Clint asked, taking a huge bite of the mashed potatoes.

I shivered. "No." I paused. "Homeshcooled. My uncle always cooked." I had to keep my cover. I pushed the tray away from me.

"Ah. I got ya." Clint said, ripping apart his rock of a roll and dunking it in the mashed potatoes.

I was surprised. I had half expected him to start badgering me with questions.

Oh, you were homeschooled? That must have been weird. Why public school now? You live with your unlce? What happened to your parents?

I was flattered at the fact that he just took what I said in. He understood that I had been homeschooled and that I was now here. He didn't feel the need to ask about my parents, obviously coming to the conclusion that they were either dead or low-life dead-beats.

Maybe there were a few good people in this world.

"Are you going to eat that?" He asked, motioning to my tray. I shook my head no. "Good. I paid for it, so I'm going to eat it." I laughed.

After a few minutes we headed back to the empty hallway to our lockers. I was about to open mine, but hesitated. Something wasn't right.

I stepped back. And stared at my locker.

Then I quickly went back up to it, unlocking it and jumping way back, ready for whatever came at me.

A large can of bright red paint splattered to the ground. It looked like what terrible horror movies used for blood. Luckily, none of it got on me. But it got everywhere else.

"You've done it now." Clint said behind me. I had heard him running towards me, so I wasn't surprised when I heard his voice.

"Pranks?" I laughed. "That's all they've got?" This cult went from one extreme to the next. This was the next.

"Oh, just wait, pumpkin. They are just getting started." A high school girl dressed in all black and her purple hair covering half of her face said as she came out of the bathroom. She stared at the paint on the floor and then at my open locker. "Hope you're ready for what they have planned for you. It may be pranks now, but just wait. They don't just kill off their victims." She whispered the last sentence. "They make them suffer." Her eyes got really wide and then she walked away, just like that.

Clint sighed. "Welcome to public school."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I had found a janitor and was surprised at how nice the man had been. I told him what happened and he told me not to worry about it, that he would clean it up. He thanked me when I left, saying no one had been as polite to him as I had been, in years. It made me sad on the inside. Why did the good suffer in this world we lived in?

It continued for a few days.

Pranks left in my locker, embarrassing statements in class, spreading rumors.

I was being hunted.

But I was good at staying hidden.

None of the pranks got me. I was always aware that they were there, and always dodged them. When someone said a hateful comment in class, I played along with it, making the rest of the room burst out in laughter and forget that the comment had been aimed to hurt me. I often went in on the rumors, twisting them and making them ridiculous.