I'll Go Anywhere, So I'll See You There, chapter 1
Chapter 1: KEEP OUT
Bright hazel eyes ravenously skimmed the lines of a novel as the final few minutes to class ticked away. If this book wasn't finished, it'd drive its reader to an almost insanely crazed state, eager to find out what happened. The high pitched, disgustingly sharp bell filled the school shortly followed by the rustling of a thousand papers and a hundred hard covers shutting over books.
Standing at 5'4" (Okay, 5'3 and three quarters." Close enough, though, dammit!), little freshie Genesis O'Reilly walked out of 12th period study hall with her nose stuck in her book. It was the last period of the day on a lovely Friday afternoon, and while other kids were eagerly rushing to the buses and whatnot, Genesis was strolling leisurely with her light military bag slung over her left shoulder and resting on her right side. She was in no hurry whatsoever. And neither would anybody else if they found out they weren't going home for at least another seven hours once they got to a room in the building. Marching band. Whoever was in it had a love hate relationship with it. It was fun...But the hours were painful. Especially on game night and competition weekends. But hey, whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
'And then Alex Epsilon took up the dusty artifact, eyes widening in horror when the realization finally struck him that--' WHAM. Smack on the floor in a heartbeat with a painful thud. Dammit. She got to the good part of the story, too.
After O'Reilly hauled herself up onto her feet and blew a shimmering brown forelock from her eyes, she noted a guilty-looking composition book. Ah. So this was the offender. The girl immediately took it up and popped it open, ignoring the gigantic "KEEP OUT" written in bold, black block letters. In a scrawl, many of the pages were filled with a flowing poetry. Possibly lyrical. Songs. They had to be, considering some of the songs had guitar chord notations.
"Hey!!!!" echoed through the deserted hall. Gen snapped the notebook shut immediately and peered about. "Can't you read? It says "keep out" on the cover, and you'd have to be fuckin' BLIND to have missed it." The vitriolic words came from none other than that senior that happened to have ended up in study hall with her. He always wrote in his book and he'd bite--figuratively, of course--if anybody went to bother him for a spare pen or something. She personally never felt his wrath...Luckily.
"Well, I dunno why it'd say that. 'Cause this stuff is pretty good."
"Yeah, and pretty damn personal, too," the senior snatched it away, clearly feeling that he had been violated. His green eyes glared for a moment. Soon they softened, almost as if to ask, 'Did you really think so?'. Yet he said nothing, spun on a heel, and walked away. Well, He was...weird. But then again, she must've been, too. Everybody was weird, she supposed.
Gen bagged her novel as she stepped onto the deep red carpeting of her home away from home: the band room. Sure, the marching band practiced a lot. But it made them a closer group by always seeing one another. She dropped her bag at the end of pinkish lockers and pranced toward wooden cabinets. A few moments later and she found herself in battery warm-ups with her hair tied back and snare sticks in her hands.
Fridays. Which meant football games? Which mean half-time show? It was around 8:30 at night when the second quarter ended and both teams cleared the field. And that was her third home. A football field. Most people really appreciated the marching band, considering that there wasn't much to say about the football team. The show: MEDUSA. It was pretty wicked. One of the colorguard girls had her hair braided with green pipe cleaners and it made her look wild...like Medusa. Rat-tat tat-tat-tat, diggita-diggity DUT! Battery and sabre line feature. The guard had had their shining king sabres cutting through the crisp air as the drumline had a unison hit, followed by nothing to let that dramatic hit ring out...And suddenly the winds kicked in, and then Genesis saw nothing.
The away team...Well, they were astonished to say the least. Smoke in a marching band show! What an effect! But really the field turned into mass confusion as the sections went every which way, blinded by the smoke. A six foot aluminum flag pole found its way towards the back of O'Reilly's head with a stomach-churning "PING!" and then came the disgusting sound of a crumbling snare frame as a sousaphone (marching tuba) and its player backslid into her and fell. After that she didn't know what the hell happened.
A little ball flew into Genesis' hair, lodging itself into her cascading, chocolate-hued tresses. Somewhat flustered, she shook her head sharply to free the paper and let it frop to the ground. Shortly thereafter, a paper football landed softly on her cherry oak desktop with a crude drawing of a drum on it. Normally she was in the mood for this kind of fooling around in 12th period after a long Monday, but the thought of never marching again for the rest of the season didn't quite put her in a jolly mood. Some nitwit and his gang of jolly idiots set off smoke bombs at the end of the field and wasn't aware that the gentle breeze would carry it up the field during the band show. The smoke was a good effect for about two minutes until it cleared and there wasn't anything much but disaster scattered across the yardlines like a bloody battlefield.
To rain on the paper football maker's parade just because it rained on her own, she unraveled it and laid it flat...But didn't quite expect it to be a note written to her in a rushed chickenscratch:
'Hey. I'm the "weird guy" who sits behind you.
Hahaha I heard you telling somebody about me.
I heard a few things about you, too,
like how much of a bando you are and crap.
Anyway, I saw what happened on Friday.
How bad is it?
--Billie Joe'
In disbelief, Genesis whirled about in her chair. That senior kid...He wasn't writing in his notebook, but looking at her, expecting an answer. Well, she didn't really know him to want to talk to him...But just to humor him...
'Hey, thanks for asking. I only broke it. I'll be out of
the band for the rest of the season. Sorry I was
Reading your notebook the other day. I tripped on
it. And why were you at the game on Friday?
Don't you have a band that you play with
every day?
--Genesis'
And with that she folded the paper in half and placed it on his desk. With a scribble and a quick crumble, the paper came back to her.
'Oh man that bites. I hope it heals fast so
Maybe you'll get to get back into it. And I
was that the game because I broke a
string last night and didn't feel like going
all the way to the music store to get a new
One. Hey, can I sign your cast? I never signed
one before.
--BJ'
Genesis propped her casted foot and ankle up in the empty seat next to her and dug a red Sharpie out of her bag. Most of the marching band had already gotten to it, so it would be hard to find a spot. She placed the Sharpie into Billie Joe's hands and indicated a white space for him to scribble his name. He drew that same crude drum and delicately wrote his name on the drumhead.
Bright hazel eyes ravenously skimmed the lines of a novel as the final few minutes to class ticked away. If this book wasn't finished, it'd drive its reader to an almost insanely crazed state, eager to find out what happened. The high pitched, disgustingly sharp bell filled the school shortly followed by the rustling of a thousand papers and a hundred hard covers shutting over books.
Standing at 5'4" (Okay, 5'3 and three quarters." Close enough, though, dammit!), little freshie Genesis O'Reilly walked out of 12th period study hall with her nose stuck in her book. It was the last period of the day on a lovely Friday afternoon, and while other kids were eagerly rushing to the buses and whatnot, Genesis was strolling leisurely with her light military bag slung over her left shoulder and resting on her right side. She was in no hurry whatsoever. And neither would anybody else if they found out they weren't going home for at least another seven hours once they got to a room in the building. Marching band. Whoever was in it had a love hate relationship with it. It was fun...But the hours were painful. Especially on game night and competition weekends. But hey, whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
'And then Alex Epsilon took up the dusty artifact, eyes widening in horror when the realization finally struck him that--' WHAM. Smack on the floor in a heartbeat with a painful thud. Dammit. She got to the good part of the story, too.
After O'Reilly hauled herself up onto her feet and blew a shimmering brown forelock from her eyes, she noted a guilty-looking composition book. Ah. So this was the offender. The girl immediately took it up and popped it open, ignoring the gigantic "KEEP OUT" written in bold, black block letters. In a scrawl, many of the pages were filled with a flowing poetry. Possibly lyrical. Songs. They had to be, considering some of the songs had guitar chord notations.
"Hey!!!!" echoed through the deserted hall. Gen snapped the notebook shut immediately and peered about. "Can't you read? It says "keep out" on the cover, and you'd have to be fuckin' BLIND to have missed it." The vitriolic words came from none other than that senior that happened to have ended up in study hall with her. He always wrote in his book and he'd bite--figuratively, of course--if anybody went to bother him for a spare pen or something. She personally never felt his wrath...Luckily.
"Well, I dunno why it'd say that. 'Cause this stuff is pretty good."
"Yeah, and pretty damn personal, too," the senior snatched it away, clearly feeling that he had been violated. His green eyes glared for a moment. Soon they softened, almost as if to ask, 'Did you really think so?'. Yet he said nothing, spun on a heel, and walked away. Well, He was...weird. But then again, she must've been, too. Everybody was weird, she supposed.
Gen bagged her novel as she stepped onto the deep red carpeting of her home away from home: the band room. Sure, the marching band practiced a lot. But it made them a closer group by always seeing one another. She dropped her bag at the end of pinkish lockers and pranced toward wooden cabinets. A few moments later and she found herself in battery warm-ups with her hair tied back and snare sticks in her hands.
Fridays. Which meant football games? Which mean half-time show? It was around 8:30 at night when the second quarter ended and both teams cleared the field. And that was her third home. A football field. Most people really appreciated the marching band, considering that there wasn't much to say about the football team. The show: MEDUSA. It was pretty wicked. One of the colorguard girls had her hair braided with green pipe cleaners and it made her look wild...like Medusa. Rat-tat tat-tat-tat, diggita-diggity DUT! Battery and sabre line feature. The guard had had their shining king sabres cutting through the crisp air as the drumline had a unison hit, followed by nothing to let that dramatic hit ring out...And suddenly the winds kicked in, and then Genesis saw nothing.
The away team...Well, they were astonished to say the least. Smoke in a marching band show! What an effect! But really the field turned into mass confusion as the sections went every which way, blinded by the smoke. A six foot aluminum flag pole found its way towards the back of O'Reilly's head with a stomach-churning "PING!" and then came the disgusting sound of a crumbling snare frame as a sousaphone (marching tuba) and its player backslid into her and fell. After that she didn't know what the hell happened.
A little ball flew into Genesis' hair, lodging itself into her cascading, chocolate-hued tresses. Somewhat flustered, she shook her head sharply to free the paper and let it frop to the ground. Shortly thereafter, a paper football landed softly on her cherry oak desktop with a crude drawing of a drum on it. Normally she was in the mood for this kind of fooling around in 12th period after a long Monday, but the thought of never marching again for the rest of the season didn't quite put her in a jolly mood. Some nitwit and his gang of jolly idiots set off smoke bombs at the end of the field and wasn't aware that the gentle breeze would carry it up the field during the band show. The smoke was a good effect for about two minutes until it cleared and there wasn't anything much but disaster scattered across the yardlines like a bloody battlefield.
To rain on the paper football maker's parade just because it rained on her own, she unraveled it and laid it flat...But didn't quite expect it to be a note written to her in a rushed chickenscratch:
'Hey. I'm the "weird guy" who sits behind you.
Hahaha I heard you telling somebody about me.
I heard a few things about you, too,
like how much of a bando you are and crap.
Anyway, I saw what happened on Friday.
How bad is it?
--Billie Joe'
In disbelief, Genesis whirled about in her chair. That senior kid...He wasn't writing in his notebook, but looking at her, expecting an answer. Well, she didn't really know him to want to talk to him...But just to humor him...
'Hey, thanks for asking. I only broke it. I'll be out of
the band for the rest of the season. Sorry I was
Reading your notebook the other day. I tripped on
it. And why were you at the game on Friday?
Don't you have a band that you play with
every day?
--Genesis'
And with that she folded the paper in half and placed it on his desk. With a scribble and a quick crumble, the paper came back to her.
'Oh man that bites. I hope it heals fast so
Maybe you'll get to get back into it. And I
was that the game because I broke a
string last night and didn't feel like going
all the way to the music store to get a new
One. Hey, can I sign your cast? I never signed
one before.
--BJ'
Genesis propped her casted foot and ankle up in the empty seat next to her and dug a red Sharpie out of her bag. Most of the marching band had already gotten to it, so it would be hard to find a spot. She placed the Sharpie into Billie Joe's hands and indicated a white space for him to scribble his name. He drew that same crude drum and delicately wrote his name on the drumhead.
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