I'll Go Anywhere, So I'll See You There, chapter 2
Chapter 2: She's a Rebel
12th period. It was nothing new today. The marching band season was long over, the cast had long been off but never gone, and her hands had stopped itching to play the snare. Her full focus had gone to her flute and piano, seeing as the Wind Ensemble were going to play at some medieval Mayfair thing being held at the middle school (And it was being held at the beginning of April...Which defeated the term "MAYfair"...But she wasn't one to make a big deal.), and she had her Nazi piano teacher to worry about. Sheets of music were sprawled out over Genesis's desk, her pencil running at full speed to number all of the measures in her piano piece...Which proved to be 315 measures long with about 17 different time signature changes.
"Pssssssst....Genesis..." came a hiss from behind her. She dropped her Ticonderoga and turned about in her seat. "Damn. I forgot. Sorry."
With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, Gen situated herself back in her sheet music, running over her Mayfair music a few times, using an invisible instrument while imagining the pitches in her head. "Psssssssssssstt. Genesis. I remember!" came that came hiss. A bit agitated, she turned around with an almost cruelly pleasant expression on her face.
"Yes, Billie Joe, dearest?" she answered in a sickeningly sweet voice. It was actually kind of creepy...
"Crap, cut that out. You're weird. What are you gonna do when you grow up?"
"Uh...Shit, Billie. I dunno. I'm only a freshman."
"Are you gonna be a musician?"
"I told you, I don't know."
"You take Latin, don't you? Are you going to go to excavation sites in Rome and translate things?"
"Billie--"
"Or maybe be a band teacher?"
"I DON'T KNOW."
The squat old lady up front that the students called a teacher glared in Genesis's direction. This study hall really blew...Only because it was a silent study. She didn't care if the kids flung notes around the room or beat the living hell out of one another, as long as they didn't say anything. It was just queer, for lack of a better word. Gen hushed her voice and shot the question back at Billie. "What are /you/ going to do with your life?"
"Be in my band."
"Oh. You're gonna be a rock star?"
"Hell, yeah."
"And what if you don't make it?"
"I will."
"But what if you don't?"
"I'd still be playing in my band."
"At least you know what you're doing. I'll probably end up doing something weird...Like being a jet plane pilot or something."
"Nah. I think you'd be a good flute player in like...The London Symphony or something. And then you'd fall in love with some British guy who plays clarinet and have pretty Brit babies with him and lovey dovey kissy kissy mushy sex and all that jazz. Or maybe go to Greece because you were so good with Latin that they made you take ancient Greek so you could translate stuff for them...And end up falling in love with this hot Greek guy who does nothing but shower your bed with rose petals and your body with kisses."
"Yeah, and then maybe a pig'll fly out of my ass and foretell the end of the world."
A high pitched voice butt in. "Indeed, but before any of that happens, Mr. Armstrong is going to accompany you in Saturday detention tomorrow. 10 am until 12 pm. "
Billie Joe said nothing as Genesis gave a look of outrage. "We weren't even LOUD!" she protested. "I've got a Wind Ensemble rehearsal on tomorrow from 11am to 1pm! I can't tell my instructor that I got a Saturday for whispering in study hall!"
"Continue this back-sass and we'll make it 10-2," snapped the pudgy old lady. "I'm surprised to be hearing such backtalk from a respectable young lady and none from this rebellious punk trash."
"You say something like that about Billie Joe again and I'll have you canned before you could give me more hours of detention. You just verbally abused him, did you know that? Did you know that that is against your contract? You are completely out of line. One would've thought that about 600 years would have been enough time for somebody to grow up..." Genesis returned in an acidic tone. By this time, Billie had been shocked out of words and the rest of the study were holding their breath, some wide-eyed.
"That is it, young lady! Get out of my classroom! The principal will be more than happy to have your company. Go! NOW!"
O'Reilly calmly slid her sheet music into her blue and gold folder and bagged it. She then stood, glanced at Billie, and leant on his desk. "Nobody deserves to be called trash, Billie Joe. Especially you. Remember that."
A bit of a grin played upon Billie's facade. "Lawyer," he said plainly.
With a smirk of her own, O'Reilly stepped nonchalantly out of the room and slowly down the long hallway.
That nasty bell. It echoes in the principal's office, rather flat today. The conversation ended with a, "Do you understand me?" and a monotone, "Yes, sir."
Genesis pulled the heavy wooden door open and plowed straight into the lean body of a tall, light-haired, blue eyed stringbean. "I'm ssooo sorry," she apologized quickly.
"Don't be. You're my new HERO," the boy replied. "I heard you stood up to Ms. Peters. I HAATTTEE her. I have her for math. It blows."
"You're a senior, then."
"Yeah. And you're a frosh and your name is Genesis and you played snare in the marching band, but had to stop because you broke your ankle. You play flute in the Wind Ensemble."
"Holy hell. You're a stalker!"
The guy burst out laughing, his blue eyes lighting up in amusement. He didn't mean to freak her our by firing off facts about her. "Naahh. I'd be way too lazy to make a good stalker. I'm Billie's friend. He told me about the whole Ms. Peters and detention thing in the bathroom. Oh, my name's Mike, by the way."
"Nice meeting you, Mi--. Wait a minute. Aren't you in my lunch period?"
"I 'unno. Prolly."
"Well, nice meeting you. I'd love to talk, but I can't drive. So I've gotta run for the bus. I'll talk to you at lunch on Monday."
Yeah. Monday. Okay. If only there were going to be a Monday at that school for her.
12th period. It was nothing new today. The marching band season was long over, the cast had long been off but never gone, and her hands had stopped itching to play the snare. Her full focus had gone to her flute and piano, seeing as the Wind Ensemble were going to play at some medieval Mayfair thing being held at the middle school (And it was being held at the beginning of April...Which defeated the term "MAYfair"...But she wasn't one to make a big deal.), and she had her Nazi piano teacher to worry about. Sheets of music were sprawled out over Genesis's desk, her pencil running at full speed to number all of the measures in her piano piece...Which proved to be 315 measures long with about 17 different time signature changes.
"Pssssssst....Genesis..." came a hiss from behind her. She dropped her Ticonderoga and turned about in her seat. "Damn. I forgot. Sorry."
With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, Gen situated herself back in her sheet music, running over her Mayfair music a few times, using an invisible instrument while imagining the pitches in her head. "Psssssssssssstt. Genesis. I remember!" came that came hiss. A bit agitated, she turned around with an almost cruelly pleasant expression on her face.
"Yes, Billie Joe, dearest?" she answered in a sickeningly sweet voice. It was actually kind of creepy...
"Crap, cut that out. You're weird. What are you gonna do when you grow up?"
"Uh...Shit, Billie. I dunno. I'm only a freshman."
"Are you gonna be a musician?"
"I told you, I don't know."
"You take Latin, don't you? Are you going to go to excavation sites in Rome and translate things?"
"Billie--"
"Or maybe be a band teacher?"
"I DON'T KNOW."
The squat old lady up front that the students called a teacher glared in Genesis's direction. This study hall really blew...Only because it was a silent study. She didn't care if the kids flung notes around the room or beat the living hell out of one another, as long as they didn't say anything. It was just queer, for lack of a better word. Gen hushed her voice and shot the question back at Billie. "What are /you/ going to do with your life?"
"Be in my band."
"Oh. You're gonna be a rock star?"
"Hell, yeah."
"And what if you don't make it?"
"I will."
"But what if you don't?"
"I'd still be playing in my band."
"At least you know what you're doing. I'll probably end up doing something weird...Like being a jet plane pilot or something."
"Nah. I think you'd be a good flute player in like...The London Symphony or something. And then you'd fall in love with some British guy who plays clarinet and have pretty Brit babies with him and lovey dovey kissy kissy mushy sex and all that jazz. Or maybe go to Greece because you were so good with Latin that they made you take ancient Greek so you could translate stuff for them...And end up falling in love with this hot Greek guy who does nothing but shower your bed with rose petals and your body with kisses."
"Yeah, and then maybe a pig'll fly out of my ass and foretell the end of the world."
A high pitched voice butt in. "Indeed, but before any of that happens, Mr. Armstrong is going to accompany you in Saturday detention tomorrow. 10 am until 12 pm. "
Billie Joe said nothing as Genesis gave a look of outrage. "We weren't even LOUD!" she protested. "I've got a Wind Ensemble rehearsal on tomorrow from 11am to 1pm! I can't tell my instructor that I got a Saturday for whispering in study hall!"
"Continue this back-sass and we'll make it 10-2," snapped the pudgy old lady. "I'm surprised to be hearing such backtalk from a respectable young lady and none from this rebellious punk trash."
"You say something like that about Billie Joe again and I'll have you canned before you could give me more hours of detention. You just verbally abused him, did you know that? Did you know that that is against your contract? You are completely out of line. One would've thought that about 600 years would have been enough time for somebody to grow up..." Genesis returned in an acidic tone. By this time, Billie had been shocked out of words and the rest of the study were holding their breath, some wide-eyed.
"That is it, young lady! Get out of my classroom! The principal will be more than happy to have your company. Go! NOW!"
O'Reilly calmly slid her sheet music into her blue and gold folder and bagged it. She then stood, glanced at Billie, and leant on his desk. "Nobody deserves to be called trash, Billie Joe. Especially you. Remember that."
A bit of a grin played upon Billie's facade. "Lawyer," he said plainly.
With a smirk of her own, O'Reilly stepped nonchalantly out of the room and slowly down the long hallway.
That nasty bell. It echoes in the principal's office, rather flat today. The conversation ended with a, "Do you understand me?" and a monotone, "Yes, sir."
Genesis pulled the heavy wooden door open and plowed straight into the lean body of a tall, light-haired, blue eyed stringbean. "I'm ssooo sorry," she apologized quickly.
"Don't be. You're my new HERO," the boy replied. "I heard you stood up to Ms. Peters. I HAATTTEE her. I have her for math. It blows."
"You're a senior, then."
"Yeah. And you're a frosh and your name is Genesis and you played snare in the marching band, but had to stop because you broke your ankle. You play flute in the Wind Ensemble."
"Holy hell. You're a stalker!"
The guy burst out laughing, his blue eyes lighting up in amusement. He didn't mean to freak her our by firing off facts about her. "Naahh. I'd be way too lazy to make a good stalker. I'm Billie's friend. He told me about the whole Ms. Peters and detention thing in the bathroom. Oh, my name's Mike, by the way."
"Nice meeting you, Mi--. Wait a minute. Aren't you in my lunch period?"
"I 'unno. Prolly."
"Well, nice meeting you. I'd love to talk, but I can't drive. So I've gotta run for the bus. I'll talk to you at lunch on Monday."
Yeah. Monday. Okay. If only there were going to be a Monday at that school for her.
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