new_kate | Happy happy meltdown (Reply)

runefallstar just made my year.

Really, rune, wah, no words. I'm, like, sitting here, giggling and blinking. Wow! *glomps like there's no tomorrow* Thank you!!! You are so amazing! *glomps again for good measure* Yay!!!

*pretty much dances in the middle of the office*

Uh, update.

Thanks to your kind encouragement, guys *hugs*, turns out my Saiyuki high school drabbles from the other day were a part of a cycle. Heh. So, companion sets for Loser:

Rating: PG-15
Warnings: bad language, f/f hints, highs school reincarnation challenge.
Words: 12 x 100

Bitch

The problem with changing schools is that every time you have to establish your personal space from scratch. Tedious, meaningless struggle.
No, I don’t want to know your names.
No, I don’t need any friends, allies, minions or moochers.
No, I won’t be pushed around, picked on, taken advantage of. Fucking try, see what happens.
Teachers are easy. Just show comprehensive knowledge coupled with zero enthusiasm, they’ll understand that no assistance or intervention is necessary and leave you alone to be quietly bored. Peers keep trying, but eventually everyone gets the message, except for the complete morons and the pig-headedly stubborn.
Like, say, these two.

“Stop following me, smelly monkey!”
I’m not even mean yet. And believe me, I can be. But her stupid round face still crumples like paper napkin, and she starts sobbing, loudly shifting snot inside her sinuses.
Somehow I end up giving her all my tissues, half of my lunch and, yeesh, a pat on the back. When she finally leaves, I need a cigarette badly.
“It’s normal,” says Harley, always there for me with unsolicited advice. “Preteens often have these innocent crushes on older kids. I’m sure you did, too.”
“No," I say. Karen's ghost grins at me. “I’m not that stupid.”

Harley casually slipped through the defence perimeter sometime during my first week here. I don’t even remember how that happened. One minute I was blissfully alone, and the next I had Harley.
Whatever. She’s quiet enough, and her wisecracks are actually intelligent, even when they are at my expense. Don’t know what she’s getting out of this relationship, but I don’t mind her.
Look at her though. Not a touch of makeup or nail polish, loose jeans, two t-shirts, sneakers. Cheap haircut, bland earrings, huge glasses. Unless you are observant, you’d think she’s plain looking. Pretty much everyone does.
“Coward,” I say.
She smiles.

Harley blends with the scenery, and nobody bothers her.
Gem can take care of herself, if things get serious.
That’s why I allow this. I don’t stick out my neck for anyone. I’m not tying myself to a sinking rock. They don’t need my help and protection, that’s why they can have both.
That Grace is not one of us. She doesn’t know how to pick her battles. She’s needy. She’s a mess.
Gem doesn’t care, she’s made a friend.
Harley straightens her back, suddenly breathtakingly graceful, takes the glasses off, runs a hand trough her glossy thick hair, stretches a little...
Hel-lo, trouble.

Geek

Sandra keeps secrets. Sandra is very particular about the desired level of physical closeness. She draws the boundaries and expects me to respect them.
I love it.
I tease her, tease at her; together with Gem we unravel one thread at a time. But this wall is so reassuring. It’s safety itself.
Because if I was let close enough, she'd see the real me, and...
I have fantasies about what could be: closeness, bosom friendship, trust, sleepovers, more. As long as nothing happens, everything is possible.
The cat lounges inside the box, I revel in fluidity of status quo.
I think Sandra knows.

When Gem told us a tale of the one who challenged the school bully on her behalf, Sandra scoffed and diagnosed every single participant of that little drama with terminal stupidity, but one could easily tell she was unsettled. She wasn’t there when her chipmunk needed her, and she both resents and respects the girl who stepped in instead.
I don’t know if I would - for Gem, yes, but for a random kid… It’s not getting beaten up; it’s the humiliation of it I couldn't bear.
And then I see someone new at our table, and my thoughts scatter.

She’s so openly, proudly vibrant and beautiful. This must be so hard. People are inherently hostile, they hate anything extraordinary, they will attack it until it’s mutilated enough to get lost in the crowd. Sandra fights back tooth and nail, guards herself with all she has, but this girl looks so open, so fragile, so lonely...
She needs me. Us, she needs us. She needs friends.
I can be that. I can be a shoulder to cry on. A sympathetic ear.
“Like you don’t have any other body parts,” suddenly says a sarcastic voice inside my head, loud and clear.

“Coward,” somehow, my inner voice sounds suspiciously like Sandra. “Liar. Stop playing it safe. Don’t pretend you don’t want anyone to notice you. Don’t pretend you don’t exist. Go for it.”
And I have to do it, because Sandra is always right.
See me, I plead silently, and step out of the shadow.
It feels like walking into sunshine after a dark basement. I feel dizzy, exposed, small. Looking at her hurts my eyes, like too much light.
Catch me, I beg, and make myself absolutely clear.
Her eyes meet mine, and vertigo disappears.
That… That was so simple. Almost anticlimactic.

Freak

“She bit him! He needed stitches, and he’s probably scarred for life. And not psychologically! Something needs to be done about this girl.”
“Well, she’s already on medication…”
“She obviously needs something stronger. Personally, I don’t think it’s safe to keep her in this school. She needs...”
Boring.
All I need is for them to let me out of here, in the sun, so I can run about to get some life back into my legs, find Sandra, let her hit me on the head with her backpack and call me an idiot.
‘Cause sure, shouldn’t bite people. They might have rabies or something.

When I grow up, I want to be just like her.
Sandra is the prettiest. Her hair is always shiny, never looks stupid or messy like mine, it’s soft and cool to the touch. Sometimes she lets me brush it and braid it, and it feels so good slipping between my fingers.
Her waist is so tiny, she is like a fairytale princess, but she can kick ass, too, she knows some mean moves. She’s not afraid of anything at all. She never studies and aces every test.
I know she doesn’t take me seriously yet. But when I grow up…

Pills make me feel like my head is full of cotton wool. But they said I have to take them if I don’t want to be sent to a different school.
I think they’re working. I don’t want to do anything. Just sit, listen to Harley trying to explain Math to me, let Sandra stroke my hair. What? She does sometimes.
One day they’re away, and it’s like Hudson’s been waiting for it.
And I’m trying, really. But when he keeps twisting and twisting that girl’s arm, and everybody just watches…
No, the pills don’t work. Hudson needed a lot of stitches.

“Of course we're cool. What, does anyone say we’re uncool?” asks Grace.
We've been in a fight. Sandra and Grace are fine, but they got, like, million years of detention. Harley has a split lip. She was holding me back, and it just happened. I feel awful, but she’s not angry, especially since Grace keeps telling her that it’s hardly noticeable and she looks awesome.
“I don’t know. But if they don’t have the guts to say it in my face, they have no credibility,” says Sandra.
“We are the champions,” laughs Harley and cringes in pain.
Yes, I think we're cool.