* * *

I took a step into the classroom. I found it banal, with the cream-colored walls bare. A foreboding sense of obliqueness lingered in the air. I wasn't sure what it was. But I didn't feel comfortable.

I took a seat in an empty desk in the back row. The classroom slowly filled with students. A blonde bird wearing an argyle sweater walked over to the desk to the left of me.

"Is this seat taken?" she giggled. Her thighs choked under a tight denim skirt, and her breasts peeked up from the low V-neck of her sweater.

I shrugged and looked away. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her roll her eyes. "Gothic loser," she muttered in a purposefully loud tone.

I ignored her. At this point there was only one seat now left in the back row. I was glad I got there soon enough.

My eyes traveled to the front of the classroom, where there stood a short, slender woman with curly dark hair and green eyes partially hidden under long, black lashes. This must be our teacher...

"Someone sitting here?"

"Not to my knowledge," I answered. Then I looked up and saw a very tall and slender chap sitting in the desk next to me. It was that wanker who'd made me drop my books.

Golly, I thought. Class is just looking better and better, then, isn't it?

The class itself actually wasn't too bad. The teacher, whose name I found was Mrs.Jack, just spoke on about what we'd be tackling over the school year and handed out expectation sheets. I loathe expectation sheets. People never are satisfied; they have to set limits and goals for other people. They should start with themselves.

I was grateful when the bell rang. I folded my expectation sheet and slipped it into my pocket. My fingers rolled around a joint that lay deep at the bottom, and I was a bit calmed.
I scooped up my black leather bookbag and got up to leave. As I headed towards the front of the classroom, my eyes met with Mrs. Jack's. I didn't avert them quickly enough.

"Have a nice day, Brian," she said. "I think we'll have a good year." The teacher smiled and placed her hand on my shoulder for a second. My stomach turned.

I muttered an inaudible goodbye and walked out the door, throwing the expectation sheet into the rubbish bin on my way.

I made my way to Chemistry. The bell was about to ring but the teacher was nowhere in sight. I took out my journal and started writing down some rubbish:

Chinese masseuse, comes between us
talks in haikus, plastic venus.
Got a headrush, in her pocket
two rubbers two lubes, and a silver rocket

I was interrupted by the screech of the chair sliding on the hard floor. It was Trae pulling up a chair next to me. He gave me another kiss as the bell rang.

We got our share of looks and whispers. It just made me grin.

"So where's the teacher?" Trae asked moving my hair out of my face. I was getting really irritated and wanted to burst out screaming HOW IN BLOODY HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW!!?

Instead, I shook it off and replied, "Haven't a clue."

Just then a very plump, red faced man walked in. He was balding and was wearing a fuzzy wool vest. His hair was messed up and he had a very disgustingly big smile on his face. I put my black hair the way it was before Trae moved it out of the way, covering a blemish my concealer failed to conceal.

"'Ello class! We're going to be learning Chemistry in this room!"

"No shit." I muttered. A few people giggled.

"What's that?" the plump man asked.

"I didn't say anything." I replied.

"Aright then...I am Mr. Levi and we're just gonna go over the things that will happen throughout the year. I have some polices fer this classroom and I hope you'll all obey them." Mr. Levi stated as he passed out a yellow sheet of paper which had a sort of vomit colour to it as well. At the very top it said POLICIES. I put it in my bookbag. I was getting a migraine from the awful colour.

After Chemistry was Gym. The new gym teacher was Coach Leptic. He was tall and just a bit muscular. He was wearing black sweatpants and a white shirt with a jaguar on it, the school's mascot. He had bleached blond hair with his dark brown roots showing and very dark brown eyes. I could tell by the way he looked at me he was disgusted.

"This is the boy's gym class you know." he whispered to me unknowingly, with an emphasis on "boy's".

"I am a boy," I whispered back.

Coach Leptic looked embarrassed. He just walked into the middle of the gym and went through the same speech all the other teachers have already went through. I asked to be excused and he let me go. I went into the bathroom and started smoking some weed. It seemed like the first day of school tradition, I've been coming into the bathroom and smoking some pot ever since 9th grade, why end the tradition now?

I looked in the mirror. My black hair went down to my chin and my green eyes glowed. My lip gloss had rubbed off. I wish they made a lip gloss that lasted the whole day. My eyes were smothered in black eyeliner. I looked really tired and my blemish seemed to grow. Err...damn highness. I looked at my hand...my black nailpolish was chipping. I looked at my watch...I'd been in the bathroom for over an hour! I guess I had missed quite a few bells because school was just about over. I decided to miss my last class. I didn't want to go over the same speech again. I'd kill myself.

I walked home. My mother was reading the Bible. I sighed. She thought I worshipped Satan or something and kept taking me to see Father John every week. I felt Father John was scared of me.

"Oh, hello, Brian. How was your first day back at school?" my mother inquired, looking surprised I was home so early. I knew she wasn't surprised, though.

"Charming, I'm sure. Is Dad home yet?"

"No, he's still at the bank. He should be home in...a few hours."

"Oh, silly me. Heh."

It had only been 20 minutes after school was out and I got a call from Trae on the telly.

It was just a crock of rubbish about how he loved me and how we had to go
to the coffeehouse after school on Wednesday... I ended it by saying my mother was calling and I had to go. Trae is just stupid enough to buy that. For a second I almost felt bad.

After about fifteen minutes of scribbling down lyrics and fifteen more of wanking off at thoughts of a model I'd seen in a magazine, my mother really did call me. It was dinner time.

Liver and scones. Dry scones. My mother had odd cooking habits, but I appreciated them all the same. Potential lyrics ran through my head... Thank you Mom...For all the Mommy things she's done, For all the times she showed me wrong, For all the time she sang God's song...

"Brian?" My mother's voice intercepted my creative genius. "You got somethin' on yer mind?"

"No," I responded as a bite of scone crackled on my tongue. "No."

"You know, if there's ever anything on yer mind you can always tell me. Me or Father John. He's anxious to see you, you know. I'm going to make an appointment tonight."

I didn't respond. Instead I grabbed my knife to cut my liver. It slipped carelessly out of my hand and onto the white tablecloth. I saw that I'd forgotten to wash my hands and they were still finely coated with cum.

I excused myself and went to the bathroom to wash my hands. I ended up taking a few drags of a joint as well. I guess I was in there for a while because when I returned to the table Mom was gone. I figured she'd gone to her room to pray the rosary or something.

I stabbed the liver with my fork. It reminded me of the vomitrocious Policies sheet with its headache-inducing hue. It reminded me of Trae and his sick love for me, festering with each day. It reminded me of Mrs. Jack, her bony hand on my shoulder. It reminded me of that wanker who'd knocked my books down.

I thew up that night.