Rescue (Chapter 3)

BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP...

I'm pretty sure that digital alarms are the most obnoxious invention on the planet. I reach my arm out from under my blanket and slide my fingers over every button on the clock until I reach the snooze button. I slam it down with my fist three times before pulling the pillow from under my head to over it. Mornings always suck the worst. Downstairs, I already hear D-spawn's parents mushing over her in the kitchen. Slowly, I roll onto my back, before maneuvering myself off the bed, holding my head. I stagger over to the door and immediately duck into the bathroom.

The ridiculously bright lights in this place never fail to annoyingly wake me up. Nausea's seemed to have gone down, and I barely have anything to throw up anyway. I take a whiff of myself, and become painfully aware that rain, beer, pot, and nightmare-sweat sure make a guy reek.

I pull of my shirt, pants, and the rest, and toss them all into the basket underneath the bathroom counter and step into the shower. About 10 minutes later, I'm out of the bathroom. I throw on some clean clothes from my room and lift my backpack over my scrawny shoulders, and think that I should really work out more. Down the stairs I go, and into the kitchen to find D-spawn smothering syrup over butter-slathered waffles, while Chromosome Contributor and B*tch talk snicker about something that only they would find humorous. B turns over a waffle maker and faces me again.

"Oh, good morning, Tristan! I made waffles if you want some breakfast..."

I ignore the plate that contains steaming, sweet, dessert-imitation breakfast food on it and pick up a Pop-Tart. I don't eat her cooking. I haven't once in the five years that she's taken over my mother's former domain. The DNA donor walks over to her and mumbles something. Female dog nods, and opens the waffle maker, adding another one to the stack. I pull off the Pop-Tart wrapper and stick one of them in my mouth. I slip on my Vans and walk out the door. One look at the sky, and I know it's going to rain on my way to school. The ground isn't even dry from last night's storm. A car would be really nice right now, but me getting one would be just as likely as Mistilydemon-spawned giving up midnight Oreos.

Sometimes I borrow Teesha's mom's car. Teesha practically owns the thing, in spite of all her walking and bike riding.

About three blocks from my house, I spot that '97 Ford Taurus SHO that I would know anywhere. It's muddy from driving through puddles. What brought on her driving this morning?

Teesha rolls down a window. She looks sort of... well, pissed off again, at least for a second.

"Yes, you do want a ride, go ahead in."

She unlocks the door and actually opens the driver's side for me. I stare at her, surprised. She just shrugs and moves into the passenger seat.

"Ran over my bike this morning. Forgot to park it in the back last night," she mumbles as I drive onward toward school. I nod, and wish I had something to dull down this morning. So, I do whatever I do when I don't have pot on hand: think of Brittney Alexander... man, she's hot...

"Damnit, Tristan, look where you're going! You crash this car, and you most definitely won't be driving with me again!"

I glance up to see I've nearly hit a stop sign.

"Sorry," I mutter, and focus back on the road.

We arrive ten minutes early. Teesha grabs her stuff from the back and I grab mine. We head off to our respective classes with a grumbled "Seeya".

I stroll nonchalantly into my 1st hour English class. I just killed a little under a third of class time by showing up late, and I appreciate that.

"Ah, Mr. Corre, nice of you to show up," says Ms. Smithsen to me. "Another tardy and you've got a detention."

I offer a smirk.

"Lookin' forward to it, Miss Smithsen."

"That would be Ms., Mr. Corre, I believe I've told you this quite a few times. Now, could anyone explain to Tristan what we are doing right now?"

Pairs of students groan and most of them ignore her. Brittney and her friend, Lyndsay, sit in the corner of the class, giggling over texts.

"Miss Mitchells, how about you?"

Mitchells, Mitchells, Mitchells, who would this 'Mitchells' person be?

"U-Um... we're reading our poetry assignments to each other in groups of two."

"That's right. And Miss Mitchells was missing a partner for almost 11 minutes, Mr. Corre. Why don't you get out your assignment and pair up with Shaylie?"

Shaylie Mitchells. I look over at her. Usually this chick is a wallflower, and is almost ALWAYS in these huge sweatshirts and oversized jeans and sweatpants.

But today, she's not wearing one of those ridiculous sweatshirts. She has on a v-neck with one of those frilly girl-tops underneath. I am now aware that she actually has boobs. Her long, wavy brown hair falls right in the middle of them. And she's wearing jeans that actually fit her. The only thing that turns me off are the creepy emo-cutter-gloves covering her arms. She swallows as she notices me looking at her and quickly glances down.

I sit down at the desk next to hers. She's still staring at her paper, drawing vines and flowers into the margin of the notebook. I look at her.

"U-Uh... s-so... you can get out your poem first if you want," she says, refusing to look back up at me.


"Didn't do the assignment. Looks like you're up."

Shaylie glances at me, a look of odd concern on her face, then nervousness. She takes a deep breath and looks back at the page in front of her. I look... other places. Her face has turned red.

"T-This... this was an assignment in... any of the forms of poetry we've recently learned about. I chose freeverse. I-It was easiest for me," she said, mumbling.

"Yeah, um, you should just read your dam_, er, dang poem."

I hope I didn't just screw up somehow. She bites her lip. I like it.

"Okay..." she says, taking another deep breath.

"Once she was alone in a crowded room,
Hiding behind the ones
Who don't know at all,
What goes on behind closed doors.
She's been behind them,
Locked inside,
Trapped for so long.
But one day, the door was opened.
Freedom from a source
Unexplainable.
She found the answer,
And now she opens doors,
For those who still haven't found
The way to freedom."

D*mn. This girl really knows how to write. I'm impressed, not that I could ever do that well writing poetry. I don't get how some people really like this stuff. And how they manage to be that good.

"That was... that was really cool, Shylie."

"Shaylie," she corrects.

"Right. Sorry. So, uh, wanna hang out this Friday?"

She doesn't really seem to go out with anyone a lot, not that I've heard anyway. But sometimes, those are the ones you really have to look out for. Brittney and Megan are sort of out of my league anyway.

Her eyes are wide and it looks like her jaw could drop.

"What?" I ask. Yeah, I'm majorly screwing up here.

"I-I... I can't. S-Sorry. I'm... b-busy."

Uh, sure you are. Why don't you come be busy with me?

"What are you doing?"

"L-Look, I-I... I don't even know you, Tristan. M-Maybe... maybe some other time."

"You blowin' me off?"

"No! I'm really busy this weekend, please..." she says, a little too loud. Jittery much? A few of the students look over at us. Brittney is one of them. Damn. My chances of going out with her just went down a little more.

"Okay, okay... feel free to calm down," I say.

Shaylie looks down at her paper and faces the front.

"Mr. Corre, since you were late today, why don't you read your poem in the front of the class?"

Seriously, Ms. Smithsen?

"No problem, Miss Smithsen," I say, walking up front.

"I memorized mine over the weekend. It's a limerick."

I eye the rest of the classroom, winkng at Shaylie. She slumps down in her seat.

"Alright, so...

There once was a teacher named Smithsen
Who should pass a student named Tristan,
Who came up with a rhyme,
In the nick of time,
Even with ten minutes of class he missed in."

I could have done so much better, and I've completely made a fool out of myself in front of the class. But Shaylie's just shaking her head. I think she liked it.

"Clever, Tristan. You can make up the points by doing the ten comprehension and doing the bonus reflection questions of 'The Bells' on page 475 of your textbook. Everyone else, get started on your narrative outlines,"

I roll my eyes and sit back down next to Shaylie.

"You're... you're an idiot, you know that?" she whispers.

"You know you liked that. Go out with me Friday?"

She looks back down at her paper. Her outline's already over halfway finished. This girl is an English fiend.

"I'll think about it," she murmurs.

I pull out my textbook and start skimming over "The Bells" and its stupid comp questions.
----
In between fourth hour and Lunch, Chris meets up at my locker. I put on my ice-face, and continue packing my backpack for the afternoon hour. Teesha and I won't have much time to get our books after "lunch".

"Hey, Tristan... Sorry about yesterday. I mean, I still want to hang out with you guys, I'm just not... supposed to..."

"Yeah, whatever. You can come join us out in the back parking lot if you like."

I toss my English textbook on the top shelf of my locker loudly.

"No thanks... so... uh... I heard you asked out Shaylie Mitchells."

"For the benefits, yes."

"You know, there's more to relationships than just sex, Tristan..."

And here he goes. Chris has three speeches he frequently attempts to recite to me and Teesha: the "abstaining-from-sex-is-so- wonderful!" speech, the "JESUS!" speech, and the "being-clean-from-drugs-makes-your-life-so-much-better!" speech.

"Yeah, yeah, heard it all before, no need to go into it again."

"I'm just saying..."

"You say too much, dude."

I start heading toward the unlocked doors.

"Maybe you should just hang out with her! Talk for a little bit. I'm sure if you got to know her, you'd see a relationship is worth a whole lot more than what you're after."

"Blah, blah, blah, I'ma go smoke pot now. Seeya."

"Tristan, you know that Cannabis just causes your life to spiral, it just leads to worse and worse decisions, and believe me, I've been there..."

I can't believe this kid used to hang out with us.

"Aha. Okay. Bye."

I walk out the doors and head to the back parking lot. Teesha pays our-even-more-ridiculously-named-than-Misty Ann dealer, Quantavious, for our daily supply. We roll and light up.

"Chris was gettin' on my case earlier," I mutter to Teesha. She rolls her eyes.

"Can we not talk about Chris right now?"

"M'kay."

I look out at the rest of the parking lot. Q's going off to the others now. Sometimes Teesha buys some stronger stuff from him. More than just marijuana, other stuff, significantly worse stuff. I never dare to try it out. She usually doesn't get it unless she's really stressed out. Teesha's tried everything. And I mean everything.

"So, Shaylie Mitchells, huh?"

"How does everyone know that?"

"Word travels fast enough. She's a heck of a lot better than Brittney. Got brains. Good thing to have."

She inhales deeply. A few other kids linger in the lot, or head off campus for lunch or to do their choice in peace. Some of them get into the backseats of their vehicles. I take a drag and close my eyes.

"Yeah, brains. She's a freakin' poet."

"Good for her. Writing can get you places sometimes."

Teesha stares out into the far distance, her mind in other worlds. I think about Shaylie instead of Brittney this time. I think about her big brown eyes, innocent and cautious. It kills me to even THINK this, but maybe Chris is right... maybe I should try to get to know her a little better. She's interesting enough.

"Mom's been working too hard lately... forgets her meds, whatever," Teesha mumbles, probably halfway to herself. I nod. Teesha's mom has a crapload of issues. Teesha usually doesn't talk about her mom. And especially not her dad, considering he skipped out right before she turned three.

We both take a drag at the same time now. Hers lasts longer.

"I'll be back."

Teesha heads in the direction of what I assume is Quantavious. I finish up the joint and decide to head back to class.

Shaylie's in my next class, History. I never really paid much attention to her until now. I don't really know why... I duck into the restroom and try to cover the scent of weed then make my way to History class.

Shaylie looks up. I give her a lazy smile and take my seat in the back of the room. I'm thinkin' I just might have a chance.