Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
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Rated: 13+ · Novel · Young Adult · #1220373
This is only about 3,800 words, promise.I would really like some feedback on this.Thanks.
Tuesday, September 19
  I'm Lisa, a freak a social outcast, a loser, an individual. I have my own category. Though I don't lead, I don't follow either.
  I wear chains and spikes instead of cute accessories that perfectly match my outfit. I chew my nails and can't understand why people pay for a perfect pink manicure. I spend the weekends practicing with my band instead of hanging out at the mall. While others want to fit in, drowned in sameness, I strive to stand out. For that I am tormented.
    Take yesterday for example.
    I was walking into the bathroom, minding my own business. I had one of my little clumsy moments with a bottle of orange soda. I went in to try to clean up the mess.
    I walked over to the sink and Lexi, the most popular bitch in school, says, “Oh look, it’s the slob. Why don’t you leave before you stink up the bathroom?”
    I knew that I totally did not smell. I had taken a shower that morning and then put on deodorant, lotion and body spray. Lexi always tries to degrade me in anyway she can.
    “Actually it’s my bathroom.” I said as I pulled out a sharpie and proceeded to write “Lisa’s Bathroom” in bold across the wall.
    Lilly, Lexi’s sidekick, taunted, “You’re in so much trouble now, Lisa.”
    I just shrugged and left. It was more dramatic that way.
    Later, during fifth period English, the secretary’s voice spoke out over the intercom.
    “Lisa Midway, Mr. Keanly would like to see you in his office.”
    I’m going to kill that little snitch, I thought as I got up from my seat amid the staring followers.
    “Hello Cecil.” I greeted the frowning secretary when I reached the office.
    “It’s Mrs. Helson.” She responded coldly. “Mr. Keanly is waiting for you.”
    Despite popular belief, Mr. Keanly scares me a little bit. Okay, a lot a bit. He’s six five and huge. He was a sergeant in the army until he retired five years ago and must still work out. I swear he looks like Satan when he’s mad and I should know. I frustrate him more than his own kids do. He told me so once.
    I stood in the doorway of Mr. Keanly’s office and quickly said, “Okay, whatever I did this time, I’ll see you in detention” before I turned to walk away.
    “Hold on Lisa, you’re not getting off that easy this time. Have a seat.”
    I grudgingly sat down.
    “This is the third time since school started that I’ve seen you in my office. How’s everything at home?”
    I could have told him some sob story. Like how mom’s new boyfriend beats me (she doesn’t even have a boyfriend) and how I was attacked last summer (I wasn’t), but then Mr. Keanly would just call my mom and she would ground me for lying again.
  “I’m fine. Seriously.”
  “I think it would benefit you to have a talk with Mrs. Garcia, the school councilor. I’ll make an appointment for you.”
    “The shrink?” I asked disbelievingly. It was like he thought I was suicidal or something. “No, way. She freaks me out.”
    “You have an appointment with her tomorrow at ten thirty. I’m calling your mother so you can’t play sick. And if you ditch, I’ll suspend you for a week.”
    “Fine, but I’m not talking to her.”
    As I turned to leave, Mr. Keanly added, “Oh, and Lisa, you have two weeks worth of detention.”
    Damn, I hate that dumbass.

Wednesday, September 20

    Shrinks have to be on the top ten list of things I hate. Right below snaked and planes. Shrinks just never shut up even when it’s clear that you’d rather undergo open heart surgery without anesthesia than talk to them.
    I’ve hated school councilors ever since sixth grade when they made me take anger management after I punched Mark Hendrix in the nose so hard that it bled.  The whole thing was his fault. If he didn’t ask me if my lips could be used as a flotation device in the event of a flash flood I wouldn’t have punched him.
    Anyway, at my counseling session this morning, Miss Garcia started off by asking my name. It wasn’t like she didn’t have it on the piece of paper in front of her. Honestly the only good the session was doing was getting me out of algebra.
    After I told her my name, the conversation became pretty much one sided.
    “Is there anything you would like to tell me?”
    “Are things going okay at home?”
    “Are you getting along okay with the other students?
    “Are you feeling depressed?”
    “Are you abused in anyway?”
    It continued that way for about half an hour until I told her to fuck off. She was too distraught that she dismissed me without another word. The beauty of it is that she can’t tell anyone how the session went.


    I just got out of Mr. Keanly’s office. Apparently Miss Garcia told him exactly how the session went. The suckiest part of it is that I can’t even sue her because she didn’t tell him anything that I had said. Not that I told her anything except to fuck off, but whatever.
    Apparently this is exactly what she told Mr. Keanly; “Lisa seems to be really angry at the world. I think she is having problems with some things, but I really couldn’t get her to talk. I recommend that she comes to see me every week.”
    After he told me that, I turned to Mr. Keanly. “Did you really need an expert opinion to tell you that about me?”
    Apparently he did because he sentenced me to Wednesday morning counseling sessions until further notice.

Thursday, September 21

    Joe spent all day yesterday and all day today trying to convince me that seeing Miss Garcia could really help me.
    “I’ve been going to see a therapist ever since my mom died. He’s really helped. Like I got my happy pills when I started cutting.”
    I know he worries about me. But honestly, I’m fine. If I was maniac depressive, I’d know it, right? And those few times I’ve needed happy pills, I’ve just gone to Aaron and smoked a blunt with him.

Friday, September 22

Born To Be Me
I was born to be free,
You can't lock me up.
I was born to fly.
You can't tie me down.

I have shackles 'round me ankles,
'Cuffs 'round my wrists.
I spend my time behind iron bars,
And I long to be free.

My wings are torn,
My runway closed.
My feet are nailed to the ground,
And I long to fly.

I was born to be different,
Don't hate me for this.
I was born to have dreams,
Don't say they'll never be realized.

My clothes reflect another’s,
And when they don't they laugh.
They're all carbon copies to the inside,
I want a world that accepts differences.
My hopes dimmed,
My confidence shattered.
They say my dreams aren’t realistic,
I want someone to believe in me.

But no matter what they say,
I will be free.
To follow my dreams,
My differences making all the difference.

Saturday, September 23

    Today at band practice, Robert brought a flyer in for the battle of the bands competition that Bright Night records if putting on.
    “You guys this is major. If we win we get a record deal from Bright Night.” I said.
    “Then we can see the world and get loaded.” Joe burst out.
    “And get loads of babes.”  This was Robert’s input.
    At this point I knew I was the only one with any sense left in the room. “Okay, let’s just be focused on wining this thing, not spending money that we don’t even have yet.”
    “Don’t be so cynical.” Robert complained. “Of course we’re going to win.” 
    Sensible. Cynical. It’s all the same thing.
    Joe looked down at the flyer. “It’s on Halloween. We can be ready by then. Uh, guys, we have a problem.”
  “What’s the problem?” I looked at him. If he was getting all uptight about missing our traditional all night monster movie marathon/ candy binge, I was going to have to slap him. This was a million and two times more important.
    “We have to come up with two hundred and fifty bucks for the entry fee.”
    “Oh.” Robert looked defeated. Then he brightened up. “So, who’s got the money?”
    “I don’t have anything after buying new clothes for school.”
    “You actually bought new clothes for school.” Aaron taunted disbelievingly.
  “Oh, shut up.” I chucked my soda can at him. Some of the wet sticky stuff came flying back at me. Not my smartest move.
  Joe yelled, “Watch the equipment.” I had come within inches of coating his guitar in brown bubbling goop.
    Everyone looked at Aaron. None of us expected anything other than what he said.
    “The price of my good stuff has gone up. Sorry guys.”
    Aaron smoked pot. No one gets on his case for it. It’s his thing and we accept that. Though, why he doesn’t just grow it himself, I can’t understand.
    Now it was time for Joe’s excuse.
    “I’m still paying my dad back for replacing Mitchell Mask’s ‘accidentally’ broken window.”
    Just before school started Joe threw a baseball into Mitchell’s new Mercedes. Joe would have gotten away with it if the ball didn’t have his initials on it. As it was, he fabricated this whole story about how he and some friends were playing catch and missed the ball. Then he proceeded to tell mark that he was very sorry and that he would pay to have the window fixed.
    Joe had guts. Even if they were going to put me on death row, there is no way that I would ever apologize to Lexi.
    Our last hope was Robert.
    “I spent it all on cds. I gotta get a good musical education.”
    “So now what?” Joe asked me. Like I have all the answers.
    “I don’t know. We could have a car wash.”
    “Yea. That’s an awesome idea. We can finally see Lisa topless.”
    For some strange reason the guys seemed to think that when I took off my shirt, my flat chestedness would evolve into boobs that resembled Jessica Simpson’s.
    “What does a carwash have to do with me being topless?” I asked.
    “He was just hoping.” Aaron said then added in a lower voice, “And so was I.”
    “Aww. You guys know I’m the only one who has seen Lisa completely naked.”
    Okay, Joe and I used to take baths together when we were like two, maybe three. But that was before I had anything.
    “Unless your plan for getting money includes me putting on a strip show, can we please change the subject?” My famous last words. The three perverts thought that was an awesome idea.
    At that point I had had enough. I cranked the volume on the amp all the way and played a chord on my guitar. The blast was too loud for the garage. The guys soundlessly yelled at me to stop. I turned off the amp.
    “Now are we going to have an actual serious discussion?” My ears were still ringing.
    “A car wash sounds great.” Joe said and the rest agreed. Little suck ups.
    I looked down at the flyer again. I didn’t trust any of them to soak up all the necessary information. I noticed a semi big problem right away.
    “We have to do the car next week. The entries have to be in by Friday.”
    “Cool lets do the car on Thursday. That’ll give us plenty of time to put up fliers and advertise. You know get the support of the community.”
    “You mean the community that hates us?” I was beginning to think that maybe the car wash wasn’t such a good idea. I wondered if strippers could really earn seven hundred dollars a night.
    “They don’t all hate us. What are you talking about?” Joe asked like he was really confused.
    Aaron turned to me. “He’s right, you know. Not everyone hates us. Just everyone who knows us do.”
    “Oh, and Lisa’s stalker.” Robert touched down on a very infuriating subject.
  Basically a year ago, I had a stalker. His name was Marvin. He followed me everywhere. Finally, I called the cops. He was arrested and everything would have been okay, except for they released him. Apparently a big name psychologist diagnosed him as having a rare psychological disorder (no duh.) He spent six months in a mental hospital where they did all these weird experiments on him.  Now they say he’s healed. He’s out and walking around, but he’s still psychotic. And he drools.
    For the first time in forever, Robert saved us from our dazes. “So where are we going to have this thing?”
    “Low Price Foods usually lets organizations hold car washes in their parking lot. Lisa can call them tomorrow and set everything up.” I was still in my “Marvin sucks” thoughts when Joe’s volunteering me, woke me up. I was about to get mad, but then I had a brilliant idea.
    “We need a band manager, you guys.”
    “Why?” They all answered at the same time. Although to be fair, Robert started half millisecond before the others.
    “I have to organize everything.”
    “When’s the last time you’ve had to organize anything besides the car wash thing?” Joe asked.
    “You’re right. I haven’t organized anything except for the carwash. Oh, unless you count coordinating band practices, getting all our equipment to band night at the youth center every night, and running out to get you replacement guitar picks strings and the occasional drum stick?”
    They looked stunned. I guess they never did think about it before. It was actually kind of funny to watch the realization sink in before. It was me who had kept the band running all those years.
    “We could get my cousin Larry to do it.” Aaron was the first to get his voice back.
    It was great that Aaron was trying to help. The only problem was that Larry was a crack addict who had been through rehab three times. I’m not discriminating against drug addicts or anything. It’s just that Larry can’t remember what day of the week it is. Sometimes he can’t even remember his name.
    “Larry is not going to be our band manager.” I decided.
    “Well then, who do you suggest is?” Joe looked slightly amused. I hated him then.
    “I’ll get someone.” I said confidently enough to wipe most of the smirk off of Joe’s face. I had no idea who I was going to get. Everyone in the world, except for my guys, hated me.
    After that discussion ended, mom called to tell me to come home and mow the lawn, which I just finished. Now she’s yelling at me to come down and do laundry. I so love her.

Monday, September 23

    I actually go to school fifteen minutes early this morning as opposed to running in just as the second bell rings.  I took the extra time to reorganize my locker (i.e. moving things around so I can actually shove everything in.)  As I was doing this a girl caring a load of books walked up to the locker next to me. She opened her locker, and dropped everything in her arms. I had never seen her before, so I bent down to help her.
    “Sorry.” The girl kept saying. “Sometimes I drop things for no reason.”
    “It’s cool. I trip over invisible objects all the time. We’re pretty even. Just don’t let Lexi catch one of your klutzy moments or you’ll never hear the end of it.”
    I didn’t have to worry about her joining Lexi and the followers. She was pretty, but not blond. She wasn’t fat, but she also wasn’t pencil thin with oversized boobs. And her clothes were cute (if you like any color other than black) but they weren’t conformistic.  I decided that maybe she would be the only person other than my guys who wouldn’t hate me.
    “I’m Lisa.” I went ahead with the introductions.
    “I’m Hope. I just moved here from Palm Springs. I really hope that the people here are nicer than at my old school.”
    “I wouldn’t bet on it. Here comes the queen bitch now.”
    I swear it was like in those T.V. shows. All the guys looked up at her and all the girls cowered in fear. When she reached me and Hope, she stopped. The followers stopped too and simultaneously put their hands on their hips.
    “You must me new.” Lexi said to hope. “I can tell because you’re still standing next to her.”
    “Why wouldn’t I be?” Hope asked. I wished she wouldn’t. I knew exactly what Lexi was going to say. It was the one lie that turned everyone against me.
    “Because she’s a bi-sexual little hoe. Why do you think she’s always around those guys she calls her band mates. The only music they make is in bed. The bad thing is that she doesn’t just stop there. She really likes to get girls in bed. It’s just sick. You’d better watch out, or she’ll try to get you.” Lexi delivered her well rehearsed speech out of spite for me, but with seemingly caring concern for Hope. Then she walked away, probably expecting Hope to run in horror. I did a double take when I looked and saw that she was still next to me.
    “Is that true?” Hope asked. I couldn’t read her expression.
    I sighed. “I don’t expect you to believe me, but no it’s not. Lexi and I go way back.  She’s had it in for me since kindergarten. She wanted to marry my buddy< Joe, under the big oak tree but Joe wanted to marry me. She got jealous and there went my social life.”
    Hope laughed. I took that as a good sign. I went on. “Any way, she tells that story to everyone to make them hate me. Usually it works. The funny thing is that I’m not bi and I’ve never had sex with anyone, so the whole thing is a complete fabrication of reality.”
    Then Hope said something that I had never heard before. “Well, I believe you. People used to say crap about me all the time where I used to live. Most of it wasn’t true.”
    Yes! Lisa 1, Lexi 8,133. (It’s still better than 8,134.)
    Then Hope got a triumphant look on her face. “You should sue her. It’s got to be illegal for her to remark on your sexual orientation. Even if it is a lie.”
    I’ve thought of that loads of times before. The only problem is that Lexi’s dad is the best lawyer in southern California. There is no way in hell I would win. I told this to Hope. She made a face.
    “It totally sucks that the people with the money and the power get to dictate people’s lives.”
    “There really is no such thing as democracy.”
    The bell rang and I helped her find her way to class amid the stares of people who thought I was going to drag her into the bathroom and rape her or something. That just goes to prove that if people hear the same lie over and over again, it becomes the well accepted truth.  I hope karma slaps Lexi in the face so hard that she blacks out.
    I suffered though whispers all the way to lunch. I found Hope and brought her to sit with me and the band.
    On the way to the table, she asked, “Will they like me?”
    “Yea, they will. And if they don’t I’ll kick their asses.”
    She thought I was joking, but I really wasn’t. Those guys could be pretty cruel sometimes.
    When we got to our table, I saw that the only one there was Joe. I put my tray down and asked where the other two were.
    “Last time I saw them, Mrs. Austin was dragging them off.”
    “I wonder what they did now. How pissed did Mrs. Austin look?”
    “Pretty. I can’t wait to hear what stupid thing those idiots got busted for.” He noticed Hope. “Can I help you?” He said impolitely.
    “This is Hope. She’s new.” Joe gave me a look that said “obviously.” See, no girl has wanted to have a nice conversation with me since Lexi started the socially damaging rumor in second grade.
    “Wait,” Joe said “either Lexi hasn’t gotten to her yet, or she’s a lesbian, because-“
    I cut him off. “She’s not. Lexi told her all her ‘hate Lisa’ crap and she’s still talking to me. She ignored Lexi. That should be more than enough for you.”
    “Okay, then. She’s cool.”
    Then we started talking about the band. In the middle of the conversation I had a brain flash.
    “Hey Hope. Do you want to be our band manager?”
    For the second time in twenty minutes, I knocked Joe flat.
    “But-but-“he sputtered. “Do you know anything about music?”
    “Excuse us for a second.” I said to a completely shocked Hope. I stood up. Joe followed.
    “What are you thinking? She’s going to ruin our chances at wining the thingy.”
    Joe was obviously in distress because he wouldn’t ordinarily use the world “thingy” to describe our possible big break.
    “Do you seriously want Larry in charge of anything more important than what he’s eating for dinner?” I asked him.
    “All right, but she only gets one chance.”
    “Do you know where we’d all be if everyone only gave us one chance?”
    “I mean it.”
    “All right, I get it.”
    When we sat back down Hope said, “You’re friends right, Lisa. I don’t really know a lot about music. It’s okay if you don’t want me to help.”
    After everything she had done for me, I made her feel like crap. I glared at Joe. He looked semi-guilty.
    “I’ll let you in on a little secret. On top of me being the lead singer, I’m the band manager. I ‘m in charge of everything. So I can basically decide who is going to take over the managing part. I want you to.”
    “If you really want me to be your manager I will. What do I have to do?”
    I told her about the car wash. “We have band practice tonight, so if you can make fliers it would be cool. Oh, and call Low Price Foods first to make sure they’ll let us use their parking lot. They don’t really know us, so they’ll probably let us.” Hope laughed at the last sentence. I let her believe it was a joke.
    After that, the bell rang and we walked our separate ways to class.


    I just found out that Aaron and Robert got detention for four days because they were trying to get high on white out in class. Apparently they were sniffing it like they wanted to get caught. The idiots both denied this.  Armatures.  I am so disappointed. They did nothing remotely scandalous.

© Copyright 2007 N.J. Anderson (yourwinterlove at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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