Summer School for the Teenage Soul [Inactive]

""My name is Jason. I'm a Capricorn. I enjoy physics, martial arts and beer. And I did not kill anyone, even if they say otherwise."


Jason turned round to Tanner still on his chair with his arms crossed. His biceps were showing, though it was unintentional.


"And you there need to calm it. What are you gonna teach us? How to be an ass 101?"
 
Damien looked sharply upwards at Gene's comment, his mouth slightly parted. It was true. The world was always hungering for a sacrifice of its inhabitants, almost seeming to relish their demise. Perhaps more so relishing the pain that the death of a loved one caused for the still living. And here, forged under a common hurt, was a slight bond between the two of them.


"Nous ne sommes sans douleur quand nous mourons et nous sommes rien de plus que des corps,"* Damien replied, staring steadily into the other teenager's eyes. "Ma mère s'est noyé dans la rivière dans notre cour quand j'avais treize ans."** Somehow saying it out loud made it less painful. Less real, in a way. It calmed him down, and besides, given that he had had such an embarassing reaction to a simple phrase, he felt inclined to explain. And given that Gene had dealt with the same thing, he wouldn't have to deal with the 'oh-you-poor-thing-no-wonder-you're-such-a-f*ckup' look. He couldn't blame his actions on his mother. His actions were his alone. He had to take responsibility for them, and he was tired of hearing how 'horrible' his mother was for abandoning him. Sure, it hurt. But she wasn't a bad person; she was just in a fog of pain that ended up costing her everything. His anger stemmed less form his mother and more towards his father and Kate. Because that was their fault.


*We are free from pain only when we die and are nothing more than a body.


**My mother drowned herself in the river in our backyard when I was thirteen.
 
She glances at Tanner blankly. "If I recall correctly, there were guys smoking right over there" she points to the stairs "i was outside and if you know anything about this principle, He only sits on his a** until it's mandatory for him to pay attention. We all know that no school official would recommend we study on our own." She glares at Tanner crossing her arms. "You sir, are a buzz kill." She returned the smile back to the girl.
 
"If I was a teacher, do you really think I would spend my Summer here?" Tanner quipped, quick for the draw. 'No, you'd be either working or alone.' his inner-self responded for him. "You guys have no system. No one was looking out for you, you just grabbed what you could and ran. I happened to know Fitzy wasn't gonna be walking in on us soon."


He stood up and walked to the group's table, starting to get the feeling that this wasn't home at all. "You guys need to take a certain novelty item out of your a**es, because I mean no harm. All I was tryin' to say was be street smart, ya know? Don't give the System the satisfaction."
 
"Ah et quel sweet release il sera.*" He grumbled, scratching at his head to give the appearance of nonchalance, "Ma mère a été prise par un ouragan. Il devrait être jugé digne de prendre mon père trop.**" His once animated face fell into it's usual dead end stare, picking a point just past the head of Damien. It gave himself a chance to retreat into his mind and cope with feelings he had trouble bearing to the light of day.


Gene shouldered his way into the library, deeming it still necessary for his hands to be sheathed in the safety of his pockets. With hooded eyes and full belly he tossed a wave in the general direction of Mr. Fitzpatrick as he scoped around the library in search of any incriminating evidence left during the first half of the day, and hunted out the perfect place to have another nap, already resigning himself to another sleepless night at the lumber yard.


Towards the back left corner Shelton stumbled onto a sunny alcove. A half mooned window showered the prickly maroon carpet in light and blissful heat. He slowly lowered himself onto the ground and laid himself spread eagle, angling his head towards the light. 'Maybe Damien was right, I am a plant.' he chuckled to himself as he shifted his holey shirt in an effort to conceal his protruding ribs from where it hugged his chest. With the other arm he bunched his jacket into a facsimile of a pillow and shoved it under his head.


Ah and what a sweet release it will be.*


My mother was taken by a hurricane. It should have deemed itself worthy to take my father to.**
 
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"Well you sounded up for the offer of teaching since clearly your level of intellect in the matter makes us look small. 'Standing on the shoulders of giants' if I remember right? Also if you stopped being condescending like you actually know our lives, I might give a rats ass. Don't give chocolate with one hand and take the heart medication with the other."


When he left he sighed and turned back to the ladies. "Some men. More like immature brats. Anyway, where were we before we were interrupted by stoner Einstein?"


(Okay :) )
 
Tanner was shocked. Stoner Einstein? That was a first. "Way more green than what I have..." he mused to himself, walking away from the Jerk and Red. Sure, it was out of his place. But, he wasn't an artist for the fun of it. He was good at picking up things about people that even they didn't know about themselves. This was something he prided himself upon. It proved to save his skin a couple of times in the past.


But these folks were a nightmare. The 'perfect human' seemed to not be able to let the words of wisdom he passed sink in for anyone, dismissing Tanner's testimonial entirely. He glanced at the pretty boy Jerk, taking in the way he sat; his demeanor. 'He could get every answer right, but he still wouldn't be able to crack the code on relaxation.' Tanner smirked to himself.


Tanner picked up his backpack and walked to the far side of the library. He sat down, Indian-style, then took out his sketchbook and began mimicking the shaft of light coming from a half mooned window two bookshelves away.
 
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Taken by a hurricane... what are the odds? And just like that, the moment was gone, and Gene's face had melted back into the hollow expression it so often held. What a pair they were, him and Gene. One ridiculously wealthy, the other impoverished. Both with shit fathers and dead mothers. Just exactly how different were they? After all, Damien himself wasn't wealthy, he just happened to be born to someone who was. It was luck of the draw. So how, then, was he better? Earlier today he had considered the Cajun to be low class, but perhaps he was, in reality, of higher. After all, Gene hadn't been given everything; he'd had to earn it for himself. His character had to make up for the dirty clothes and unwashed hair. Damien just had it handed to him on a silver platter. Probably the only reason he had any personality at all, and what a sh*t one it was too, was because his mother had died. That had been the only struggle.


Exhaling in a sigh, he walked from the cafeteria back to the library, gnawing thoughtfully on his lip. Just exactly what kind of man was he, and more importantly, just what kind of man did he want to be? He was fairly certain if he met himself from a third-party perspective, he'd hate himself. But he supposed it wouldn't take that to make him hate himself; he already did, in a way. He hated how he hadn't been there for his mother. He hadn't really been there for anyone, ever. He didn't really have friends. Undoubtedly for a reason.


Sitting down in a small corner, his back up against a bookcase, he withdrew from his backpack a sketchbook and some drawing pencils. Slowly sketching out rough forms, he struggled to remember Evonna Babineaux's face as he tried to plant her likeness on the page. If only it would bring her back.
 
Tanner spotted Rude sitting down not too far from him. He also had a sketch book in tow, something the stoner didn't expect at all. "Ah, so you do have a hobby?" Tanner asked, laying his mechanical pencil down for a moment. He really hoped the french guy didn't wanna rip him a new one anymore. The last thing needed was more verbal lashings from his peers.
 
"Yes. Something to, ah, help me with my issues," Damien replied, a slight grin on his face as he lifted his eyes from his book. He was surprised that the guy actually wanted to talk to him again, given the last conversation they hand, which didn't end pleasantly. Worse yet, Gene wasn't around to act as any sort of mediator between the two of them. This would mean he'd have to be very careful and cautious and not make any jokes. Essentially, he'd have to try hard to be as boring as he possibly could. Brilliant.


"I like drawing people. Faces. It's very... intimate. What about you? Do you do anything?" he asked, silently thinking in his head 'aside from smoking pot, that is.' But no, he had to be somewhat genial. Angering him simply would not do. Damien had had enough drama and self-discovery for one day, thank-you-very-much.
 
"Go figure, maybe you aren't so bad after all." Tanner replied, giving the guy an honest grin. He wasn't expecting an answer from Rude, the way they had interacted earlier. Every word that came out of Rude's mouth sounded like something Uncle Marty would say, has been saying even after Tanner left. But, now, the guy had a softer edge to his voice, something a little more approachable than before.


'It's not hard, just don't say anything even remotely offensive.' he warned himself. "I like to sketch too. Its easy...at least when you notice the tiny things in life." Tanner stretched, then placed his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. "People give away their entire story with the way they breathe, the way they move. Most of the time I can see it...the girl who is trying to get her parents to notice. The guy who isn't allowed to screw up. Me? I'm the guy who lost the one person who truly cared. I'm the guy who can't catch a break."


He then glanced sideways at Rude, unable to turn due to the laziness set in his limbs. "What's your story?" he asked, hoping the guy understood him a little better.
 
"I would not say I am not bad. I am bad," Damien replied, smiling back, his eyes slightly amused. "I am not perhaps as good as reading people as you. Maybe I also do not try. Sometimes it is easier to not understand." He shrugged, slightly frowning. It did help to dehumanize people when you wanted to hate them. Not that he had to dehumanize everyone; a lot of people sucked anyway even if you got to know them.


"My story? I was born in France, if you cannot tell," he started, a slight smirk playing across his face. "My father runs an oil company. I am not very interesting." With an almost apologetic look on his face, he shrugged his shoulders slightly again and rested his head on his hand. It seemed that everyone here had lost someone. At least, out of the two people he'd spoken to. This lead to an age old question: Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Which came first, the bad behavior or the loss?


"So who did you lose?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. A lover, perhaps? Damn, he really didn't think much of this kid, did he?
 
With eyes closed Gene breathed deeply holding it in for as long as possible before the need to breathe was too much for him to handle. With a long exhale he let his mind wander to his past. He brought up an image of his mother, her pale skin, her long dark curly hair. She would be standing at the stove, swaying and singing under her breath as she stirred a pot of gumbo. It was almost as if the sweet smell of herbs and spices were truly passing right along his nose. With a small genuine smile he let his mind fall deeper into the day dream.


'Gene, what are you doing over there? Oh mon bébé garçon.* Pourquoi êtes-vous tous couvert de boue?**' his mother would ask, as a soft and delicate hand ran through his sweaty curls. 'I was playin'.' Gene would answer.


'Mary don't chastise the poo' boy. He was jus' havin' fun.' his father would drawl from the living room. And with a tinkling laugh, his mother would pick him up and plac him on a cocked hip, 'Would you like to help me make dinna'?' Gene would smile, and with wide eyes and eager hands he would help stir the pot with his mother's graceful but firm tutelage.


Shelton found himself lightly singing the song he remembers his mother humming on numerous occasions, "A la claire fontaine, m'en allant promener j'ai trouvé l' eau si belle que je m'y suis baigné. Il y a longtemps que je t'aime. Jamais je ne t'oublierai.***" It brought with it comfort when he felt cold and alone all of those years ago on the dirty streets of New Orleans.


Oh baby boy.*


Why are you covered in mud?**


By the clear fountain, On my promenade I found the water so fair hat I stopped there to bathe. I have loved you for a long, long time. Never will I forget you.*** (taken from the song À la claire fontaine)
 
"My mother." Tanner answered bluntly. "It's kinda why I mouthed you off earlier, sorry about that." Tanner felt like the kid wasn't saying something, trying not to show his skin. "It was so quick. She passed in her sleep, an aneurysm." Tanner glanced at the guy from the corner of his eye again.


"You never know how much a person truly means to you until the day after they die. " he commented, a sharp pang hitting him square in the chest. He then focused on the ceiling again. He wasn't gonna tell Rude what transpired after. Then he'd have to relive every detail. And there was no way he could chase it away with weed. Not here.
 
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Shit. He was too late, far too late. All the way there, from home to school, he'd been trying to come up with an excuse, but he'd found himself utterly incapable of doing so. Puffing his cheeks he stormed through the front door, schoolbag feeling like lead on his shoulders. If he could just slip in unseen, pretend he'd been there all the time...


He wasn't quite sure where in the large, and nearly empty, building he was supposed to be but, the library seemed a fair enough guess. Skidding to a halt before the doors to the library, he took a second to catch his breath, straighten his back and try to wipe the red off his cheeks. The doors creaked terribly as he pushed them open. So much for slipping in. Not even looking up to see if any heads would turn he paced towards the nearest desk, plumped down and started to unpack. Apparently he was the youngest amongst the scorned souls, which could mean he'd be left alone and work on getting out of this place as soon as possible, or that they'd unleash their superiority complexes on him. He didn't particularly look forward to either and had the nous to keep his gaze low.
 
"Who da' f*ck made dat' noise? It sounded like a cat dyin', but mo' importantly it interrupted ma' sleep." Gene's eyes snapped open from his reverie as the door creaked open, his nose scrunched up in distaste. With a deep sigh he lugged him self into a sitting position, legs akimbo as he dug into his jacket pocket for his cigarettes. He needed something to do with his hands. Something to ground himself to the here and now and not some made up dream that tore at his chest and scratched at this throat.


"Je suis baise mourir ici.* Asphyxiant.**" Shelton hissed as he finally got his shaking hands to produce a flame from his lighter.


I am f*cking dying in here.*


Suffocating.**
 
Tanner sat up, grinning at the exceptionally loud remarks made by Pretty-boy. His eyes trailed to the new guy making his way to a seat. "Oh geez, we have a tyke in our midst." he called out, taking note not to get involved with the guy. "It's best he not be anywhere near me. I don't wanna get charged for having anything near a minor." he thought to himself aloud.
 
Just ask quick as the flame appeared, it disappeared. With an angry huff Gene shoved his smokes and lighter back into his jacket pocket. Pushing himself off the ground he sauntered towards Damien and Tanner, his jacket balled up in a shaking fist. His face, however, showed none of the anxiety he was feeling. Instead his trade marked smirk was plastered to his face. "Mmm boo, yo' ass best be changin' it's tune, cause' I need a hit of somethin' fast." he drawled, his over bite catching on his bottom lip.
 
"I think it's time for a bathroom break." Tanner suggested, amused with the fact that someone actually wanted to smoke with him. This guy was the bee's knees in his book. "Any of these stiffs worthy of keeping a look-out?" he asked quietly, keeping mind that not all of the attendees were trustworthy at all. Tanner was happy to share, as long as he wouldn't get caught up.
 
Damien was about to respond to Tanner's statement about his mother, but the loud creak of the library's doors snapped his attention away from the matter at hand and toward the younger boy who entered the room and flopped himself down in a chair. It was almost remarkable how late the kid was. What on earth happened to cause him to arrive now? Maybe there was some kind of horrible emergency. Admittedly, this was doubtful.


Suddenly Gene casually made his way over to the two of them, a slight swagger in his step. The previous distant look and solemn expression was gone and replaced by the usual bouncy expression. Something was wrong, though. It was easy to see from the way he said he needed a joint soon and the shaking hand that pitifully clung to his jacket. Tanner took him up on the opportunity. That left Damien at a cross roads. Either he could sit here and draw by himself, or he could head out with these guys and smoke some weed. As he glanced down at the portrait he had sketched of him mom, feeling the glaring pain that hit him right in the gut, the decision was made easy.


"There are the study rooms upstairs. They are less grimy. And they lock," he suggested, putting the sketchbook in his backpack, which he slung over his shoulder as he stood up. "F*ck lookouts, what is the worst that could happen? They put us in summer school?"
 
"Nah, I don't think so, but yo' self would be doin' this ol' Cajun boy a favor. Ain't no one gonna' squeal. All it takes is one hint dat' da' others got some too." Gene snickered running a hand through his hair in impatience, the other limb twitching at his side. With that said Gen spun on his heel and headed towards the winding stairs of the library using a hand to beckon the other two to follow. "Monsieur Damien is right, study rooms soun' peachy."
 
"Lead the way," Tanner mocked a polite bow and wave, taking off his beloved beanie in the process. He wasn't sure what made these two so friendly--even though it was apparent they were about as appealing as school itself. Maybe it was the look in their eyes he knew all too well--hopelessness. But, who was he to question the gods? He swiped up his backpack, a glimmer of distrust muted out by the growing satisfaction of partaking in one of his favorite activities.
 
Within seconds of trying to decipher the ink on paper in front of him, he was distracted. His skin was still buzzing with heat from having rushed to school after his dad's car broke down, as it usually did. Curiosity and dignity combatted each other in the privacy of his mind. Staying within the confines of shelves and the scent of dusty paper didn't seem half as exciting as what the older boys were planning to do. They had to be really thick, he imagined, if they thought they could get away with bad habits under the prying eyes of the principal. Then again, there was a smokey scent in the air that he retraced to one of the boys. Apparently the school hadn't yet tightened the reins. Concerned that their misdemeanour would earn him even more agonizing hot days inside, he offered a piece of mind to the three blokes. "Y'all better stop yapping and do something instead of causing more trouble for us all."
 
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