21author's note: new story!
Pushed Over Romeo
ROMEO DESERVED THAT KICK IN THE BALLS
.xX Chapter 1 Xx.
Pushover
Define it.
One. A person who is easily controlled "pushed around" per se.
Two. Someone who backs down easily
Three. One who does things for the best of others; eager to make others happy
Synonym: Idiot
Definitely not me. I mean, yeah, I like to help people out sometimes. Let a friend or two—or five—cut in front of me in the freakishly long lunch lines. Not bad enough to be labeled being "pushed around". I'm not some freak pushover who lets everyone walk around them.
I'll have you know, I'm a pretty assertive person. Mostly. Probably.
"Move, bitch." This really tall gangster guy glared down at me in distaste.
I ducked my head lower into the ground. If there was a hole, I'd probably go all ostrich on the world and stuff my head down under. "Sorry." I squeaked, but he didn't hear me. His home dogs had called him away.
I breathed a sigh of relief as I hurried to room 234. Oh, sweet room 234. That was my true love's homeroom. We're reading poetry today and guess what?
What?
I wrote him a poem from the depths of my soul. Of course, I didn't flat out include his name on the poem. Who would do that? But I plan to look at him often to make sure he knows it's about him and insert a dramatic pause after line 9 to take a minute to look into his soulful hazel-green-blue eyes.
This is the day.
He will realize that, after seven years of being a wallflower in his life, I am the one for him. True love was right under his perfect-gene-blessed nose.
I greet the pleasant, misunderstood English teacher of Pine Hill High School. I really don't get why everyone hates Mrs. Allen. She's nice. And old. Wrinkly. Grades essays like a maniac. But she gives me good grades, so I'm good. Anyone who gives me a 98 when everyone else got below and 86 is okay by my standards. I didn't join the "Allen is a fucking hag" facebook page like everyone else.
I walked towards my usual seat in the back, where all the dark shadows of the room resided and called it home sweet dark home. Usually I was the only one who sat there (it's hard to ignore the slight pee smell that permeated that corner—I was fine with it, the cost of my privacy), but today there was a…person…on my chair. Gasp!
Curious…
"Hi, you must be new. Could you move? Please? I sit here."
Said person glared at me in reply.
"Please?" I repeated.
He continued to glare.
"I guess not."
The bell rang. It was mocking my inability to reclaim my rightful throne in the dark corner.
"Miss Thisbe? The bell just rang. Find a seat." Mrs. Allen smiled at me.
No way! The bell just rang? I smiled back, "Sorry Mrs. Allen."
My evil dethroner snorted at my plight as I was forced to sit in front of him.
"Now, as you all know. You were supposed to compose an original poem last class and perfect it over the weekend. I'm sure all of you are simply dying to share of works of art. Savanna, why don't you start? We'll just go down the rows. Read it aloud. Oh, and Mr. Rayde. You will be excused from this assignment, since you're new. Class, this is Mr. Romeo Rayde, he's just moved in from Arizona."
Mr. Romeo Rayde nodded his head, clearly not about to give an introduction. The female population of Room 234 was intrigued by the typical new tall dark handsome fixture in the school, except me. I was busy admiring my true love, Alexander King from afar. I sighed. Man, he was fine.
Fiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnneeeee.
"Well," Mrs. Allen interrupted. "We better get started. Savanna?"
Savanna smiled her 100-watt Trident commercial smile. I bet every hormonal boy in the room you-know-what-ed. "Yes, ma'am."
Yes, ma'am. Southern belle much?
"I love cute kittens,
The sun makes my heart sing songs," Insert hair flip of perfectly permed curls here.
"I am Savanna."
"Why that was a lovely haiku, Miss Belle. Very…creative! Yes, creative." The old woman smiled and probably wrote a 69 in her little gradebook of doom. For lack of creativity. I seriously don't know why everyone hates her. She's a really nice old lady who gives people the grades they deserve. "Jacob, you're next."
Jacob gulped and began. "Delilah, my love, is a temptress of…"
I tuned out the rest of the class for a while. I was in the second to the last row. It was boring anyway. Staring out the window was so much more exciting. I saw a squirrel putting his nuts in the tree. How cute! Then this little stray dog came and almost bit the cute squirrels head off and I looked away.
I could see Mr. Romeo Rayde's reflection on the window. Romeo over here actually looked like he was listening to the poems. Romeo? A poet lover? No way!
"Miss Thisbe! Thisbe!" Mrs. Allen screeched in her old lady voice. I didn't like my name very much. Thank you mom and dad, for naming me after a mythical idiot who kills herself for no reason. It's just my luck too; Mrs. Allen was one of those teachers who loved allusions in real life. I am she called Thisbe Castor, Mrs. Allen's favorite allusion.
I swear I'm going to get me a fucking name change as soon as I turn 18.
"Miss Thisbe, I believe it is your turn to share yours." The old lady smiled at me. I smiled back, but no hormonal teen boys swooned at my energy-saver-watted smile.
Some girls just have all the luck.
I began,
"She never listens; that's why I don't cry
But disappointment just can't stay inside.
Salty raindrops fall. It's no wonder why
Sometimes I wish I'd been the child who'd died.
She said I was useless, a stupid child
But later that same day you told me I
Was beautiful and walked away with wild
Bed hair, playful smile, and my heart up high.
You were the only one who was there for
Me ev'ry time I cried. Now that you're gone,
What's there to live for? I've hit the cold floor
Of my bittersweet life. The deed is done.
As I lie dying in a pool of red,
I keep in my heart the last words you said."
Mrs. Allen, wonderful soul she is, applauded. I could see tears in her eyes. Another 100 in the bank. Not bad for a day's work.
Then I noticed that everyone else in the room was staring at me like I was some sort of emo bug. Deadly emotional and contagious. Savanna had this knowing smirk on her face and Alexander King, love of my life?
He was leaning on the back of his chair snoring, probably in the same position (and level of consciousness) he's been for the past 30 minutes. Dear God, please kill me now.
"That was beautiful, Miss Thisbe. Class, I think we can all learn from that lovely poem how we should embody our souls into the poems we write." Embody my ass. "Thisbe, I hope you don't mind. I would like to keep your poem in my collection for examples." I stared at her in incredulity. Does she know how many lives she's annihilated over the years?
If she hadn't given us that stupid poem assignment, I wouldn't be here. Humiliated.
Class passed by. Me? I was struck with excruciating pain every single time somebody snickered, "She never listens. That's why I don't cry." It wasn't that I was hurt. It was that stopping yourself from stabbing the person who just said that giving me the cramps.
The bell rang. Alexander finally woke up and unleashed his beautiful blue eyes upon the world. He stood up. I stood up. I walked like a maniac to the door to avoid any accidents inflicted by my mechanical pencil.
I was in the hallway making a beeline for my next class when I heard some call out my name. "Thisbe!"
Oh wonderful. It was Mr. Badass Romeo.
"What do you want?" Okay, that was a tiny bit harsh, but hey, I was having a really bad day.
"I thought it was good."
"What?"
"I thought it was good—your poem." He looked at me with his eyes. I couldn't help but look into them and compare them to Alexander's. They weren't angelic blue. They were…like the whole universe was…
Am I high or what?
He was probably just making fun of me like everyone else. Thank goodness Alexander was asleep when I read that mistake out loud.
"Gee, thanks." I dripped with sarcasm.
I was freakin' pissed off. So I kicked him in the balls and walked away.
"What's wrong with you? Bitch." he hissed.
Yep. That's me.
Why would anyone think I was a pushover?
well, this chapter was fun to write. so what do you guys think? please r&r. it keeps my stories away from the brink of death. :)