Laurel leans forward to the tip of her chair—her back was hurting against the metal—and peers her eyes straight ahead in anticipation. Zach does the opposite, lying back in his chair and cleaning his glasses (they have been fogging up throughout the course of the morning).
Calm and collectively, Beck leans over to Taylor and whispers something in her ear, before turning and giving a content smile toward Laurel—she's on the other end of the room.
"Which of the following substances occurs naturally in human saliva: bacitracin; ptyalin; or erythromycin?", Mr.Matthews reads off the question card.
After about five seconds, Beck places her left arm across her desk and raises her right hand, turning her head towards Laurel in the process. "I believe the answer is Ptyalin, Mr.Matthews."
"That is correct!", Mr.Matthews replies, using two hands to hit the question card against his podium, creating a satisfying, click! Laurel sighs heavily, leaning back and running her fingers through her recently-cut hair. Scratching the back of his neck, Zach smiles, "Yeesh, I could've sworn it was Bacitracin", ending with a nervous chuckle.
"I believe you're all ready for the competition!", Mr.Matthews says with a raise of his eyebrows and an enticing grin. "You're all free to go. Just remember the date, it's Friday, so make sure to get enough sleep the night before. You need to be at the front of the school by eight, don't be late. And Laurel, take some time to review science, it seems to be your least strong suit."
It's the walk out of the room that Laurel dreads the most. It seems to take a long time, and it should, she deserves to take 'the walk of shame'. But the shame isn't what stresses her, it's the comments that will come when she exits the room. Sluggishly, she grabs her backpack, and nudges Zach on the shoulder to follow her lead. "Come on, we should head back to second period."
Sure enough, when the two of them leave and close the door, the blond twins are waiting for them—casually stationed with their shoulders against the navy blue lockers.
"That was quite a show you put on.", Beck says with a smirk, hiding her mole in the dimples of her cheeks. "I could hardly recognize you when you came in—" She approaches Laurel, reaching up slowly and touching a black strand of Laurel's hair. When Beck's hand collides, it is soft, comforting, and Laurel closes her eyes and pictures Cassie. Cassie's fingers touch her roots, and comb through the entire length of her hair—which extends six inches past her shoulders. She grips her hair, pulls her in and— "Don't touch me!" Laurel shoves Beck's hand away, causing her to back up with her hands raised, like a criminal waiting to get handcuffed by the police.
"Woah, look who's feisty!" She laughs, looking to Taylor to back up her claim. Taylor joins, not because she actually finds it funny, but because it'd be awkward not to. "Are you flirting with me?!", Beck scoffs with a smirk of her red lipstick, "Does our dispute help you get off at night? I mean...I wouldn't know, I'm not a Dyke, but I'm genuinely curious. Does it?"
"No, bitchiness doesn't exactly turn me on."
"That's too bad, I was thinking I could have a threesome with you and my boyfriend but, I guess that's just my luck. Well, if not me, at least you can find someone else. Not that they'll actually enjoy your presence, but your new hair is practically screaming what you want." Beck lifts two fingers in a V—placing it just below her lips—before extensively licking in-between the crack and making dramatic moaning expressions.
>Ugh, I hate my life.<
On their way back to class, Laurel takes a detour, claiming she needs to use the bathroom. As Laurel turns to go in a different direction, Zach says, "Hey, Laurel, don't let them get to you. They're dumb, that's all.", with a laugh.
>Sometimes…. I just want to bash his head in, not everything in the world's a joke.<
"I'm fine, really."
Laurel looks In the mirror while reaching up to touch her hair. She sees her past self beside her, the way she was when times were good, when she was happy. Her hair was her prized possession, and she was stupid to cut it!
Snip! Snip! The hair had fallen so gracefully, and though she knew how important it was to her, it didn't really "hit home" until she was already on the bus-ride to school. In the moment, she only knew it had to be done, she had to let go. It would've only caused more heartache. But even so, what she would've endured would've felt better than this, anything would've felt better than this.
After washing her face, Laurel adjusts the ring on her finger—it's a red jewel held in place by six bars, with one of them being bent backwards so it's staring at the ceiling—and returns to class.
—
After taking off her backpack and setting it beside her, she reaches inside her back pocket to reveal a notebook and pen. The red book, which has doodles of dead animals stretched across its cover, is bent and torn. Laurel flips through its pages before settling upon a blank one. The bus, which bounces up and down quite frantically, irritates Laurel as she tries to hold the book steady. Laurel starts to doodle on it, occasionally looking up to observe people exiting the bus. She draws an undead cat devouring a person, it's blood-red eyes fixated on the corpse. The sharp bloody claws of the cat tear at the corpse's flesh, while the cat hisses with fangs and a demented smile. Her inspiration for the drawing stems from a book, when Winston Churchill is risen from the dead.
Her death-themed drawings go hand-in-hand with the shirt she's wearing. Though she's skinny and doesn't need a shirt to hide any imperfections, she wears an oversized Metallica shirt, with bold bright white lettering. Her music taste wasn't always like that, but for the years of high school, she couldn't go a single day without tuning out the world with eighties rock.
In the midst of drawing the cat's whiskers, Laurel is startled by a voice above her. "Sup, Laurel.", a boy says as he peers over the top of the seat, "Long time, no see!". His arms are resting on the top of the seat, and he has short, curly hair and dark skin. "What are you talking about? You saw me earlier this morning, Tobias." Laurel closes the book and looks him dead in the eyes, squinting in order to emphasize his stupidity. She knows why he didn't notice her. Toby is the starting point-guard at the school, and he stays up too late attempting to catch-up on his schoolwork. As a result, he sleeps on the bus-ride to school, and normally only socializes on the way back.
Despite Laurel's remark, Toby is quite amused by messing with her. Normally at this time, he will be at the front of the bus trying to annoy Shirley Sprouse—she gives the BEST reactions to getting teased—but considering she's not here today, it seems he's turned his sights on Laurel.
"I see you've cut your hair", Toby says, "It's not even as long as your shoulders anymore."
"Don't talk about my hair, I've had enough shit about it today."
"Alright..alright, I won't comment on your precious hair."
It happens so fast. While Laurel is distracted and turns to look outside, Toby reaches down and swipes her notebook. "What have we got here!", he says with a menacing smile. Laurel, crossing her arms, calmly waits for Toby to get his satisfaction. She isn't going to give-in to the teasing—that's what bullies want—she's just going to wait till he gives the book back. Toby, after examining the cover intently, cringes in disgust. "Damn Laurel, you're sick!", he says, throwing the book back in her direction.
It seems to move in slow motion, the wind flipping the pages mid-air. She tries to save it, reaching her arms out to catch it—she's too late. Since Toby threw it in a sudden manner, the book splats on the floor, and it's pages get smeared with the dirt from the floor. She picks up the book, and the cat that she was drawing is ruined, all the colors blended together against the muddy aisle ground.
She wants to cry, but she can't, she knows she can't. That's typically how it is when she gets emotional at school, she's forced to hold it back—the kids at school would jump at the first opportunity to tease her for being vulnerable. So, she takes it, she holds in the tears and the pain. Looking back on it now, she might've decided to just let her emotions out, cause it'd be better in the long-run than bottling-up her depression. But anyways, she'll learn to deal with it in other ways. For now, she just drops the dirty book back on the floor—placing her AirPods in her ears and head against the window—and blasts "Whiplash" in her eardrums.
—
When Laurel exits the bus, she goes uphill to her house, stopping at the neighbors' place on the way. Scarlet opens the door, and for the first time today, Laurel smiles.
"Hey Laurel, how was school?" Scarlet smiles warmly, her red wavy hair shining in the sun. Mrs.Wirkenshire is a health guru, even sporting a blog page where she shares her diet secrets and workout routine. Laurel knows Scarlet is in her early forties, but because of the way she treats her body, she looks no older than twenty-five. She's dressed in black leggings and a blue top, and to Laurel it looks as if she's a mesmerizing college student. Not that Laurel would be attracted to her, however, because Scarlet is like a mother to her. But, she can still appreciate her beauty.
"It was alright!", Laurel says with a smile. It's common knowledge that when asked a question like that, you should always respond with something positive. Well, perhaps the person is actually concerned, but at least in terms of Scarlet, Laurel doesn't want to spoil her day with bad news. Also, she doesn't really want to deal with explaining what happened today.
"It better be good. You're graduating in a couple weeks after all, and you should be happy that you got accepted to Stanford." Scarlet softly ruffles Laurel's hair, "I love your hair by the way, it really compliments your body."
Laurel resists the urge to give a sarcastic response and says, "Thanks, I'm glad you like it."
Scarlet hands her a tall, clear blender bottle: "I made it just the way you like it: Mango and strawberry blend, with cold blue berries on top." Laurel accepts the drink, and hugs Scarlet tightly before leaving. She misses those hugs, the warm ones that make you feel loved and cherished. The kind that make you feel special, like there's no one else in the world but you and that person.
"Thanks Scarlet, you really know how to make a smoothie!", She says while smiling.
As Laurel starts to descend the steps, Scarlet calls her back, "Oh, and one more thing. Let your dad know to come around seven, we'll have the food ready for him when he gets here."
"I will."
>Why can't I go to dinner? Dad can't even invite his own daughter to have dinner with the neighbors?!That's bullshit. He's probably just ashamed of me, thinks I care too much. He just doesn't care enough. Practically erased her from his mind, that sonofabitch. But it's whatever, they'll probably talk about politics or the super bowl.<
Laurel goes uphill to her house, entering using a key from her backpack. Up in her room, she throws her bag on the ground, kicks off her shoes, and gets comfortable by taking off her bra—it was starting to make lines on her back. She turns on her tv, slouching in her couch-chair and grabbing a bag of Hot Cheetos from her desk. Flipping to Channel Three news, she watches intently, curious about the next scandal to surface.
There's a brunette anchor woman on the left-hand side of the screen, speaking in front of a building that says, Emerald Hotel, in neon-green lights. The street surrounding the hotel is filled to the brim with reporters and police cars, and one of the policemen is talking to the hotel owner. Laurel thinks the lady has an "English Teacher" haircut, and also finds it quite hilarious to see her fidgety and stumbling over her words.
"Well, the news for today is that a murder occurred last night in this hotel—which is off the corner of Maple and Elm Street—with the perpetrator being identified as Travis Fitzgerald, a twenty-nine year old man staying with his wife and kids three miles from the scene. Most of you will know this downtown area, cause, uh, it's stationed next to Kilmer's Meat Factory and Distribution Center (KMDC). The police were not able to take the man into custody because, um, he committed suicide on the roof after performing the heinous crime. The victim, Helma Sly, was planning to meet her grandkids today for comfort because, uh, today is the anniversary of her husband's death. Her body was found severely mutilated, with scratches at the upper back and the abdomen. Her autopsy is still planning to be performed, but from the looks of it, uh, police suggest that Fitzgerald attacked her with his bare hands, and ate part of her body as well. Um, the relatives of Helma are trying to learn as much as they can about what happened, and uh, are trying to cope with breaking the news to Helma's grandchildren. Police do not yet know the relation between Sly and Fitzgerald—if there is any—but they have taken Fitzgerald's family in for questioning. As it stands, uh, it seems Sly and Fitzgerald have no relation to one another, and the Fitzgerald family claims they saw no signs of Travis planning the attack. Uh, to them, this circumstance is just as shocking, proclaiming that Travis was a kind soul who 'wouldn't hurt a fly'. Police don't even know how Travis managed to get past the lobby, nor how he was able to access the roof. However, the security guards are being—" Laurel turns off the tv, moving to her bed and lying down.
>Now THAT, was some interesting news. It's not everyday that you get the privilege of hearing about a cannibal! Reminds me of Hannibal Lecter. Come to think of it, I wonder if Trevor has seen 'Silence Of The Lambs' before. That would be ironic!<
Her father, Samuel, wouldn't be home till six thirty, and even then he'd probably go straight to the neighbors. So, Laurel reaches over to her bedside table to grab her story-notebook, and continues writing her horror story: 'The Boy With The Moon Tattoo'.