September 8th, 1999
School. One of the things that Joey felt an emotion towards: hatred.
Languages; pointless. It's not like he would go anywhere or do anything with his life. He doubted any of these American kids would.
English; pointless. Why would he need to know how to analyse texts? Not much more to be said.
Maths; pointless. It was just the way humans interpreted the world. If aliens came to Earth, how useful would it be to try and teach them 'linear inequalities'.
Sciences; eh. Semi-useful but boring and overly complicated. Like, surely balancing equations can be made actually comprehensible.
Either way, school was a waste of time. He preferred doing things with his hands; like music or crafts.
He didn't know what he wanted to be. Maybe a musician or an architect. He could play the drums and he enjoyed that. He'd made sure his dad had unpacked that almost as soon as they arrived. His mum, however, made sure that he wasn't able to play it often as she kept apparently getting 'migraines' in which the whole house 'must be silent'. He just left the house whenever she said that, not that he made much noise by himself anyway.
He'd heard the school he was going to had a school band but he doubted he would sign up. Too many people. That was enough to turn Joey off. And even if there were just a couple of people, they wouldn't like him and he'd have to make conversation and make jokes. And that was if he got past the audition stage.
He got ready for school a little earlier than he should've. If he got to school early, then he could find a secluded space and make sure that no one saw him or tried to talk to him. He put on the most ordinary clothes he could find: jeans and a t-shirt. He would wear his red sneakers and tie a Cubs baseball jacket around his waist, then he really would look like a normal, stereotypical 9th Grader. He gelled his hair a little but he knew it wouldn't hold for long, not with how lank and pencil-straight it was.
He scuttled along the street, head down, eyes down, headphones on. Luckily, the school wasn't too far away. As he came to the end of his street, he noticed another house for sale. It wasn't as nice as his. It was bigger, a lot bigger, but the garden was unkempt and the house itself was in serious disrepair and desperately needed someone to sort it out. It would take a lot of work, no wonder it hadn't been sold for a long time. Joey could see the mould and weathering on the 'for sale' sign as he hurried past. He nearly tripped over, outside that house. It was the only place along the road where the smooth pavement had become cracked and filled with weeds. He had a quick look at the house through its rusted iron gates but it wasn't interesting. The wooden steps were now just planks of wood snapped in half, the drive was a mass of concrete slabs separated by dandelions and tufts of grass, the windows so smothered with mould and algae that they had become completely opaque. He carried on. There was no point wasting his time standing outside that forsaken place. The one thing he'd learnt: make sure to cross the road before you get to the street corner. He didn't want to be tripping up in the morning.
On the rest of his journey, 1 car passed him. The streets were so quiet and secluded. The town was so small that everyone walked everywhere and cars were just a stationary object to sit on show outside your house. No doubt, his parents would follow suit and leave the car permanently parked on the driveway.
He reached the school and wasn't underwhelmed or overwhelmed. It was normal. No one was really there so that was a good sign. His plan had worked out. The gates were painted a creamy-yellow colour and the school sign still left traces of the graffiti that had been sprayed on it before the summer. From what he could see, it was a large building that was square, probably late 50s according to the design style (he only knew that because of the book Luke had given to him the previous Christmas all about architecture through the decades), and it had 3 playgrounds. The front one, with a scooter park and a couple of benches, which was also the one he was walking through, a big one, where all the jocks would go, in the middle of the square building (sort of like a courtyard but not as grand) and one on the left side of the school, round the back. That's where he would go.
He made his way around, avoiding the gaze of all the other people who were already there. Most of them had been hanging at the gate like vultures, wearing mini skirts and leather jackets or drawstring pants and baseball jackets with the school logo on. He walked past one of the seniors wearing the yellow and blue school baseball jacket and, on the back, under the school name, someone had written on in big letters 'SUCKZ'.
He grinned a little. Sometimes people did things that were so stupid it was funny.
He left the front playground and went down a thin, overgrown side passage to the left of the school building. He'd seen a map of the school on the back of the sign that he'd glanced at quickly so he hoped this side passage would lead him to where he wanted to go.
Luckily it did. It would be an inconvenience, getting lost, and having to ask where a place was. The playground he found himself in was alright. On the right side was the school building but on the other sides were wooden fences, scattered with trees, blocking out the surrounding houses. Attached to the school building was an overhang, a type of shelter with ivy growing up it. A few people were huddled under there, cramming in last minute summer homework or working on fun maths problems. This was a playground for nerds and geeks. But that's the way he liked it. People who wouldn't ask questions and just get on with their own things. He steered away from the shelter because that was where all the people would congregate.
Instead he went to a secluded back right corner, and sat on a bench between the fence and a tree. He threw his bag beside him; he only had one bag so he and it only took up half the bench. Not the best but it would have to do.
He pulled out a drawing he had been illustrating for a comic strip. He'd always done comic strips. They weren't that great but he'd always liked them. He would create fiction or just carry on storylines from things he'd been watching with different endings. Sometimes, he'd base them off real life. He'd started drawing one of Luke but it was trash. And he had no idea what he'd do with the storyline.
He didn't care about that. He just needed to accurately create a cartoon representation of his face. He was so caught up drawing and listening to Nirvana and Guns 'N' Roses that he didn't realise when someone walked up to him.
It was a boy with ratty blonde hair that had so obviously just had water put in it to hold it in place. It was sticking up at so many odd angles and it looked really weird. His lips had had the colour seeped out of them and his face was as white as the paper Joey was drawing on. His nose still looked like a baby nose and his eyes were a light grey flecked with specks of blue.
He reminded him of somebody but he couldn't quite place him.
He opened his mouth and began speaking but Joey carried on listening to 'Sweet Child O Mine' on his walkman. He eyed the boy up and down, checking out his flared jeans and checkered shirt. He gestured to Joey's drawing, head moving slightly to the left as if trying to see it the right way up instead of upside down.
Joey flipped his headphones back reluctantly, still faintly hearing the music blasting through on full volume. He said nothing, waiting for the other boy to speak. He fiddled with his fingers like the situation was awkward but Joey felt no awkwardness. He never felt awkward.
"D'you mind if I sit down?" His voice hadn't cracked so it was still a little too high-pitched.
Joey shrugged but the boy just stayed where he was. Joey realised he wanted him to move his bag from beside him. Joey waited a second, then did it slowly. The boy eagerly leapt into its place before the bag had even reached the ground.
He grinned. "Wow. That's so good!"
Joey's head turned to stare at him slowly. He pointed at the drawing. Joey didn't know what to say.
"Sorry, I'm Will." He held out his hand.
Joey eventually shook it but it was quite sweaty. As soon as he took his hand away, Will put his hands on top of his legs and turned to face Joey completely.
"You like drawing, then?"
Joey resumed drawing, nodding.
"I do, as well. But I'm not half as good as you."
What was Joey supposed to say? 'I bet you are.' Or something else a normal person would say? Yeah, well Joey wasn't normal. Will would just have to deal with that.
"Who is it?"
He'd lasted a lot longer than most people to be fair to that Will guy, Joey thought. "My brother."
Will nodded, thinking. "Whatcha listening to?"
Joey tried hard to suppress the eye roll. He didn't like it when people asked that many questions about him and his life. "Guns 'N' Roses."
"Oh, so you like rock?"
"Yeah."
"Same. I just love it."
He went on for a good 10 minutes about different rock bands and then somehow got onto the topic of sports. Joey really zoned out when he started talking about American Football teams. The only interesting bit was when he talked about school. He told Joey about the groups and their rankings. Will belonged to the Sci-fi geeks which I guess was alright. They were the only ones that Joey was going to stand a chance of speaking a word to.
There was quite a hierarchy going on at that school. At the top were the 'Kings and Queens'. That was their name. That told you everything. They ruled the school system and there was a group of kings and queens in every grade. They worked together to make everybody else's lives, except their own, hell. In our grade, there was Clyde, Alex, Jackson and Lenny, who were the Kings, and Mia, Brianna, Casey and Karen who were the Queens. Of course, there were the suck-ups, who followed them everywhere but they were begs and weren't given a social status in the school hierarchy. Next were the smart kids. They were just known as 'the smart kids'. The crucial thing here is 'the smart kids', not the nerds. The smart kids were too smart for their own good so no one dared pick on them. They knew everything and knowledge was power. Next were the F.y.o.B.s. People called them that because they floated their own boats. Not the catchiest of names but it stuck. Usually, this was the boys who were quite big or strong but didn't play football or basketball like everyone else. And, for girls, it was the ones who did their own thing and didn't bother with trying to fit in by wearing hot pants and makeup. It was tough for those kinds of kids in the first year but afterwards everyone just respected them. It was hard not to. Then, there were the quiet ones who were usually the sci-fi geeks. They just kept themselves to themselves and rarely let anyone close enough to leave them open for an attack. And, finally, right at the bottom, were the entitled nerds. Everyone called them the 'bigshot nerds' as a joke. See, their issue was that they walked around like they owned the place. If they kept quiet and didn't bother with anyone, maybe they'd be ok, but they thought they were better and more intelligent than they were, which meant they were the perfect kind to pick on. Each time, they would just get back up and carry on like normal. Joey didn't know what led them to do that: was it some feigned sort of optimism, or just the desire to believe they were better than what they were and what had just happened to them as a result of that?
He didn't know and he didn't really care. He would never be one of them. Sometimes, people mistook his schizophrenia for arrogance and tried to categorise him with them, but then eventually they would realise how wrong they were. He fitted better somewhere between the F.y.o.B.s and the quiet ones. He didn't plan on people getting to know him well enough to categorise him, though.
However, it was his first day, and people were naturally curious about where the new kid would fit in. No one tried to be nice, it wasn't kindergarten, instead, they acted like they didn't really care, and if he hung out with them, he hung out with them. Even when the teacher messed up his name and pronounced it 'Johan', like how it was spelt, instead of 'Yohan', there weren't any laughs. No wonder Luke had wished him good luck with 9th Graders. He now understood what he had meant.
The day went by fine; nobody noticed him, which worked out good for him. The lessons were incredibly boring but that was just his luck to arrive on a day with both maths and double science.
He was walking out of school at the end of the day, on his own, having spoken to nobody other than Will and sat on his own at lunch. His headphones were firmly back on his head and his plan was just to walk straight on home. Maybe later he'd go out somewhere and buy a coffee. He didn't know yet.
All of a sudden, as he was thinking about whether he should buy a latte or an americano, a hand landed on his shoulder and another one yanked his earphones off his head, pulling them down around his neck. He slowed his walk down a little but carried on.
"What was your name again?" An annoying voice spoke five words too many.
Joey paused a second before answering. "Joey."
"Haha, Joey." They paused for a second. "I'm Jackson. Everyone calls me Sonny."
Joey took no further notice of him. He hadn't even turned to look at him once. Just as they left the gates, and less than 10 seconds after they'd last spoken, Sonny yanked the headphones from around Joey's neck, the walkman itself still firmly in his jacket pocket. Joey spun around. He didn't.
Joey looked straight into his eyes, then looked at the ground, readjusting his stance, before looking back up at Sonny. Sonny was surrounded by three other boys who looked the exact same as him. Joey had to refrain from laughing when he saw one of them with their buck teeth. All of them had dark brown hair, pushed up in some weird quiff thing, that must've taken about three bottles of hairspray and gel to hold into place. Sonny had a nose that was way too small for his face and his lips were way too pouty. He could tell what kind of guy he was. He didn't bother looking at the others. They were just begs and didn't deserve his time. They even dressed in the same way as Jackson. Trendy leather jackets over tight white t-shirts and too skinny jeans. Come on, the style needed a lot of work.
"What? You gonna give those back?" Joey was in no mood to play along. They'd give them back if he pretended to be uninterested. Anyway, he could just borrow his dad's. It wasn't like he actually used it.
Sonny chuckled. "You got guts-"
"Doesn't everybody?"
Joey wasn't trying to be difficult. It was just the way he was.
"Ooohhhhh." All the begs said in synchronization. They really were desperate. Sonny silenced them with a look, before inching closer to Joey.
"I don't like your attitude, kid." Sonny tried to carry on being intimidating, but it didn't work. Joey didn't easily get intimidated by people, least of all jerks like Sonny.
"I don't like yours either, kid."
Sonny walked forward so he was right in Jackson's face. They were both about 5"6 so it wasn't like he had the height advantage. He brought the headphones up so they were the barrier between his and Joey's face. Slowly and painstakingly, he snapped them. It was hard to tell whether he couldn't snap it because he was weak or because he wanted to prolong the dramatic effect. Joey suspected the former. He threw the two parts of the headphones to the floor in front of Joey's feet. Joey stared at them; cracked, lifeless, no music would play through them again. He nodded his head in acknowledgement, grimacing and biting his lip. Then, he turned around, took one step, before spinning back to face Jackson who had a grin across his smug face. He didn't know what propelled him to do what he did next, or what it would gain, but he did it anyway. One thing he never did, though, was blame it on his schizophrenia.
With a bit of thought, he threw his arm forward, his middle finger sticking out slightly as it made contact with Jackson's scrawny nose. He knew he should say something. But he didn't want it to be pithy like in those B-Movies. It had to be something cool but snappy.
"You don't like my attitude?" He came out sounding a bit Italian-American but I don't think Jackson, on the floor, clutching his bleeding nose and cut lip, really cared."Go cry about it to your mommy, Jackson."
'What kind of stupid name is Jackson, anyway?' he thought in his head but didn't dare say. He gave him one judgy look, stared at them all, then scurried off quickly, pushing his rucksack further up onto his shoulders. He didn't want to wait around and see Jackson's attempt, even if it was just an attempt, at a punch.