Thursday, May 22, 2008
-eyeroll-
He felt like crap. Or was it shit? Wait, what was crap anyway? Crap (n.) A result of bowel movement. Shit meant the same thing. So it was supposed to be 'felt like crap/shit'.
Oh, what the heck. Damn the difference between American and British slang. It wasn't as if they'd sue him for being the new Russian kid from UK.
'Umph...'
Great, he had been in the school for less than half an hour and 'the new kid' curse was trailing him already. If luck would have it, he'd be surrounded by the welcoming committee.
His things (which he packed half-asleep at four in the morning) landed on the ground, mingling with an attractive blonde's stuff. Mumbling a sorry under his breath, he quickly grabbed whatever looked familiar and shoved it back into his knapsack. The tall, black-haired teenager shouldered his bag, escaped the potentially embarrassing scene and continued to fill his brain with utter nonsense.
Hold on, why was he feeling like crap/shit again? Oh yeah, jet lag. Of all the hang-overs he'd experienced, a Gosh-knows-how-long airplane ride was one he never wanted to go through again.
Supposedly, he should have been in the States eons ago. But due to some trouble in his documents, he ended up going around Europe, some parts of Asia until finally here.
Thank goodness he slept on the last few hours of the trip or else he would've crashed and burned right on the spot. Then again, maybe he could sleep through lunch- no, wait, if he didn't fill his stomach with proper non-stale 'chow', he'd kill whoever invented airplane food. Ugh, who said 'chow' anymore?
Fishing out the sheet of paper with his locker number and combination from his knapsack, he brushed off his undeniably messy ebony locks from his equally twilight-colored eyes. Hm... his hair was getting too long, maybe after a week or two he would remember-
A light tap on his shoulder made him realize that he was shoving in a History book with the name 'Dani Greyson' scrawled on it using a broad, dark blue marker.
Damn it, he got the wrong book. Sighing, he turned around and came face to face with a dark-haired smiling beauty. A cheerleader, he figured, it was obvious, of course, Halloween wasn't for another month.
The girl talked so fast, he nearly cringed, and since he wasn't even in the position to decipher the cheerleader, he blinked at her. Rude, yes, very.
To even more of his surprise, she held up a History book and asked whether it was okay for her to get 'it' back.
He'd love to, if only he knew what 'it' was.
It suddenly hit him, the history book. Gawd, how slow could he get? What else could she be asking for?
He smiled politely (tried to, anyway) at her and traded Dani's book (or whoever she was) with his.
"Sure, thank-"
"Hello?"
"Well, apparently, D'mitri Chekhov, you have my phone and my book."
He was so not in the mood for this. But still, if she wanted to play...
"What, no hello, Dani Greyson?"
"Don't tempt me to flush your passport down the toilet, Mikhail. Give the phone to Leia and follow her back to the courtyard."
Scowling, he handed the cellphone to "Leia" and sighed under his breath. Cheerleaders.
Pfft.
Oh, what the heck. Damn the difference between American and British slang. It wasn't as if they'd sue him for being the new Russian kid from UK.
'Umph...'
Great, he had been in the school for less than half an hour and 'the new kid' curse was trailing him already. If luck would have it, he'd be surrounded by the welcoming committee.
His things (which he packed half-asleep at four in the morning) landed on the ground, mingling with an attractive blonde's stuff. Mumbling a sorry under his breath, he quickly grabbed whatever looked familiar and shoved it back into his knapsack. The tall, black-haired teenager shouldered his bag, escaped the potentially embarrassing scene and continued to fill his brain with utter nonsense.
Hold on, why was he feeling like crap/shit again? Oh yeah, jet lag. Of all the hang-overs he'd experienced, a Gosh-knows-how-long airplane ride was one he never wanted to go through again.
Supposedly, he should have been in the States eons ago. But due to some trouble in his documents, he ended up going around Europe, some parts of Asia until finally here.
Thank goodness he slept on the last few hours of the trip or else he would've crashed and burned right on the spot. Then again, maybe he could sleep through lunch- no, wait, if he didn't fill his stomach with proper non-stale 'chow', he'd kill whoever invented airplane food. Ugh, who said 'chow' anymore?
Fishing out the sheet of paper with his locker number and combination from his knapsack, he brushed off his undeniably messy ebony locks from his equally twilight-colored eyes. Hm... his hair was getting too long, maybe after a week or two he would remember-
A light tap on his shoulder made him realize that he was shoving in a History book with the name 'Dani Greyson' scrawled on it using a broad, dark blue marker.
Damn it, he got the wrong book. Sighing, he turned around and came face to face with a dark-haired smiling beauty. A cheerleader, he figured, it was obvious, of course, Halloween wasn't for another month.
The girl talked so fast, he nearly cringed, and since he wasn't even in the position to decipher the cheerleader, he blinked at her. Rude, yes, very.
To even more of his surprise, she held up a History book and asked whether it was okay for her to get 'it' back.
He'd love to, if only he knew what 'it' was.
It suddenly hit him, the history book. Gawd, how slow could he get? What else could she be asking for?
He smiled politely (tried to, anyway) at her and traded Dani's book (or whoever she was) with his.
"Sure, thank-"
"The city is at war, a place among the young and rich
Ignore me if you see me, ' cause I just don't give a shit
The city is at war, bless the young and rich
With designer drugs and designer friends."
"What the-" he murmured under his breath, "Cobra Starship?" Odd, since when did his cellphone scream ''The City is at War for it's ringtone?
"I'm sorry," he apologized, dipping his hand into the khaki-colored knapsack. Damn it, he not only got Dani's book, he swiped her phone by mistake too. Catching the vibrating object, he flipped it open and pressed the answer button."Hello?"
"Well, apparently, D'mitri Chekhov, you have my phone and my book."
He was so not in the mood for this. But still, if she wanted to play...
"What, no hello, Dani Greyson?"
"Don't tempt me to flush your passport down the toilet, Mikhail. Give the phone to Leia and follow her back to the courtyard."
Scowling, he handed the cellphone to "Leia" and sighed under his breath. Cheerleaders.
Pfft.
Labels: D'mitri Chekhov, Scrawled by Fleur
♥ Whichever idiot said that love doesn't exist, had no idea where to look.
6:23 AM
The JFK Company
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6:23 AM
The JFK Company
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