Chapter Text
Two full weeks had passed since my birthday. And two full weeks had passed since I've seen Dylan.
I hoped to pass him in the halls, through Columbine. But I had no such luck. Columbine High isn't exactly a small school, but it isn't big either.
He's probably a grade ahead of me, I think to myself as I walk to the cafeteria. That's why I never see him.
The halls are separated by grade level, which meant during class change, you're usually surrounded by people in the same grade.
And during lunch, Sophomores ate with the Freshman.
So, there was a very slim chance I had of ever running into the blue eyed boy who gave me a ride home on my birthday and who actually enjoyed salsa flavored sunflower seeds (ick).
And to be honest, it sucked. I enjoyed Dylan's presence. I know we only talked that one day but still. He made me laugh. And feel good, even though I was having a shitty day.
Just then my somewhat-friend, Ricky pulled me out from my train of thought.
"What did you make on your test?" Ricky asks me, waving his hand in front of my face.
"Er, which one?"
"The one in English, duh! On Dante's Inferno?"
"Oh, uhm. I made a B. An 87." I answer,glancing down at my green jello.
"What?" He shrieks, causing me to cringe.
God, Ricky is so damn loud. And over dramatic. I stab my jello with my spoon to keep myself from saying something mean to him.
"An. Eighty. Seven?"
I nod. "Yeah, that's what I said."
"How?" He asks, baffled.
I roll my eyes. "Try to study Ricky. It could help you." I tell him before I stand from my seat and throw my tray away. I then walk out of the cafeteria.
Ricky will probably be mad that I just ditched him like that. But I don't really care. He's so freaking annoying. And we aren't even that good of friends.
We only talk during lunch and our second period class because we don't want to seem like those losers who have no friends; sounds harsh but it's the truth.
I slip the hood of my jacket over my head, even though I know hoods aren't allowed inside the building. I hurry up the stairwell that leads to the media center.
The media center is strictly reserved for juniors during this time. It's their "study hall" period. But really, it's just where they talk to their friends and do basically nothing.
I sneak through the back door of the library because I know if the librarian catches me, she'll ask me why I'm late and then I will have to explain to her that I'm actually not a junior, but a sophomore. In which, she will then question why I'm not in my assigned class right now. And then I will have to...
To keep it short, if she sees me here and finds out I'm a sophomore, I'll get detention.
I hurriedly grab an empty table in the back, making sure not to be seen by Mrs. Newberry.
I snatch my notebook from my backpack, along with a pen. I have to make it look like I'm at least doing something productive.
And in way, I kinda am.
I have strange hobby;making lists. I make all kinds. An example would be...
- Favorite foods:
- Favorite fruits - Strawberries, Kiwi, Grapes
- Favorite veggies - Celery, Pinto beans
- Favorite deserts - Pie, Ice cream, Cake
- Favorite hot food - Mac n Cheese
- Favorite cold food - Subs
- Favorite salty food - Salt n vinegar Lay's Potato Chips
- Favorite crunchy food - Popcorn, Ice
I was currently on my favorite horror movie, when I heard footsteps approach where I was sitting.
I immediately look up to discover Thomas Letcher now standing in front of me, wearing his infamous smirk. His eyes twinkled with amusement. (that damn smirk)
"Hey Itty-Bitty," He says to me still smiling, fully aware I hate when he calls me that.
‘Itty Bitty Titty Committee’.
I make a face. "Didn't know you named me after your dick. You're so dirty, Tommy." (Wtf, that doesn't even make sense???)
Thomas's face falls, obviously embarrassed and then he quickly tries to recover from his clearly hurt ego. "You think you're funny huh, bitch?"
I shrug. "Sometimes."
"Well, you're not. And I'd appreciate it if you moved somewhere else. Away from our table."
I stared at him.
He's not serious. I glance behind where he's currently standing and not even a foot away is the table he was just sitting at, that I'm apparently sitting "too close to."
And of course, Mckenzie and Rebecca were sitting at that table.
"I'm not leaving," I say firmly.
Thomas simply smiles, says "Alright," and then walks back to the table with his bimbo friends.
I go back to making my list.
Favorite romantic movie: The Princess Bride-
I suddenly felt something hit my head and land an inch in front of me, on the table.
It was a balled up of piece of paper. I could tell something was written inside of it. I knew I shouldn't have really cared but apart of me just had to.
I uncrumbled the paper and I was now staring at - which appeared to be - a drawing of a rat. It was hideous too. The rat's teeth were sticking out of its mouth. Both of its ears were flopped over its ginormous head. It's eyes were big as well, taking over most of its face.
And under the drawing, I read the text:
RACHEL THE RODENT. (Lol)
Wow... just wow.
If they wanted me to leave, then fine!
Fuck Tommy, and Mckenzie and Rebecca and the rest of the assholes that were now laughing at me.
I balled the stupid note up, and I hid it in my jacket pocket. I didn't want anyone to see it. I'll burn it when I get home.
I have to.
I shoved my items into my bag, stood, pushed the chair in and walked to the opposite side of the library.
I've always been insecure of my teeth. I have braces now, and they look way better than they did back in middle school.
They used to be call me buck tooth bunny, rat face and many other names. I've had braces for the past two years now, so the name calling pertaining to my teeth had stopped since then. Until now.
And it made me so fucking angry. Both Mckenzie and Rebecca knew my horrid teeth was the main thing I hated about myself. And they didn't care. Not one bit.
Truthfully, I wanted to cry. I wanted to just lay my head down and cry like the big baby I am.
I lay my head down at the new table I moved to, although I don't cry. I can't. Not in front of everyone else.
"Hey weirdo," says a voice I automatically assumed to be Thomas, back to torment me some more.
"Look here asswipe," I growl looking up.
Oh, shit...
It's not Thomas.
Dylan's face is scrunched together, utterly confused just as much as I am.
"I didn't realize we were this far in our relationship. Usually, angry name calling doesn't start until the third or fourth month. But, if you insist." (This is actually kinda cute)
I couldn't help but crack a grin. "Sorry," I apologize. "I thought you were someone else."
He shrugs and take a seat next to me. "It's okay. As long as you realize, my real name is: Dylan Klebold. And not ass hole."
I chuckle. "Okay, you got it. I won't address you as anything but." Silence. "Oh wait, that probably makes it sound worse." (HUH?)
We then both bust out laughing, receiving glances from the students around us.
"I will only address you as Dylan." I correct myself.
Dylan smiles then goes, "I haven't seen you around since your birthday and when you insulted my tie."
I suck on my teeth. "Probably, because I'm a grade lower than you. And in my defense, the tie was pretty unattractive."
"Hey! My brother bought me the tie for my last birthday."
I scoff. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did your brother buy you a tie? Out of all the presents in the whole entire world, why a tie?"
Dylan sighed. "Gosh, I don't know Rachel. Maybe you should ask Byron. Not me."
"I got socks for Christmas before," I confess in a whisper. "Four Christmases in a row, too. The socks were from my Aunt Gladius."
"Everyone has that one aunt." Dylan whispers back. "I know I do."
"Yeah. She totally ruined Christmas, though. She kept drinking Vodka the entire night. And then she cried because apparently, she had ran over some cat on the drive over or something. I don't really remember. And then she threw up on the carpet."
Dylan snorts. "Uhhh, never mind. I don't think I have that kind of aunt anymore."
I shrug. "It was kinda awesome actually. My dad was soooo pissed. It was great."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Hey, Rachel?"
"Mhm?"
"Why are we still whispering?"
"Um. I don't know," I answer Dylan in my normal tone of voice, this time.
"Yea. Me either."
"What's your favorite movie?" I ask him, as I reach into my bag and bring out my notebook and pen.
On a fresh sheet of paper, I write:
DYLAN K'S FAVORITE MOVIES LIST
Dylan watched what I wrote in my notebook and pauses.
"I dunno. There’s alot. Oh wait -! Here's one. Natural Born Killers."
I scribble the movie title down.
"Okay? Tell me another one."
Dylan begins to shoot out more movie titles. Some I know, some I don't know. I put a check by the ones I don't know.
Just as I was doing so, I feel something fall from inside my jacket.
We both glance down. The balled up paper is now below Dylan’s feet. It's that stupid, stupid, stupid note. It must have just slipped out my jacket pocket, as I was leaving over the table.
"What's that?" Dyan asks me.
"Nothing." I reply, bending down to grab it but I can't because Dylan reaches it before I do.
Fuck.
"Is it a love note from your boyfriend?" He playfully taunts me.
"No."
"Oh, so it's from your girl friend then?"
I shake my head and put out my hand. “Give it.”
Dylan smiles and starts to open the note. And I know he's just playing around with me. He thinks I was just kidding when I told told him to give me the note.
But I'm not. I don't want him to see the stupid drawing of me. I don't know want him to ask 'who drew this?'
I don't want him to feel bad for me and give me that same look he gave me in his car a few weeks ago, when he asked about my father.
"What's he's like?" Dylan asks me, as he pulls into my street.
"An asshole," I tell him, in one breath.
So, that's why I snatched the note from his fingers but I can’t because it's too late; he already uncrumbled the note and he's now staring at the stupid, ugly, hideous drawing of me.
He doesn't say anything at first. And then I hear him mumble something under his breath. Although, I couldn't makeup what exactly he said.
"Huh?"
He looks up from the note, his eyes piercing mine. And for some strange reason, I could sense he was... angry?
"I said fucking stupid. This," he holds the note, "is fucking stupid, Rachel. The people in this school are stupid. Every single one of them."
I watch him get up and step to the trash that’s less than a foot away. He tore the note into little pieces. I watched the shreds now fall into the can.
He walks to the table and sits back down.
Dylan's brows furrowed, as he glances at the clock that was behind me.
"What?"
"Uh, Heather. You do know that Juniors Study Hall period lasts longer than sophomores lunch? Right? Your grade periods lunch ended at 12:03."
Shit.
I look behind me and I read the time on the clock. It's 12:43.
Which meant, I just skipped my entire fourth period. Which meant, I now have to detention which meant...
Well. To keep it short, it fucking sucked.
(Okay im gonna give this fan fic like a 4/10)