Roxy's Short Stories

Crossed Signals

A/N: *WARNING* I am not trying to offend anyone, and if I do, I am deeply sorry. DEEPLY. VERY. EXTREMELY. UBER. SUPER DUPER.

*~*

If you were a teenager starting high school, where would you want to be? Would you want to be in your home country, or have to move to somewhere else? Would you rather have your best friends or have to try and make new ones?

My answer for both, is the first. Moving to America at the start of a new school year, is not ideal.

My plan? To blend in. Make friends and know people, but not force my way to the top, while not to be at the bottom. Sound simple? That's what I thought. It turns out, though, that being from a different country, having a different accent and way of speech, does not help this, at all.

*~*~*

Hearing the bell for first period ring, I rushed to the door and sauntered in. Following my plan, I chose a seat around the middle, next to two friendly looking people; a guy and a girl.

Class started, and I realised that we were doing history. American history, to be specific. Fun.  "Okay, class, today we'll be watching a video; a documentary to be exact, about America's past relations with other countries," the teacher introduced in a horribly nasal voice with the strongest accent I had ever heard from a Yank.

Loud groans came from the people who were listening. Obviously not listening, the delinquent looking people, who strangely enough were up the front, continued what they were doing; whether it was mindlessly chewing gum, listening to music or, for one, even scraping away the wood on his desk using a pocket knife.

Looking down to my hands, I sighed and let the strange accents fill my ears while I listened in on bits of other people's conversations.

Not learning anything new, i was thankful when the video started and it rambled on. I blankly stared at the screen, not taking anything in until I heard a familiar and beloved word.

Australia.

The video presenter changed so that it was a greying Aussie guy telling us his side. Following his first sentence, groans of 'shut the fuck up' and 'this dude's accent sucks balls' erupted around the classroom.

What's wrong with his accent? That's how I talk, and no one had ever faulted me. That was how everyone talked, back home.   A few minutes later, the presenter changed to an English man, but no one raised any complaints about his accent. "That's bloody lovely," I muttered to myself.

About twenty minutes later, the video was finally over. "Start answering questions now," the teacher announced to us. Bloody hell, woman, I thought. Get a new accent. This one is annoying me to the end of the world and back.

I looked down to my sheet and tried to zone out the teacher's annoying voice. Pulling out a pencil, I got to work on the first few questions before finally getting stumped at number five.

I wrote a sentence, before re-reading it and realising my mistake. After a search through my pencil case, I figure out that I don't have a rubber. Nice one, Dani.

"Can I borrow a rubber," I asked, turning to the guy next to me.

He turned to me and his jaw had practically hit the ground. "You want to borrow a what?" he asked, incredulous.

"A rubber," I answered back, confused. What was so hard to understand about a rubber?

"Well, I'm sorry, but I don't exactly bring those to school," he informed me. Why wouldn't you bring a rubber to school? Oh wait, no, he's lying.

"It's right there, you little fibber," I laughed, pointing at the rubber on his desk.

"This?" he asked holding it up.

No, your desk, I thought to myself sarcastically. "Yeah, that. The rubber."

After staring at me for a second, he started to laugh, shoulders convulsing and attracted the attention of everyone else in the class. "Mr. Maxwell, may I ask what is so amusing?" the etcher asked, disdainfully.

"New girl here asked me for a rubber," he answered simply between laughs. The class instantly burst into laughter and I felt my cheeks flare.

"What's so wrong about a rubber?" I asked him, defiantly. He stared at me for a second before replying.

"Firstly, it's an eraser. Secondly, a rubber, is another word for a condom," he answered me, still laughing hysterically. My cheeks flare an even darker red.

That would explain the laughter. Danielle, you just made a fool of yourself on day one. Smart.

"Oh."

*~*~*

"Nice shoes," an American voice filled my ears. I looked up to see Rubber Dude.

"You like them? They're my second favourite, but one of my thongs broke, so they didn't match, so here I am, wearing these," I explained to him, babbling and forgetting about the earlier incident. "Which by the way," I add, "Are a leaving prezzie from my bestie back in Australia."

He stares at me, using the same gormless dropped jaw expression as in history. "Thongs? When did I ever mention anything about thongs?" he asked, shocked.

"You complimented them," I reminded him.

He stared at me for a second, before laughing and shaking his head. "I complimented your shoes.I didn't mention anything about your panties."

"Yeah, I know. You complimented my thongs," I repeated back to him, waggling my feet. "Where the hell did the talk about my undies come in?"

"You're the one who brought up thongs!" he exclaimed.

"Are you really that thick? My thongs," I said, indicating to my feet, "Are on my feet. In no way did I mention undies."

The stupid guy's expression had another déjà vu and he started to laugh again. "Oh, God. You think those flip-flops are thongs?" he asked me, emphasising flip-flops. "Oh, I thought you were talking about the underwear."

"What the hell are you on about?" I asked him. "You do not wear thongs, other than on your feet."

Then I had an epiphany. "You thought I meant a g-string?" I asked, starting to laugh. "Oh bloody hell, that is funny."

We laughed together for a few minutes before finally coming to a halt and he slid into the opposite side of the table from me.

"You got food? Imma go buy some," Rubber Boy told me. I nodded my head and took out my sandwich which I happily took a bite out of.

"Dude, what the fuck is in that thing?" the guy inquired, clearly disgusted.

I looked down at my sandwich, before looking back up and shrugging. "Just vegemite, you know, normal sandwich."

I took another chunk out of my sandwich as he continued to stare at me, nose wrinkled. "What the fuck is vegemite?"

Did he seriously just ask that? I stood up and angrily slammed my hand down onto the table. "Vegemite," I informed him, angrily, "Is God's gift to sandwiches, pancakes and whatever else you want to put it on. Try it."

He continued to stare at me, so I broke off some and shoved it in his mouth. "Chew," I instructed.

"Oh fuck, man, that tastes shit," he spluttered after finally swallowing.

"Well somebody has bad taste," I muttered.

"Yeah, whatever, I'm gonna go buy some food now," he responded, smirking.

He stepped out and I followed, giving a peace offering of, "My shout."  

*~*

  A/N: Teehee, comment :P This is just a mini story, so I don't think I'll actually write anymore. If you don't know some of the slang, just ask, but I think I've got it covered in the following list thing :P

AUSSIE SLANG

Thongs: Flip-flops

Rubber: Eraser

'My shout': I'll pay

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