Topping the Jock

Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN - REMY'S DARLING P.O.V

Name: Remy

Subject: Feelings and stuff

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Page No.: 394

Date: Monday, October 3rd, 2011

Dear Diary,

Moving fucking sucked.

I was perfectly happy existing in London, in our four-story Georgian apartment with my perfect little life inside of my perfect little bubble. It was easier in London. I didn't have that many friends, and yeah, so what if I liked to stay in the house over playing with the normal neighbour's kids? I didn't like them, they were all snobby brats.

I had my laptop. And wifi. I was fine.

But no, clearly, those crotch-pheasant parents of mine had to jack up the only good thing I had going in my life. In a matter of days, I was taken from London, with its high, sky-scraping, architectural masterpieces often known to the world as 'buildings,' and suddenly whisked off into some pathetic small town in the middle of absolutely nowhere in one of the most boring places in the world.

Maine, U.S.A. And what was worse, Shitterton was, well, to be blunt, a ton shitter than London. That's probably why they called it Shitterton.

I'd say pardon my French, Diary, but we both know that by this point I couldn't give a shit, and considering I'm an American citizen now, I can be as foul-mouthed as a New Yorker. And though I can speak fluent French, I'd prefer to just say that the entire world can fuck off.

That book series, the one by that Lemon guy, A Series of Unfortunate Events: that's probably based on my pitiful existence. Not only was I in some strange town in a new country, I knew no one other than my disgusting parents, who, as you know, hate the living shit out of me. And then there was the upcoming unfortunate event, the worst in the entire world. Think of the most toxic, abominable, disgusting, inhumane place on the planet. You're forced into doing things you don't like, learn things that you don't need, practically enslaved to the government. No, not North Korea, but yes: American High School.

My first day in town, I'd decided I would have to stay reclusive, I couldn't exist amongst these people. They weren't my kind. They were foreigners. But then again, through their eyes, I was the foreigner.

I decided the best thing to do was to latch on to someone in a similar situation, like a foreign exchange student, and just as that thought ran through my head, a foreign accent pinched at my ears and I looked up from the floor, leaning against my new locker and waiting for the bell.

"Leave me alone," was what he said. I watched him with caution, only eyeing him long enough for no one to take notice of me.

There he was, a sandy-haired kid with eyes like crisp golden leaves in autumn, and a foreign accent that rolled off of his tongue gorgeously. His voice was so Scandinavian that I pin-pointed it exactly. Copenhagen, Denmark.

I had an angle, and I decided to work it.

Then my eyes expanded in their sockets.

Behind him, an ash-blond kid thumped at his back, and forced him to fall forward onto his knees.

"Queer," he spat.

Something in me just sparked. An anger, a rage, I'd never felt such a towering temper come to me before. I dropped the books I had in my arms to the ground, jumping over to where the blond bully and the Danish boy stood.