My Love, My Drug, My Release

Chapter 2: On My Knees

So I haven't updated in a while because, despite knowing where I want this book to go, and having a good bit of it already written, the set up has been challenging for me to write. I've also been working on different projects that I'm not putting on Wattpad and had to drop out of college and a lot of other shit, so, yeah. 

I hope I'll be able to update more frequently on all my fics. I might also start another one about Stranger Things so, if any of you are also in that fandom, keep an eye out.

BTW the British grading system from 1970 was so ridiculously complicated that I just took the one that started in 1975. You're welcome. 

After Easter break, I was set to return, on the Tuesday after the Sunday, to the school I'd been attending in London since the winter term of last year when I moved into Paul's house in St. John's Wood. Before that I'd gone to a school in Manhattan where Linda, Jack, and I lived for a couple of years and, before that, a different school in London when my brother and I'd lived with my father.

I put on my navy uniform skirt, which was way too short on my long legs, and a white polo, which hung shapelessly off me. I brushed my hair to get out the tangles and arranging my fringe into gently separated pieces across my forehead.

A driver took me to school since Linda was under attack in the recent weeks since Paul announced he was leaving the Beatles and the musician himself was busy getting wasted. I rode in the back seat of a Lincoln Continental, like the kind the American presidents drive around in, and did my best to politely ignore the chatter of the fifty-something driver named Robert who seemed insistent on getting to know me. His heart was in the right place, but I hated talking, especially lately.

The school I was attending was a collection of four obnoxious yellow mansions. One was for the offices and administration shit, another was for the humanities, the third for sciences, and the final one was a large, one-story building split between the gymnasium and other athletics-related crap and the music and art rooms as well as a decent-sized theatre.

I was in Year 10, but felt ages older than everyone else. Not in that I was smart, because I wasn't really. I was fine, probably above average naturally, by I couldn't concentrate enough to accomplish large projects or study properly. I ended up writing a good first two paragraphs and then phoning it in or just winging it on a test, hoping I absorbed enough in class to get by. I got mostly As and Bs, with the occasional C, mostly just being noticed by teachers for being respectful, polite, and amiable as opposed to insightful.

The reason I felt older was just that I wasn't a total arse all the time and didn't insist on getting stoned and drunk at every opportunity. I didn't find their humor funny and they didn't like my company much either; I was decently attractive (mainly I had a nice figure if my clothes weren't too tight and I was tall and had fairly symmetrical features and clears skin), but I wasn't nearly pretty enough for the "in-crowd" to want to be around considering my lackluster personality.

Not much worth noting happened that day up until the second to last period. One of the deans of something or other stopped me in the middle of the hallway on the ground floor of the Humanities building.

"That skirt is not in uniform," he said loudly enough that people around us stopped to hear what was transpiring.

"It's the longest they had in my waist size, sir." I generally resented male authority figures, or at least men who seemed to get off to publicly shaming girls like this guy, but I bit my tongue, not wanting to cause a scene.

"Well, it has to be floor length when you are on your knees." He paused, expectantly. "If you would be so kind."

I hesitated, unsure of what he was asking me. Then I realized. "I'm sorry sir, I'll get a longer skirt and have the waist taken in as soon as possible."

"On your knees Miss Foxwell."

At this point, a substantial collection of students had gathered to witness my humiliation, and I, with as much dignity as I could muster, lowered myself to my knees, keeping my face neutral.

"Yes, just as I suspected, several inches off the ground. You'll need to do something about that immediately Miss Foxwell. Alright, on your way." He scurried off somewhere, and I stood up and brushed some dirt off my knees.

Everyone was looking at me like a circus freak and I just tried to avoid them as best as I could, but passing by sniggering boys and whispering girls as I tried to exit the building on my first day back from break was about as nightmarish as it got.

As I was braving the windy, overcast weather, I felt someone grab my upper arm. I jerked around, feeling that horrible, unwanted fight or flight reaction. Heart pounding, I was relieved to see it was only an upperclassman girl, a beautiful one at that, with ash blonde hair that had that warm, honeyed feel to it in a stylishly messy bun with proper piecey fringe, unlike my disheveled mess, eyes a startling ocean blue framed by unnaturally long, dark eyelashes. The eye makeup combined with her full lips, dark brows, and easygoing style should have made her seem a little slutty, but, when combined with her fairy-like nose, rounder cheeks and pointed chin, and rosy complexion, she seemed passably virtuous.

"Hello, what's your name?" she asked, coming closer to me after having released my arm.

"Lorraine, Loraine Foxwell, but people usually call me Lo."

"I'm Rosemary Bridges, people call me everything: Rosemary, Rose, Rosy, Bridges, Bridge, Ro, take your pick."

"Uh, thanks."

"Yes, well, I stopped you because one of the girls on our cheerleading squad broke her wrist so she'll be out for the rest of the season. You have a nice look and seem, I don't know, comfortable in your body. And you're tall, which is good for a base. Are you interested?"

"Oh, I don't know, I've never been much of a dancer-"

"We can teach you everything, and it won't be like you're up there doing a solo or anything." After seeing my hesitation, she added, "Come to practice Thursday after school and see what you think. We're all one big family and it's great fun once you get into it. Just give it a chance, I promise you won't be disappointed."

I agreed and we parted ways, she told me which locker she was so I could stop by in between classes if I had any questions. I think she wanted to give me her phone number but didn't want to seem too eager and scare me off, which was a smart idea on her part because it might've (plus I didn't think I was allowed to use the house phone for personal calls just yet).

I went on to my next to last class of the day, Maths, nervous about the offer but deep down secretly ecstatic just knowing that this could potentially be my ticket to a normal adolescence. 

Thank you so much for reading, it truly means the world, and it would mean the whole damn solar system if you'd comment and vote. Let me know what you want to see; if you think Lo should go out for cheer. Also, tell me if there's any British vernacular I'm screwing up because I am a Yank.