'Goddamn, this hall's crowded.'
I squeeze past a group of girls chatting in the middle of the hallway, and one of them gives me a dirty look. I ignore it and continue to read the locker numbers, looking for locker 413. I groan when I can't find it and tap the shoulder of the closest person to me. He turns to me.
"Uh- hey. Could I have some help? I can't find my locker."
The boy blinks and nods. "Sure. What's its number?"
"413," I say.
He hums. "413... I think I know where that is. Follow me." The boy starts weaving through the hall and I struggle to keep up with him. He leads me to the 400s and stops in front of locker 413. "Here we are. I'm Gary, by the way. I'm guessing you're new?"
I nod and take my glove off, looking at the code I wrote on my hand and copying it on the lock, which opens after two tries. "Yeah. I'm (Y/N.)"
"Cool. We don't get many fresh faces here."
I take my scarf and backpack off and stuff them into the locker. I take out my pencil pouch, calculator, and notebook, and then close the locker. I'm a bit confused as Gary still doesn't leave. The blond finally speaks again.
"Do you need help finding your first class?"
"Probably. You know where a Mr. Garrison is?"
He sighs and gives an expression of pity. "Oh, you got him? Yeah, I know where he is. Just... I'll tell you while we walk."
I trail after him once more. "What's wrong?" I ask.
"Mr. Garrison is... interesting," he continues. "He's not very nice. Let's leave it at that. His class is also where the troublemakers are, mainly. Good luck, man. You're gonna need it."
"Are you in his class?"
"Nope, but I was for my first week."
"Huh."
We arrive at Mr. Garrison's class. Gary pats my shoulder and gives an encouraging smile. "Good luck again." With that, he walks away. I look back to the door.
"You gonna move or just stand there?" a nasally voice asks from behind me. I blink and snap out of my thoughts. I mumble an apology and walk in, taking an empty seat in the back.
Class sucked. What a shock! After the soul-sucking two-hour rant (lucky me had him for first and second hour) Mr. Garrison gave us on whatever the fuck Khloe Kardashian's doing now, we're released for our next classes. I have French for third period, so that's where I head to next.
The French teacher is a strict old lady named Ms. Saylop. She seems to believe in assigned seating, and as soon as I walk in, she has me sit next to this guy who looks like he never showers. When I sit, I'm overwhelmed by the scent of Axe Body Spray. My eyes sting.
'He's one of those guys who thinks Axebombing himself is the equivalent of a shower...' I think to myself and groan. Class begins, and the teacher starts by passing out a worksheet.
"This will be group work, class. Understand? Travail de groupe," Ms. Saylop says, enunciating her French. "I will pick one of you at random to answer a question, and the rest of the class will write it onto their papers."
The class groans, and a girl near the front raises her hand. "Um, Madame Salope?"
"Saylop," Ms. Saylop corrects with a tired tone.
"Uh, et si nous... nnn'entendons pas la rehponsey?" she asks in incredibly broken French. The boy next to me snickers. I glance at him. He turns to me and grins.
"It's very funny when zey mispronounce ze words. Yet also very painful. Zough when zey call her Mme. Salope..." he trails off and laughs quietly. "You are ze new kid, no?" He spoke in a thick French accent. Jesus, he sounds (and looks) like he smokes a pack a day.
I try to listen to both the boy and the various students blurting out answers. "Yeah, that's me."
"I am Ze Mole, as people like to call me."
'What fucking name is-' "My name's (Y/N)."
"Hm. Tell me, (Y/N), are you a try-hard pussy like ze majority of zis class?"
"...Uh... no...?" I reply, unsure of what to make of this interaction.
He takes out a candy stick and pops it in his mouth. "Zen we will get along fine. Tell me, what-"
"Monsieur DeLorne! Mon— Mada— uh. (L/N)." She flubs her speech trying to figure out what to call me.
We flinch and turn to Ms. Saylop. She gives us a stern look. "Is there anything you would like to share with the class? If not, I'm sure DeLorne will have no problem answering question six."
I look down at my paper and panic slightly, as I only have questions one and two filled out. Ze Mole groans and looks down at his paper to read question six. He translates almost immediately, "Bien que je pensais que le lot de pâtisseries de M. Chevalier était un cadeau attentionné, je pense que le pain était trop sec."
I struggle to keep up with his words. Ms. Saylop huffs. "I still don't understand why you're in this class."
He cracks his back on his chair carelessly. "Because God hates me, zat's why. And I do not want to take Spanish." He fills the rest of the paper out quickly, and while Ms. Saylop huffs and moves on to the next student, he slides it to me. "You are not very annoying, so I will let you have ze answers."
My face lights up, then falls a bit as I realize just how shitty his handwriting is.
'...It's the thought that counts.'
"...Merci beauc—"
"Do not," he warns, glaring at me. "Or you will be lumped in with ze rest of zese beetches."
I snicker, and for the remainder of the class, I work to decipher his writing. I eventually translate it and turn it in just before the bell.
Next stop: Lunch.
(Thank God.)
I walk into the cafeteria and am overwhelmed by the pungent scent of box potatoes and school cheesy broccoli. I'm thankful to have brought my lunch. I go to an empty table, but am stopped by someone shouting my name.
"(Y/N)!"
I turn to see Gary from earlier, sitting with Mole and an edgy-looking boy. Gary smiles. "Would you wanna join us?"
I look around the cafeteria, then nod and walk over. I sit on Edgelord's side. Edgelord rolls his eyes. I find he's not as edgy up close, he just seems to really like the color black. He scoots away from me.
"Why on my side? You're gonna get your mortal germs on me."
"Nobody cares, stupide. Let zem sit with us," says Mole, glaring at him. A thud is heard.
"Ow-! Don't kick me, you French piece of—!"
"Don't care, deedn't ask."
Gary sighs at the two's behavior. He turns to me. "So how are you liking South Park?"
I shrug and open my lunchbox, opening my drink and taking a sip before responding, "It's okay. The teachers kind of suck, though."
"So do ze people," Mole mutters. He takes his spoon and digs around in his school potatoes.
"You're in, what, junior year? And you still play with your food."
"Shut ze hell up before I send you zere, Dahmeeyon."
"It's Damien!!!"
"A few of them do," Gary agrees partially, seeming to completely ignore his friends' squabble. We chat about school for about ten minutes before Gary's flip phone pings, signaling he has a notification.
"Huh?" Gary opens his phone and reads the message quickly. "Another?" he murmurs under his breath. He types something back with surprising speed. Mole and (I'm assuming his name is) Damien check their phones as well moments later.
Gary looks at me with an apologetic expression. "Sorry, (Y/N), I have to go to. Urgent stuff." Gary rises to leave, but before he goes he tosses his lunch away and sets the plastic tray on the stack.
"God damn it. God, zat son of a beetch! I can never have one normal lunch without— gah! Zat cocksucking asshole." Mole stands, stuffs his phone back in his pocket, buttons said pocket, and storms off, grumbling something about his shovel in his locker. He is not as courteous as Gary was and leaves his lunch tray behind.
Now only Damien and I are left. Damien types on his phone aggressively and groans, stabbing a chicken strip with his fork. "I normally stay behind, but I'm not gonna if it means babysitting you."
Damien glares at me, stacks Mole's lunch tray on top of his, then goes and tosses both of them before leaving.
'The fuck's his problem???' I eat my lunch in solitary, wondering what the fuck that was all about.
I don't see any of my acquaintances for the rest of the day. I walk home alone and collapse on my bed as soon as I get home. I spend my night watching my favorite show and Wiki-surfing, and I fall asleep in the late hours of the night, wondering what tomorrow may bring.
Translations:
Madame = Misses/Mrs.
Mme. = abb. of madame, Mrs.
Monsieur = Mister/sir/Mr.
M. = abb. of monsieur, Mr.
Salope = whore/slut/bitch (essentially an all-in-one swear.)
Travaile de groupe = group work.
Stupide = ...stupid.
"Et si nous nnn'entendons pas la rehponsey?" = "Et si nous n'entendons pas la réponse?" = "What if we don't hear the answer?"
"Bien que je pensais que le lot de pâtisseries de Mme Chevalier était un cadeau attentionné, je pense que le pain était trop sec." = "Although I thought Mrs. Chevalier's batch of pastries was a thoughtful gift, I think that the bread was too dry."
A/N:
First chapter! Woohoo! Though, I wonder if I did the right thing bringing Christophe in so early... I sense lots of Google Translate in my future. ;-;
If anyone here is fluent in French and sees anything that needs corrections, please let me know!
Is three characters in the first chapter too many? I don't think all of LR's members would have the same lunch period (and I don't want to write them all at once rn,) so I think three is a good amount.
If Wattpad let me use indents I would be soooo happy.
How's y'alls' summer break going? Mine's going pretty good! See you next chapter!
A/N 2.0: haha patch note three finally figured out how to add em dashes on computer