DEET
Have you ever woke up and just wanted to become one with your bed so you didn't have to do anything that day? That's how today felt.
The moment my heavy eyelids opened, I had closed them at once.
Today was a day I liked to call a delayed Monday— considering my Mondays were usually quite enjoyable.
The skies were overcast, a light grey blanketing it, taking away the baby blue hue. I walked down the street, my gaze focused on the ground underneath my feet until I reached the Main Street, where busy people waited and walked along the crosswalk. Pressing the button, I awaited my turn to cross the street, just as a car flew by, driving through the large puddle at the edge of the road and splashing me with the murky water.
It took awhile for me to get over the shock of it. I don't think the person meant to do that to me, but they made my day rough for me. It's not like my classmates would listen to the reason I smell like mud and sewage, nor would they help me.
High school no matter what is tough, but when you're in the city— especially a big city like Los Angeles— it's all the more tougher. In a school of somebody's, being a nobody was a big deal. Most of my school is full of children of legacies: sons and daughters of pop artists, rockstars, actors, and actresses whom have settled down. Those who don't come from legends are still legends nonetheless: they're Tik Tok and Instagram stars, prom queens, jocks, and cheerleaders.
The remaining of us, which is a small group of people, are misfits. We are broken outcasts, loners against our own will— people with strange minds that can't be comprehended by those who belong. We are jagged pieces that don't fit the puzzle. So, in order to fit, they find trouble, try to build up a cool reputation.
That's why I'm so weird.
I don't strive to look good to my peer's eyes. I strive far, far away from the rumors and the drama. That's why every day I'm in something similar to the outfit I've got on now: a dark hoodie to cover some tacky shirt I wore to bed, pajama pants I'm pretending are sweatpants, a small shoulder-strap bag, and my signature black and gray beanie that hides my black knotty hair that I've brushed three times now. To make sure I don't stand out just to be a somebody to target, to toy with.
When someone says something snarky to me, I don't answer, even when they're expecting a response. Even when they'll pester me until I do respond.
If I do respond, it's not an answer they expect, though it'll still feed their ego either way.
I usually turn coldly to them, as if their words hadn't even gotten through my hardened shell, and I say in a monotone voice, Fuck off. Then I just walk off without another word, leaving them starved for more reactions.
Even though I handle being taunted well, I never really have the energy for it, and the words do get to me, haunting me in the middle of the night. So, when I got soaked by the puddle water, it made sense I was nowhere near happy.
It only gets worse from here.
The scents of lavender perfume, cheap cologne, and body odor overwhelmed my nostrils, making me feel as though I was going to pass out right then and there in my seat. All kinds of business men and women crowded the subway, though there were some like me who were heading to school— mainly coming from the Pine Grove Apartments, just like me.
The subway blurred through the tunnels, rocking on its wheels. For a moment I felt as though it was going to tip over, but taking deep breaths and distracting myself by scrolling on the media made the anxiety go away. For a little while, anyway.
Beside me came the worst wave of odor in the entire subway. I think you could smell him from a mile away. And he was leaning towards me, mouth wide open and gray eyes distant as they were fixed on my screen.
Well he's not subtle at all, I thought. He really wasn't, because as I continued scrolling, he leaned in closer.
At one point, I groaned with disgust and moved down a seat. He did the exact same thing as I did. So, I was stuck with him looking over my shoulder until we came to a stop.
That wouldn't have been as bad as it was, if only this man had taken a bath regularly. You can tell though that he didn't give two shits about how he smelled.
He had a beer belly growing, his clothes looking tight upon him. His shirt was stained with something yellow and brown, and it had text on it that said something about being too lazy to do his laundry. Apparently he was too lazy to shower every once in a while too.
At least when it came down to me, I kept a good as possible hygiene. Showering once every two days, putting on deodorant and perfume, making sure I smell good at all times. My only problem is my hair. I've always had problems with it. It's always getting knotty, even when I brushed all the rats out that morning.
They always come back.
My aunt Bessie told me we could go get me a haircut sometime soon at her new gig at the salon. I was more than happy and willing to go, but that was months ago. I don't think she remembers that conversation.
I guess I shouldn't blame her— she's a single mom with seven kids, eight now that she has me— yet I'm still bitter. I've been bitter towards her since I moved into her home. At the time it was a home.
And at the time, Uncle John was there. Sick, but there.
I liked him a little better than her, was even able to forgive him for not helping me get out of the foster care system sooner at the end of the road. But not Bessie. I am still angry at her.
She tries too hard to make it right: letting me know I can talk about the death of my parents, or how bad my previous foster homes were, or how much abuse that was inflicted on me. She tries to get me to be open, but you can't open brick walls.
That's not how it works.
The subway hissed to a stop. Putting away my phone and standing up made the stinky-ass man immediately go. Once he was gone, I let out a breath of relief I didn't know I was holding.
I waited for the crowd to die down, as crowds trigger my panic attacks the most— these panic attacks I suffer from sometimes make me hyperventilate and twitch out in public, and so to some I'm known as the Crazy girl. Others my age don't even know I exist. I prefer to be invisible than taunted. School drama and rumors have traumatized me just as much as the adults who fostered me did.
Once the crowd was down to a minimum, I rushed out, heading directly to the stairs and out into the morning sun. The streets were packed with busy people left and right, traffic buzzing and sirens blaring. The usual sounds of a city.
Continuing down the street, I made it to the Main Street. Much to my dismay, a huge crowd of people awaited me, larger than the one at the subway.
A groan left my lips as I lifted my hood up and melted into the clutter. Soon it was safe to walk, and we crossed the crosswalk. I was so close to the other side, so close with parting with the cluster. Then someone bumped me, I don't know who— if it was someone from school or not— but they made it to where I was trampled over.
When the crowd crossed the street, I slowly stood, my knees feeling weak and my body bruised. Nothing was broken, the pain was durable, but it still ached nonetheless.
The moment I began making my way to the sidewalk, a shiny red truck slowly pulled up.
My glare snapped to them, full of rage, especially when they honked at me.
"Get out of the road!" They yelled at me, in a smug tone that made me want to sneak into their home and smother them with their own fucking pillows, giving in to the red in my vision.
Once again, I tried to walk, to which the honked at me again. This time, their laughter was heard.
I think my response was a good one. Definitely caught them off guard.
A smile formed on my face. A sweet, innocent smile that you wouldn't even guess was so dangerous.
"If you want me out of the road, then let me cross, silly."
With that out of the bag, I was finally able to cross, and they were able to angrily drive away with their annoying little honks.
A genuine smile came upon my face. I was victorious!
Or so I thought.
I didn't make it that far along the sidewalk, before somebody bumped into me. A certain somebody on their skateboard, going the opposite way, and so he landed on my chest when we fell to the ground from the impact.
Now, this would've been understandable if it weren't for a couple of things: one, the day I was having and two, who this guy was.
This guy was a classmate from Wellington High. The one and only Hensley Morris, son of the one and only lead guitarist of Cold Shoulders, Tyler Morris.
His sapphire eyes blinked at me, dumbfounded before widening with shock as he scrambled off me and held out his hand to help me up, "Oh—! Oh I'm so sorry ma—"
"Watch where you're going!" I snapped, helping myself up and dusting off my pants, "What are you even doing?! Shouldn't you be heading to school?"
A smirk formed on his face while his hands moved to go behind his back, "Shouldn't you?"
"I am heading to school!" I shouted, bursting with anger.
I shouldn't be losing my temper on him, I soon realized. He's quite popular among my grade, coming from a famous musical family and all, in fact he's really popular. The guy is loved and adored and worshipped by guys and girls who are thirsty for his attention. Therefore, he could make my school life all the more tough for me with ease. Torment me, taunt me, pester me. Shove words down my throat about me that isn't true just like everybody else does who speaks of me in that battle-zone.
Yet I was blinded with anger to even think of who he really is and what he could be capable of.
Hensley put his hand up in the air defensively, "Okay, okay. Cool your tits, sweetheart." He picked up his skateboard, brushing it off before getting on it.
I only looked at him with even more rage, my fists clenching, "Sweetheart?!"
"Mhm," Hensley chuckled, "Because you're super sweet!" He pointed finger guns at me, winking and laughing, "Alright, I've got to go. See you at school!"
Going around me, he rode away, his figure becoming one with walking people. I stared after him, frozen for a moment, trying to figure out what exactly I felt about the interaction.
I got too angry. I let my emotions seep out.
That isn't good.
What about the rumors?
I suddenly felt paranoid.
I don't even know how they get half their material. Do they stalk us? No matter, an event like that will get me to become the talk of the day if anyone had seen it. I bumped into Hensley Morris, after all. That's a big deal. A big, big deal. Actually, no, it wouldn't have been that big of a deal had I reacted politely.
Yet instead I acted hostile, and that was going to start something I knew was going to bite me in the ass.
Do you see what I mean by I have delayed Mondays? All these events of despair that could've be fine to handle if they didn't pile on top of each other, back to back like that. And yet that's what they did, now I'm stuck with layers of unfortunate events to unravel when I get home.
But until then, these layers are gonna weigh on my shoulders, and it's going to affect my day no matter what the circumstances might be.
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The rumor mill, after going quiet for a couple of weeks, is back in business. This time, the talk of Wellington is none other than me.
Just as I had predicted.
I can hear whispers from each side of me, and when I turn to them they go still, eyes wide and face pale like they've seen a ghost.
At one point two girls followed quietly behind me through the packed hallway, giggling nonstop off and on. They must think they're sneaky because when I turned my head around to look at them, furious, they only looked back at me smugly.
"What?" One of them said.
I sped-walked away, weaving in and out through large crowds within the corridors, saying nothing. The silent treatment has always said the stuff I wanted to say for me.
As I walked through the narrow hallway to my designated classroom, my head whirled with questions.
What is going on? Suddenly everybody is talking about me. I'm not sure it's good but still— what happened to me being a nobody? What happened to being invisible? I shouldn't have bumped into Hensley, I shouldn't have been so mean towards him. What is my reputation now? What am I known for?
The girl who yelled at a musical legend's child?
Before I can have another panic attack, I take a deep in and a deep breath out, like therapist's advised, sorting through my paranoia, anxiety, and fears and prepping myself to face them.
If someone gets a pair of balls and confronts me about it, I'll say I didn't know it was him. Though with the vibrant yet dark purple hair, it's hard to not know it's Hensley Morris.
Last year, I stained my tips blue with the help of Aunt Bessie, I was given a hard time all of that semester for it. But then Hensley walks into school with fully-dyed purple hair, and that became a trend. People dyed their tips purple, gave themselves purple highlights or streaks.
My point of that story is that never once he was called a freak for having unnatural colored hair. Never once did they call him names because it was shaggy and his violet bangs almost covered his light blue eyes. But I, on the other hand, was called an emo and a freak and was told that my unnatural hair was a distraction to the class. So, if the rumors eat me alive, how can I protect myself? How can I just say I didn't, when no one to will ever listen to me to begin with? They'll only listen to the drama whispering in their ear, telling pretty lies, interesting lies to distract from their own issues.
I've decided the next time I see Hensley— if he tries to confront me or something— I'm going to give him the cold shoulder instead, rather than snapping at him again. The cold shoulder hurts worse than anything, so eventually he'll get bored of me.
That's my plan.
Homeroom was coming to a wrap, which meant that it was almost lunchtime, and lunchtime meant that this horrible, unnecessarily long day is halfway through. Soon our class was released, every student heading to the cafeteria, then to wherever hangout spot they could eat at.
Today was the day my class could go in eat in the outside picnic area, and so— because I usually just bring chips for lunch— I headed straight there, right to the shadiness of my oak tree where I normally went to in the picnic area, away from all the people piling in.
There was a breeze flowing in that smelled of upcoming evening rain, warning us of what is to come the moment we get to go home. For a couple of days, it has been pouring off and on— which is normal autumn weather here in L.A. Luckily the heat wave that made the rainy days feel humid has left, so it should be cool while the earth takes a shower.
Rummaging through my pockets, I grabbed my earbuds and put my playlist on shuffle, leaning back on the bark of the tree I sat beside. As I began to finally relax in this delayed Monday, I heard a voice that immediately made my nerves shot.
"Deet, right?"
I turned and faced Hensley, inspecting him. He stood beside me, towering over me as he spoke. His eyes gleamed with an expression that was hard for me to read, but I interpreted it into a smug or amused look, the look everyone uses when talking to me.
"What do you want?" I spoke coldly, keeping myself from overreacting.
"Can I sit by you?"
I perked up.
Him? Hensley Morris? Wanting to sit with me?
What was he planning?
I know it could be him that started the rumor mill. I know it's him that is planning something to make my life all the more rough.
Question is what? Was he trying to become my friend, make me taste fame so he can take it away and have me starved? I've seen that happen before; with my old friend who is now among some of the popular chicks. I can't remember who those chicks were, but I know they were a someone, not a no one. They had money, and my friend adored them because of that.
Off and on she goes from being popular to the worlds worst person, all from that one group manipulating and controlling her, using her voice as their own. If I give Hensley a chance, he could do the same to me at any point.
"Why?" My tone was full of distrust.
He smiled and shrugged, "Why not?" With that, he sat beside me, as if me responding was a good enough invitation to him.
"You know sweetheart, you're full of mysteries," Hensley chimed, "It took me forever to find you."
"Why were you looking?" I said, heart drumming.
He shrugged once more. I think that's a common thing he does, "I like you. You're interesting and pretty."
Interesting and pretty. Two words no one's described me with before. It sparked something in me, though I won't let my guard down. He's trying to sweet talk his way into my heart, so he has access to the strings that control it.
Keep calm, I order myself. This is not a big deal.
But it could be, I added.
Hensley looked at me expectingly, like he was waiting for a reply. I focused on calming my nerves before I spoke, listening to the quiet music in my ears, "Interesting and pretty, huh?."
"Mhm!" He smiled, sapphire eyes shimmering.
"You really think that about me?"
He nodded, "Of course!"
A chuckle left my lips, bursting into a small, soft fit of laughter.
Hensley looked confused, "What's so funny?"
"You don't fool me for a second," I replied, "There's no way you actually think that of me."
He seemed baffled, looking at me with disbelief, then he collected himself and put on a smug smile, "And if I do?"
Looking deep into his eyes, all my courage bundled together to form this sentence, "Then you probably are a fool."
Nobody should ever do what I keep doing to a celebrity's child. You should never, ever snap at them for bumping into them or call them a fool with no remorse. I thought I learnt my lesson from this morning.
Apparently not.
"I guess I'm a fool then," Hensley said surprisingly calmly, chuckling. That threw me off-guard, chipping away the cold front I had.
He really isn't giving up.
His eyes glimmered warmly, like soft waves of the deep blue sea. That would've had anyone on their knees, maybe even me on another day when I wasn't swarmed with a blanket of gloom, but I didn't give in. I've had guys come and go in my life. They only want one thing from me; my body.
I'm not giving in, not for any pretty boy, not for anyone.
"A fool for you." He finished, leaning slightly towards me, smile on his face.
Even though slight anger was arising within me, I chuckled once more, making him shrink back.
I thought that would get to him— that that would be what would make him bored of me— but he still sits there, inspecting me.
Finally, he spoke, "Do you want to me up after school?"
I said, "No."
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A/N:
Hey hey!! Tysm so much for reading the first chapter of You and Me, I hope you enjoyed it!
I have begun to fall in love with these characters and I hope you will too!
I have many many plans for this story, and I can't wait to further explore Hensley and Deet's story!
That's all I have to say for now about this, so for now, farewell!!