Chapter 2

This chapter introduces Zoey's friend Brooke, along with including a scene where the two have a run-in with Principal Sycamore.

After class, following my embarrassing performance with the lovely Vanessa Summers, Mr. Oakland suggested that I transfer to remedial Speech during the second semester. His enthusiastic words of endearment were nothing but typical, so the rest of my morning remained unfazed. I still got to watch elderly Mr. Elmer take one of his infamous naps in World History, listen to Mrs. Birching gripe about the local coal plant in Environmental Studies, and falter with every confusing term in Mrs. Row’s Algebra class. It wasn’t until noon that I was given some form of relief in the brilliant lifesaver that is lunch.

            As I wandered into the cafeteria, the usual rambles of cheerleaders, student council preps and sport fanatics filled my ears. Even though Pace High wasn’t the largest, and most respectable, school in the county, it managed to attract a good size of teenage idiots. I skimmed over the bustling crowd until I caught sight of my best friend Brooke’s familiar pink-streaked hair. In an effort to avoid repeating any variant of this morning’s awful events, I slipped around the walls of the cafeteria and managed to make it to the usual table we sat at.

            When I saw Brooke, she looked, well, as Brooke as ever. Her pale arms were folded with attitude over her Green Day T-shirt, and her eyes, dark with mascara, resentfully stared at the disgusting slop of food in front of her. I sat down, but Brooke only gave me a quick look of annoyance before focusing on her food again. Even though this wasn’t a normal friendly expression, an afternoon that didn’t start out with Brooke’s daily anger was not normal in my book.

            “You didn’t respond to my text this morning,” she mumbled, picking up a plastic fork and lightly brushing it through her lumpy mash potatoes. I rolled my eyes and unzipped my book bag, proceeding to take out my lunch. Brooke continued playing with her food as I snooped around the contents of the paper bag.

            “I’ve got a banana, a tuna sandwich…hmm, what appears to be tiny tomatoes, and a snickers bar,” I stated as I emptied out the bag. Brooke had stopped playing with her potatoes and now hungrily scanned over my lunch, then swiftly grabbed the baggie of tomatoes. Taking some of my food was also normal Brooke behavior, as giving her something out of my lunch was my usual way of apologizing for my apparent screw-up of the day.

            “My brother got arrested again,” Brooke said nonchalantly as she eagerly opened the baggie and fingered the tiny, red vegetables. Her decision to start our lunch conversation with a negative topic forced a sigh out of me, but again, was typical. I tore at the cling wrap around my sandwich before unenthusiastically asking, “Why?”

            Brooke popped a tomato in her mouth before fumbling with her pocket and pulling out her cell phone. She flicked her thumb across the screen and seemed to be momentarily lost in thought. I suspected my food offering had not been enough for her to fully acknowledge me, but I was proven wrong when she began to read aloud, “Local Pace Village Youth Robs KFC.”

            “Your brother robbed a KFC?” I questioned sardonically. Brooke nodded and turned the phone’s screen at me. I leaned in while taking a bite of my sandwich and read the news article, which showed a mug shot of Brooke’s deadbeat older brother Aaron. The description underneath the unflattering picture read, “Local youth Aaron West, age 19, was caught by officers shortly after fleeing the scene.”

            “Dad is totally pissed,” said Brooke as she stuffed her phone back into her pocket. I frowned, as any talk of her father, whether the conversation was at his expense or not, always ended up making Brooke angry. Her dad was actually a very wealthy business tycoon who was highly involved in Pace Village’s City Council, but his common absence at home had turned Brooke against him. Although I could understand her hatred for the most part, her loathing of her dad seemed unnecessary sometimes.

            “Well, band practice will be a good distraction,” I said optimistically, choosing not to dabble in the issue of her estranged family. Brooke shrugged and went back to playing with her school food, and I continued eating my lunch in silence. To most people, eating with someone so quiet would be awkward and possibly upsetting, but Brooke’s silence provided one of the scarce moments of peace I received at school. This peace, however, was short lived when a flying apple crash landed into Brooke’s mash potatoes. The result mirrored this morning; I was splattered with some sort of consumable substance, but now Brooke was included in the messy fun, too.

We both scowled at the lumps of potatoes that sloppily covered our shirts and hair, hearing the ear-piercing cackles of the blameworthy jocks a few tables over. Despite the obvious cruelty of being used as target practice, the entire cafeteria was now laughing at our expense. My cheeks had grew hot with embarrassment at my second incident concerning food, but Brooke had already skipped to rage and balled her hands into tight fists. I watched her swiftly stand from the table and stomp to the jocks. I forced myself out of humiliation and scrambled out of my seat, hoping to catch and calm Brooke’s storm of fury from ensuing further. When I caught up to her, Brooke was angrily eyeing the grinning jocks who giggled at the sight of her potato-covered self. Pete Davis leaned over to Andrew and laughed, “S**t dude, you pissed off the emo chick!”

             “Shut. Up,” grumbled Brooke, which only sparked more laughs from the meatheads. Others close by had now grown silent and listened intently to the tense situation, treating it like a humorous dinner theatre. I put my arm on Brooke’s boney shoulder and timidly whispered, “Calm down Brooke, they aren’t worth it.”

            Usually, this would’ve soothed Brooke enough to get her to walk away from the dim-witted grunts. However, something stimulated Brooke’s temper more than usual and she simply shrugged away my hand. It seemed the stars aligned incorrectly at that moment, and an unbeknownst Andrew wrongly decided to open his big mouth again, “Look! She’s scaring the s**t outta the other one, haha!”

            As soon as Andrew’s final cackle left his taunting mouth, it happened. Everyone in the cafeteria watched as Brooke pulled her fist back like an arrow and slugged his square, superman-like jaw. The sporty devil swiftly fell backwards, a spit of blood shooting from his bewildered lips. His twisted body crashed hard on the linoleum floor and briefly laid still. Brooke was breathing heavily through her nose as every single person, including the jocks and myself, watched Andrew slowly curl into a ball and go still.

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            “Three missing teeth and a broken jaw.”

            Principal Sycamore gazed out the window of his small office as he spoke about Andrew’s injuries. [UNFINISHED]

Author's Note

This chapter is currently unfinished, and I am open to any ideas of where to go from here. This part that is already written has been thoroughly proofed, but I'm sure a few mistakes may still be present!