Non-conformists thoughts

p.o.v. Pete

I sat behind South Park Middle/High with Henrietta, Michael, and Firkle. Fucking sleet was raining from the sky and it was beginning to thunder. We huddled on the stairs under the roof's overhang. I stared at my own reflection in a pool of melted snow, my hair had faded to a light peach; I needed to re-dye it but last time I did it turned out bright pink, so I'd decided wait till Henrietta finally lost it and did it for me .

The bell rang; Michael took a long drag from his cigarette and dropped the butt on the ground. Henrietta took an even longer drag of hers from its holder, but as we all got up Henrietta glared at us and twitched. "I can't fucking take this shit anymore! I am not going back in there with those fucking conformist Justin, and Brittany wannabes," she bemoaned.

Michael sighed, "I'm sure we could just stay here; it's the last block and its Friday, even the conformist teachers wanna get out."

Henrietta twitched more violently. "I am not staying here, It is fucking raining demon-jiz," she said in an angry monotone voice heading for the parking lot, and soon we were all piling into Henrietta's mom's car.

She drove with reckless abandon like she was mad at the road. I seriously thought we had died five times by the time we got to her house. When we walked in, Henrietta's mom was nowhere to be seen which meant we had the whole house to ourselves-seeing that her father had walked out of the house many years ago to chase "job opportunities" elsewhere and soon after he disappeared from their lives all together. And Bradley, Bradley just plain disappeared like a fucking magician and is rarely heard from anymore.

We ran upstairs, remembering to wipe our feet after we had walked up them but before we entered her room, and took our usual places. Michael sat unusually close to me, muttering about how cold it was. I reached into my pocket and grabbed my cigarette pack only to find it empty. I looked up at Michael pleadingly attempting to bum a cigarette off of him. He politely obliged, taking one out and shoving it in my mouth. I reached for my lighter but before I could light it Michael leaned in and light it off the one in his mouth. I blushed slightly, his face being so fucking close to mine. Henrietta chuckled, and when I looked up to give her a death glare I saw she was smirking with a looking of knowing. Of what she knew, I knew not.

"Oh Pete you look so enthusiastic, I think you should be the first one to read a poem," she grinned knowing, I couldn't refuse.

So I opened to a random page in my black composition book, and began to read.

"In my shattered soul

Lies a loneliness un-told,

Pain of their happiness's recompense.

A heart wilted

Which beat nevermore.

Conformists' pleasures

Were hated measures.

Then there was HE

Reviving my deadened chest,

Coloring the flesh of face,

Throbs stung my core.

Never asked, never wanted,

Die again heart, die again . . ."

After I finished Firkle looked at me, "Deep man. It was like I could feel your pain."

Michael shifted closer to me and sighed, "Totally non-conformist."

Henrietta said, "Yeah," and walked out of the room. Several minutes later she came running up the stairs and burst into the room giving a death glare. "I'm out of fucking coffee! Get your lazy asses up and into the car, we are getting coffee, or I am scooping your eyes out with a rusty spoon!" she said.

We all got up and rushed off to the car. Firkle rushed up to the front seat and climbed in, much to Michael's dismay. He squashed into the back of the car with me. Henrietta got in and turned the car on, turning the heat up full blast seeing as it was much too cold; I was able to see my own fucking breath. Michael scooted close to me, slightly shivering. Henrietta began to pull out of the driveway in a way I was sure was highly illegal.

My phone buzzed the alarm I set yesterday to remind me to go to Henrietta's at this time, but instead reminding me it was new and I needed to get contact photos for my friends. Seeing as Michel was the only one I could get an actual photo of, I turned my phone on camera and took one. Unfortunately he noticed and snatched the phone from my hands. He deleted the photo and went to the voice recorder. He hit record. "Death and despair," his custom ringtone, he hit save. He threw my phone at me before snatching it back immediately. "You don't need a picture with that, now do you?" he said, putting an appointment in my calendar. "You probably forgot my stupid conformist dad and his fascist wife are making me do a piano recital tomorrow, and you're coming," he demanded, tossing my phone back again.

I waited until he wasn't looking and took another photo, shoving my phone in my pocket before he could react. Henrietta smirked and gave us that knowing look again through the review mirror, which was a bad idea because the fucking car began to slide before she got it back under control. We got to the store a few minutes later and when we got out I made sure to flip her off, but she just grinned. She marched us into the store and grabbed a basket. When we got to the coffee aisle she filled the basked with three different bagged kinds and five different cans.

Then un-expectantly she ran off to the hair dye aisle and grabbed a box of bright red dye. She scoffed and glared at me, "I can't stand hanging out with you with peach hair. If you're not going to fix it, I will." My goal had been accomplished, she finally lost it.

Firkle snickered, "Yeah you look like a freaking Nazi-conformist-cheerleader, not to mention a girl."

I flipped him off immediately. Michael laughed. When we got to the checkout counter, Michael took a hardbacks mocha frappe out of the fridge and handed Henrietta a five dollar bill. Firkle did the same. Firkle once again stole the front seat away from Michael, when we went back out to the car, leaving him to scoot in the back with me. If he chose to voice his objection, Henrietta would chew him out over it. As soon as he was settled, I stole his coffee and took a few sips. He gave me his sarcastic hurt look when I handed it back.

When we got back to Henrietta's, her mom still wasn't home so we proceeded to fight over which type of coffee to make. Of course I had no real opinion and chose to stay quiet and ignore their fucking annoying bickering. Michael sat silently waiting for the right time to speak while Henrietta viciously waved around a bag of coffee and Firkle angrily pointed at another, both screaming. Michael breathed in, finally choosing to speak.

"Why don't we just use both, you know, combine them. We do it all the time anyway, right Pete?" he said, expecting my agreement. He looked at me intensely his lids half closed and his expression as close to a smile as it could get. My heart ached as though I was having a heart attack, my face blushed, and Henrietta and Firkle both smirked, the same look on their faces. I would have flipped them off, but Michael was still watching me expectantly.

"Your fucking screaming is annoying, just listen to Michael, he's right anyway," I groaned. Both of them got a defeated look on their faces, but didn't protest.

Henrietta then began to make the coffee. When she finished and turned the pot on she grabbed the box of dye and pointed at me. "You, bathroom, now. I can't take it any longer." As we walked into the bathroom I could hear Firkle snickering. Henrietta turned on the vents and closed the door as I sat down on the side of the tub. She began to mix the dye and turned to me, "So… Who was that poem about? And what's between you and Michael?" She spoke in her usual monotone voice but was actually more curious then she let on.

But for once I didn't know what to say. I didn't know who the poem was about and I had no idea what she meant by what was between me and Michael.