So goodbye yellow brick road
Where the dogs of society howl
You can't plant me in your penthouse
I'm going back to my plough

-Goodbye Yellow Brick Road; by Elton John

Socorro felt like groaning in annoyance, but resisted; her history teacher announced a major project that would go towards everyone's final grade — a family genealogy report. The final draft would be presented in front of the class, something that made Socorro's stomach twist. As she slumped in her seat, her brows furrowed and her mouth was drawn into a deep frown. While she could do a presentation fairly well, she just... hates talking. Her words come out slurred, mispronounced, and chopped. Grammarly, she speaks almost perfect English; it's just the way she says it that makes her hard to understand. Sighing heavily, she chewed on her bottom lip, hoping to figure something out. Dropping her hands on her lap, she checked the time on the clock above the classroom door.

2:04pm.

Six minutes until the end of class. Six minutes to come up with ideas on how to handle the presentation part of her project. She already had an idea on the who part — her great-great-grandfather, she'd ask her father (maybe even her uncle) about his life and throw something together with that. But... God she was getting frustrated. Pulling at the hairs hanging in front of her face, Socorro scowled slightly. She'd thrown her hair into a messy bun before leaving for school, with her bangs (having grown significantly over the past six months) hanging in front of her face in an unkempt fashion.

I should get it cut..., she thought, does nothing but get in the way.

After a minute of playing with her hair, Socorro came to a conclusion. It came to her suddenly, but she knew it was a start. She knew it wasn't a particularly good one, but it was better than overthinking it. The more time she spent worrying, the less time she'd have on actually focusing on the work. So, she figured she'd do what she considered to be her best option.

She'd just wing it.

-8-

After the bell had rung, and the students began filling the hallways, their chatter filling the air, Socorro found herself hanging back in her history class for a moment until the halls were cleared enough. The sounds, to her, were overwhelming; even with her implant, it didn't make things easier. Large groups making loud noises made her anxious, the feeling having manifested at a young age.

Pulling her hair from the messy bun, she felt the familiar heaviness as it fell. Her hair was a mess of dark brown curls, not wanting to cooperate under any circumstances. The days she actually tried to make her hair look presentable, it took her well over an hour. After a while, she decided buns and ponytails were the safest options. Socorro ran a hand through the thick curls and occasionally a finger or two would get snagged in a tangle or knot — fairly common. She didn't have time to brush her hair before leaving for school, she'd overslept and no one woke her up until five minutes before it was time to leave. To make matters worse, even though Socorro had her hair pulled back the night before, it was still a mess of tangles when she woke up. That was the main motivator behind her bun.

Walking over to the door, Socorro looked out, hoping she could finally leave. There was still a significant amount of students, and even teachers, lounging in the halls or walking to wherever they were going, but it wasn't like before. Whoever wasn't inside probably found a spot to hang out outside, if they hadn't left already. Going back to her desk, she went to grab her backpack before being stopped by her teacher.

Mrs. Morrison. She taught junior history, and was generally favored by the students. Socorro found her to be tolerable, but not one of her favorites. Thankfully however, Mrs. Morrison understood some of the issues Socorro dealt with regarding her disability.

"How's everything holding up?" There was a look of slight concern on Mrs. Morrison's face as she stood in front of Socorro. "I noticed you looked a little frustrated before the end of class."

Resisting the urge to give a snarky answer, the teen only shrugged, grabbing her backpack and tugging it on.

"If you're not comfortable giving the presentation, I'll accommodate," she added. "You can just write an essay on your genealogy and I'll accept that."

A tempting offer, one she'll definitely have to consider.

I'll think about it, Socorro motioned, her movements fluid and smooth, as they always are. Can I come back to you on it?

"Of course."

With a small smile, Socorro nodded her thanks before heading out of the classroom. While Mrs. Morrison's concern was appreciated, Socorro wanted to test her options before being given any kind of accommodations. It seemed fair in her mind. Naturally, Socorro would need to have some changes in her life as she got out of high school; life as a deaf individual could be difficult without the proper alterations. Not to mention there weren't a lot of people fluent in ASL, which sucked. Socorro liked to think of herself as a kinda lucky; she'd gotten a cochlear implant at two and a half, which allowed her to learn English along with her sign language. While ASL would always be her first, she liked the idea of at least knowing she could speak English if absolutely necessary, even if she didn't like how she made out her words. Why worry about one thing when she could appreciate having the skill available when needed?

Welcome readers! This is what I've decided to dub, a PILOT CHAPTER. This is a test chapter, I want to see how it's received. So everyone PLEASE, I'm looking for reviews on this chapter, and would like to see this turn into a proper story. Review it and let me know! I want to know what you like, dislike, want to see, EVERYTHING!

Otherwise I'll probably leave this as it is.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Socorro. If you want the gist of who the character Socorro is, go to the little bio section on my profile and you'll find plenty of information. All my OCs will have background info there.

Quick physical description of Socorro: She's tiny (around 5'2") with curly dark brown hair she tends to wear in a bun or ponytail. She has brown eyes and tends to favor wearing baggy clothes — i.e. short-sleeved shirts, jeans, sweat-shirts, etc. — and tennis shoes.