Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans and I never will.
Today is: No one cares day
Purpose for writing is: I'm being forced to
Dear Diana (Because I refuse to call you diary),
I guess I should start with an introduction. Though, it would feel very strange to me, as I never had any need of introducing myself to a person let less an inanimate object. Everybody always knew my name before it left my lips, and yet they really never knew my name at all. My name is Malory Vincent.
You can call me Jinx.
Everyone does. My father, my mother, my best friend, my classmates, the little old lady across the street, and of course, the complete, total stranger that doesn't know me in the least. I've always hated my nickname (Is it really my nickname? I didn't chose it). Its source is obvious.
I'm a jinx, you see.
Ever since I was little, bad things have happened around me. Somebody got robbed? I must have been to their house. Somebody got into an accident? Probably a good friend of mine. Somebody was victim of fraud? I some how let the faker know that the person was an easy target. Somebody got murdered? That can be blamed on me, too.
Really, it's a miracle that I'm still in one piece. I've never been seriously injured myself; I've tripped, fallen off of several high places, broken things (usually expensive and rare, occasionally mirrors), got sick due to food poisoning a total of seventeen times – or was it nineteen, and charged head first into the SAME glass door nineteen times – or was it seventeen, but I've never managed to seriously injure myself.
Subjected myself to various forms of ridicule maybe, but never injured myself.
I was – still am – the most unlucky girl on the face of this planet. However, before I divulge too deep into my psychology I guess I should tell you, Diana, a little more about me. Besides, obviously, my name and the fact that I'm the most unlucky girl on the face of this planet, here are a few more must know facts about me and my life:
The Must Knows
My family is dysfunctional. I guess I should say that they put the "fun" in dysfunctional, but that would make me a liar. They put the "dysfunction" in dysfunctional. My father and mother are clueless air heads who wouldn't know an intelligent remark if it adopted a flashing neon sign and a little nasally voice that said, "This is an intelligent remark." My little sister (Kari) is ten times more reliable, and twenty times more intelligent. She's six.
My best friend is a nut case. No, really. She is. Her name is Honey, but because of this name, which by the way, was weird in the first place, everybody calls her Bee. Both her names fit her because one moment she is as sweet as honey, but if you make her the slightest bit agitated, she will SO not be afraid to fight back. Hence the nickname, "Bee". She's absolutely crazy sometimes, and it scares the hell out of people. It would scare the hell out of me, too, but I'm generally too busy laughing my head off.
My School is Whack. No, that capital W is not a misprint. (It's actual name is Murakami Private School, but that's not important). My School, when being described by the word whack, always deserves a capital W because nothing describes my school better in any way, shape, or form. The teachers are Whack. The students are Whack. The pet gerbils in the graders' classrooms are Whack. And no, not whack as in a good way, whack as in a bad way. Allow me to elaborate:
The Whack teachers. There's Mr. Brain, that sadist evil – Ahem, the principal, and his second in command – sorry, slip of the tongue, vice principal, uh, Mr. Mallah. Don't screw with them, they're plotting to take over – I mean, they'll punish you in the most severe manner possible under the lawful jurisdiction of the school's power. (They're– cough– plotting to –cough cough– take over the– cough– world).
The scariest teacher, aside from the Whack principal, and his even more Whack assistant is Miss Rogue. The English and Government teacher; Who insists that we call her Madame Rogue. She's always holding a ruler and slapping it on the desk with a crack. The Madame loses more rulers that way. She's also telling students constantly to stop chewing gum, but she's always chewing some herself. Hypocrite.
Don't even get me started about Mr. Mod, who teaches every subject imaginable, at every time imaginable. I once overheard Garfield Logan (Resident Prankster and proud of it) telling Raven Roth (his best friend and Resident Scary Goth) about how he had this theory that Mr. Mod had some how managed to duplicate himself and was trying to enslave the school's population. I think I heard her laugh. Yeah, right.
The Whack students. OK. Let's just get one thing straight. As I mentioned before, this was Murakami Private School. Are you following, Diana? Of course you are, you're a piece of paper, and therefore have to listen, err, read whatever I write down. Now – when you have the words Private and School written down as "Private School", what does that mean to you? You're absolutely right, Diana. (Great. Now I'm a jinx AND I talk to inanimate objects). There are two groups: the snobby rich kids, and the ones there on scholarship.
Now. Guess which of the categories I fall into?
Wow. The latter; you win the million dollar prize! If only I had a million dollars. Bee and I are both scholarship kids, but contrary to popular belief, the two groups actually do mingle. A really good example was the two kids I mentioned earlier: Garfield Logan and Raven Roth. Garfield's a regular rich kid, all about the fun, but I've seen him and few times and doesn't seem too snobby. Raven Roth's a girl with a cynic's soul and looks like she has a bad case of the blues every time you see her; she's a scholarship kid. So how did they come to be best friends?
What do I look like? A psychic? How should I know? It's one of those weird things in life.
Anyway, between the crazy scholarship kids, and the "all about the fun" rich kids, our school's population is more Whacked than the most Whacked. Really, you have to meet some of the students to truly know what they are like.
The Whack gerbils. No, the thing about the gerbils in the graders' classrooms was not a joke. Back when I was still in third grade we had a gerbil in our classroom. I used to love those little things (Hey! I was eight, OK!), then one day this kid named Seymour told me that the gerbils were evil mind-controlling mutants. At first, I didn't believe him, who would? But the more I thought about those gerbils looked at me funny, the more I thought they were actually staring hungrily at me, and the more it freaked me out.
I swear to this day. Those things are EVIL.
So yeah, Whack. Anyway, let's get on with this, it's not like I want to write this. Stupid mother, stupid, stupid method of therapy, stupid, stupid, stupid doctor who CAME up with said method of therapy . . .
My crush takes no notice of me. Two words. Victor. Stone. Football quarterback player of Murakami's team. One word. Dreamy, hot, cool, popular. OK, so it was four words. And an oxymoron. So sue me. In any event, he's my crush and he doesn't pay any attention to me at all, do you have any idea how frustrating that is! Really, really frustrating.
Which brings me to the end of The Must Knows list of me and my life, and to the point of this stupid diary entry – err, rant to you, Diana. Please take note of the last entry on The Must Knows list, My crush takes no notice of me, and feel free to stare at it blankly. Now, re-word it in your head, so that it is in past tense.
That's right. I'm over Victor Stone.
There was a day when those words would have horrified me, as I thought the world of him. But that all changed on what should have been the most unlucky day of my life. The day I turned 13. On Friday the 13th. On the 13th day of the year. At the 13th hour. At 13 minutes past. No, I'm not exaggerating. That's when I was actually lucky for once.
That's when I meet Wally West.
First Runner Up
Unlucky 13
"Bee, just do everyone in the world a favor, and shot me. Now."
The two teenage girls, Bee and Jinx, stood at their bus stop as they did every morning, waiting for their bus driver to be late, as she did every morning. Bee glanced over at her best friend and sighed, as she did not just every morning but every day through out the day on a daily basis.
"You're not still stuck on that whole, unlucky 13, this-day-is-sure-to-be-the-most-cursed-day of-my-life-thing, are you?"
The bubble-gum haired girl who stood next to her did not respond, but instead flopped down onto curb of the driveway (their bus stop), silently and irritably. She was dressed soberly in black, but still comfortably so, because it was January and cold. Jinx looked upward to the skywhere it was a depressing gray; full of clouds that appeared as if they were ready to create a rainstorm at the most inconvenient moment possible.
Following her friend's gaze, Bee remarked, "I'm sure it'll clear up soon."
"The local weather man for Jump City said it was going to be like this all day," Jinx replied dryly, turning her gaze from sky to the corner the bus usually rounded in the morning for picking the two up.
"Girl, you and I both know that the word "weatherman" means liar."
The dark-skinned woman had expected at least a chuckle, but apparently Jinx was in no mood for it. She was greeted by a half-glare, half-appreciative face when Bee looked at Jinx to measure her reaction. Jinx had gotten herself into an even more slumped position, her hands cupping both sides of her face.
"I guess," she shrugged off the comment.
Bee figured that they were either going to do her way or the hard way. Since the hard way was Bee's way, then she concluded that they were going to have to do this the hard way. Suddenly, Bee grabbed her friend by the collar and jerked her up determined face to startled face. Now she was going to shout at Jinx like a teacher lecturing her student.
It was Bee's way of saying she cared.
"Look," Bee ground out, "You are not a jinx. Maybe you are a bit unlucky, but that doesn't mean just 'cause it's Friday the frickin' thirteenth, thrown in with a whole bunch of other thirteens, that it's going to be any more unlucky or luckier than any other day you've had so far in your life. Understand?"
Jinx mustered up the courage to nod slowly. Bee looked satisfied, and with a nod of "good" she put the petite girl back on her feet. Jinx brushed herself off and composed herself to the best of her ability, deciding to stand; it was easier to run that way if Bee decided to make another grab for her. The two then took notice that the bus had begun to round the corner, meaning that they wouldn't have to stand up much longer. Bee beamed happily.
"See? There has been nothing so far that is unlucky! And —" Bee glanced at her watch, "I think the bus driver is actually on time this morning. It's a good day; nothing is going to go wrong."
At that exact moment, the conveniently well-timed cliche set in, and the sound of thunder clapped in the sky above. Bee and Jinx both looked up toward the sky, only to be greeted by nature's tears. The rain set in fast and heavy; they were going to get soaked right before the bus came. They instinctively turned to stare right at each other, and Jinx took that exact moment to get in the last word.
"What do you know?" Jinx inquired in a deliberately faux tone, "You were right. The word weatherman does mean liar. Why else would it rain on a day said weatherman predicted that it was only supposed to be cloudy?"
The bus had just come, and it's pressured doors swung open. Jinx made a sprint for the bus, knowing that having last word would probably cost her all the breath she currently had in her body, but she went too fast and tripped. The bubble-gum haired girl hit the stairs of the bus painfully, head first. After a fiasco from the bus driver (a lady who panicked over just about everything), Jinx finally walked onto the bus.
Jinx realized that the bus was nearly full, and she would have to sit in the only vacant seat, putting her with a very upset Bee. She groaned at her bad luck. She was sopping wet, her head hurt like hell, and she was going to have to sit with a pissed off best friend. Wonderful. Muttering darkly, Jinx plopped down on the bus seat (which was uncomfortable as she was wet).
"Happy Birthday to me."
"I told you today is unlucky."
"Please. That whole rain thing happening while we were standing was just a coincidence."
"Sure it was. And I'm sure that the fact that we got stuck behind construction, two accidents, four different garbage trucks, and a little old lady crossing the street, making us extremely late, was a coincidence, too."
The two girls walked out of the principal's offices with late slips as they talked. Jinx was wringing out her hair, previously in two upturned ponytails, that she now figured was better off staying down for the day. Bee had decided the opposite and was putting her hair back up into two buns. Their foot steps echoed in the polished halls as they turned off towards their first mod class from the other students, who were also late because of the bus.
"Of course it was," Bee stated matter-of-factly, "You're being paranoid. The fact that you believe that this whole bad luck thing is happening to you is making it happen to you. It's all in your state of mind."
"My state of mind conjured up construction, two accidents, four garbage trucks, and a little old lady?"
Bee scowled. "You know what I mean. Life is how you see it."
Jinx walked on with her friend for a little while longer, before they had to split. Bee headed off to math with Mr. Light, while Jinx had to go to government with Madame Rogue. At which point she was extremely grateful for her tardy slip, or else she would be in a very bad predicament. She finally arrived at Madame Rogue's classroom and she knew she was in for it, big time, tardy slip or no.
Opening the door as fast as and as painlessly as possible, she shut behind her, facing the class and her ever foul-tempered teacher (out of all her students, the Madame hated Jinx the most, and the feeling was mutual).. The class was silent. It was against all logic for Jinx to have come in at a time that they were all distracted and working. Which meant that everyone was staring at her as if they expect her to A) Give a really boring speech about why she was late, B) Give a really lame excuse about why she was late, or C) Grow a second head.
"Well?" Madame Rogue asked, her accent as the thick as ever, "Why do you disrupt my class?"
Jinx wordlessly handed her the tardy slip. Madame Rogue took it, looked it over as if she thought it was forged by a three-year-old, and finally put it down on her desk without a word. The Russian motioned Jinx to her seat, and all Jinx could do was blink moronically. The pink-eyed girl couldn't seem to let it sink in that she wasn't being punished.
Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Jinx scurried to her seat (nearly stumbling along the way; three times), and prepared herself to pay attention. Translation– she prepared herself to suffer wordlessly. Madame Rogue's lectures were long and boring and always detailed; the Madame expected them to take notes as they were going to be quizzed on the material at the end of the week.
Today was still quite unlucky, though; it wasn't as if the mod finished without incident. Someone had stuck gum under Jinx's desk, she was hit by a paper airplane which the Madame accused her of making, her papers fell to the floor at the most inconvenient of times making her miss vital notes, and most importantly, this was the only class she had with Victor Stone, and he wasn't here today! If she wasn't required to use inside voices Jinx would not only scream, she'd throw straight out fits.
When the torture was finally over, and the bell had rung (had that class really only been one hour and a half?) Jinx made into the hall with minimal damage to her persona. As a slight plus, she found Bee outside the classroom waiting for her. She no longer appeared angry in the least, and actually seemed to be grinning.
"Hey." Bee said cheerfully, "How's your day, Jinx?"
Jinx blew her hair out of her face huffily. "Do you even have to ask?"
"Yes."
Her tone of voice was somehow still infuriatingly cheerful. Jinx couldn't help but wonder what she had been doing that made her such. Did she have a good Algebra class or something? She doubted it; Bee despised anything at all pertaining to mathematics. Curiosity was eating at her and Jinx couldn't help but ask what was on her mind. As rudely as possible; Bee really was infuriatingly cheerful.
"What in the world has got you so happy? Does my misery make you smile or something?"
At this Bee's cheerful demeanor and smile slipped as though she had just come to a horrible realization or perhaps just thought of something distasteful. The dark-skinned girl went from insanely happy to incredibly dour within the amount of time it takes a fake cheerleader to go from fake cheerleader to real jerk (somewhere under 2.5 seconds). Jinx couldn't help but feel guilty; did she ask the wrong question or something?
"Sorry,"Jinx apologized out of guilt, "I didn't mean to upset you. I just haven't been having the best of days as you know. What's wrong?"
"It's not your fault; it's mine. I just did something really stupid," Bee muttered angrily, mostly to herself, "So don't apologize. In fact, forget about it. It's nothing that can't be fixed."
"Alright, but the least I can do is answer your question properly. My day is still as awful as ever; I didn't get chastised by the Madame for being late, but a whole bunch of other things have gone wrong. Victor isn't even here today."
"Really?" Bee inquired absently.
"Really."
The two lapped into an uncomfortable silence, and Jinx wondered again, this time about what could possibly be upsetting Bee who had a skin of steel. She must have made Bee think of something really horrible because barely anything every got to the tough girl. She was still going through a mental checklist of possible things that were upsetting when the late bell rang.
When the late bell rang . . .
Jinx nearly jumped out of her skin, with a cry of "Damn it, I'm going to be late! See you, Bee!" as she belated realized that she was going to be late. Again. There was no doubt, the next class cursed girl had was Chemistry, with Mr. Mod, in a classroom on the complete opposite side of the school. Even if she sprinted she'd be, in the best case scenario, at least five minutes late.
Jinx sprinted anyway.
She must have knocked down a countless students on her way, and tripped several times (tripping seemed to be common place today), but she sprinted nonetheless. Jinx was equally as sure that she was yelled at by more than one teacher, telling her to slow down, but at this point her day Jinx was so vexed she could care less what they thought or said.
Jinx had, in fact, been running so absent-minded, that she manage to sprint (actually, at that point it was rather more of a jog) past the Mr. Mod's classroom and when the cursed girl realized this she skidded to a halt so fast that she practically hear the comical tire sound effects in the background. She stomped back to the door and opened it up loudly and abruptly, not caring about the punishment by now.
She got what she expected.
"Miss Vincent, you're late! Go to the principal's office!"
This time, Jinx walked. Slowly. After all, it wasn't as if she was in a hurry to get to the principal's office. Mr. Brain was creepy, creepy with a capital K (yes, K). She had already been there once today, for being late on the bus, something that Mr. Brain could not, to his annoyance, give the students a detention for.
However, being late to class was something worthy of a detention and a goddamned lecture. That is, in the twisted view of Mr. Brain. Actually, it was Mr. Mallah who usually gave the lectures. . . so deciding to take her own leisurely pace to the principal's office wasn't a bad idea. And besides, when walking slowly would make it less likely that Jinx would trip or something of that nature.
Unbeknownst to Jinx, walking was going to be what determined her luck.
The principal's office was on the first floor; Mr. Mod's was on the second. In order to reach the closest staircase that led to the first floor, Jinx had to turn right into an adjacent hallway. Now, normally she would look where she was going, but at that exact moment as she veered at the turn she was distracted by another teacher yelling at a student that could be heard through out the hallway. The bubble-gum haired girl looked toward the direction of the ruckus . . .
. . . and walked straight into a collision with somebody else.
The next thing she knew, Jinx was on the floor, her books and papers scattered everywhere. Whoever she had walked into, had lost whatever he? she? had been holding onto. It was one of those book bags that could be slung over a single shoulder, and its contents had been spilled. The first thing Jinx notice was a watch that read "13:13 p.m." in military time, then a cd player, some notebooks (that appeared as though they had nothing to do with school work), and an extra pair of shoes.
"Arrgh, sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going."
Jinx started, not only because she had said something apologetic, but because she wasn't the only one who had said it. A male voice had said it the exact same time she had, in what could almost be described as in the exact same tone. Jinx didn't recognize the voice, either. Wondering who could be Jinx looked up, only to meet a pair of shock blue eyes.
If the fact that she didn't recognize the voice puzzled Jinx, the fact that she'd never seen this boy before in her life did.
All the students in Murakami Private School could virtually tell who a person was just by face. The schools went from Elementary to High, and there were only about five hundred students in each. At first she thought he was from the Elementary or Middle division, but he looked to old to be in either, about fifteen or sixteen. He was definitely from around the High. So why couldn't she recognize him? Jinx kept trying, and kept drawing a blank.
He was tall and pretty thin, but not quite lanky. He had some meat on him; whether or not it was muscle, Jinx couldn't tell, as his clothing was pretty loose. He wore a baggy red sweatshirt and khaki pants. His eyes were a deep shade of blue and his hair was an impossible fire-engine red. He was also currently blinking haltingly at her. Which was very annoying.
They hadn't even been together one minute and Jinx hated him already.
"What?" Jinx snapped at him, unable to control herself.
That brought him out of his stupor.
"Your eyes and hair are pink."
"Yeah. Your eyes are blue and your hair is red, Sir Obvious," Jinx replied sarcastically, "Thank you for that news flash."
"Sorry," he apologized again, "It's just that it's a really unusual color."
The was a pregnant pause as Jinx glared him down. The boy just continued to grin as if he had been told that he had just won the lottery.
"So . . . don't you think we should pick up our stuff?" the striking red-head asked finally, shattering Jinx's glare that he didn't seem to realize was meant to smolder him until he was nothing but ashes on the ground.
Jinx didn't respond, but instead began to pick up her books. The boy went to pick up his stuff, but actually helped her first. Jinx figured it was nice of him, and that she should she return the favor by being kind to him back. She silently helped him pick up his stuff, putting the watch and notebooks into his bag, then handed him his CD player, which he tucked away.
She still undoubtably hated him, though.
As they stood up, the boy asked yet another question, "Do you know where Mr. Brain's office is?"
Now, he was headed in the same direction as her? Great.
"Yes, I do. Trust me when I say you don't want to know."
"Evil sadist, determined to take over the world?"
"In a nutshell."
"Don't you mean 'nutcase'?"
"Ha-ha. Funny."
Jinx peered over at the other teen and sighed. She figured it was her duty as a student a Murakami to show the boy to Mr. Brain's office. That, and she may be cut some slack if he was expecting this teen. Maybe.
"Come on," Jinx was resigned, "Follow me. I'm headed there anyway."
"Thanks." The boy expressed gratefully. "But before you lead me there . . ."
He trailed off, saying nothing more, and cut her off by standing in her way. He extended his hand, a friendly offering to her. Jinx looked at his hand, then his face, then back to his hand again. She peered at her blue-eyed companion with an apparency about her that expressed how she felt. It was some where along the lines of 'What the hell do you want?' .
The red-head laughed at her; the second time that she had sent him a glare and was greeted in return by an annoyingly up-beat response. She was so busy thinking about the one hundred and one ways she could kill him, that she was taken by surprise when he took her hand (his hands were very warm, she noted) into his and shook it.
"Wally West," He grinned at her dumbfounded face, "and you are?"
Still in shock, Jinx replied, "Jinx. I mean, Malory. My name is Malory Vincent."
"Nice to meet you, 'Lory," Wally stated cheerily, releasing her hand, "You don't do this whole social thing very often, do you?"
"No, I don't," Jinx recovered, "and I certainly don't want to anymore of it. Let's just go."
Before Wally could respond, Jinx abruptly grabbed him by the hood of his sweatshirt, and proceeded to literally drag him in the direction of the principal's office (which required her to make a U turn, as Wally had been heading the wrong direction). The heels of his shoes made contact with the floor, producing a hideous screeching sound, but Wally who was either too in shock to stop her or content to being dragged, didn't move from her grasp.
Knowing that she shouldn't strike up conversation with him after her last comment, but deciding that satisfying the curiosity that was eating at her was more important, Jinx asked casually, "You're not from around here, are you?"
"No, I don't go to school here, if that what your asking," Wally responded, tugging at his hood to show that the mother-child dragging routine was unnecessary. Jinx let him go and he joined her by walking at her side. They were already downstairs.
". . . but I do live around here."
Oh, that was helpful. Real specific.
"Then why in the world are you here in the middle of the school day?" Jinx questioned, and Wally merely shrugged, as if he did not know the answer himself.
"Why in the world are you here?" Wally countered, unabashed.
"You know, that's a very good question. In fact, I'm still trying to figure out the answer myself," Jinx sounded ill-humored, "Why am I here today? Why do I come here everyday? Today's my birthday, and I where I should be is at home locked in my room, hoping against hope that the world doesn't end today."
"Is that so? Happy Birthday," Wally looked surprised for a moment, then returned to the grinning expression that seemed every present on his face, "How old are you, Lory?"
"Thirteen as of today,"Jinx mentioned hesitantly, "How old are you? Fifteen? Sixteen?"
"Gee, should I be flattered?" Wally's grin widened as they turned a corner, "No. I'm only fourteen."
"No, you should not be flattered. You may look that old, but you act as mature as a five-year-old who just had more chocolate then their system can handle."
They walked for a little while longer in silence, before the red-head broke it again.
"So . . ." Wally trailed off.
"So what?" Jinx snapped impatiently.
"Don't teachers generally have little plaques above their door that have their name on it so that the room is easier to identify than just by number?"
"Yes. What's your point?"
"Err, well, we passed the room that had a plaque above it that read "Mr. Brain" a couple yards back."
Jinx stopped and groaned, realizing that Wally was indeed right. It was the second time she had gone right by a teacher's room this day and not known it until she had done it. Dragging Wally (who was smart enough not to protest this time) back to the principal's office, she opened the door in the same manner she opened the door to Mr. Mod's room.
Loudly and abruptly.
"I'm here to see Mr. Brain," Jinx gritted out to the secretary, "Please tell him that I'm here. Oh, and this kid, too, presumably."
She let go of Wally, who waved to the secretary as if he not just been dragged by a very frightful girl, who possibly needed to see a good shrink. The secretary merely sighed as if this was an everyday occurrence and took the phone off the hook to start dialing in the principal.
"That won't be necessary, Miss Lewis," a monotone voice rang out, and Jinx pivoted to see Mr. Brain and Mr. Mallah, "I am already here."
Mr. Brain was a short man with an oversized head, causing imbalance, and ultimately making him appear strange looking. Mr. Mallah wasn't much better looking; he rather resemble a very wayward gorilla which made him appear as though he was a Neanderthal. It didn't speak much of his IQ as Mr. Mallah was actually very intelligent.
Mr. Brain shifted to positions to look at Jinx, "You did not break another beaker, did you?"
"No, you think a girl would stop at forty-seven," Jinx said caustically, and behind her Wally echoed "Forty-seven?", "I'm here because I was late to class."
"I see," Mr. Brain replied in a clipped tone, "And him?"
Figuring he was referring to Wally, Jinx shrugged, "I have no idea."
Wally spoke up behind her, "I kind of have an appointment at 1:30 . . .that starts like right now."
Mr. Brain gave a tightlipped smile. "Ah, Mr. West. I've been expecting you." He frowned again –Thank God. Wally must be special or something because have never seen Mr. Brain smile and it's freaking me out– "But I'm afraid taking some disciplinary action with another student at the moment. You'll have to wait along with Miss Vincent until I'm finished. A pity; It's such a waste of valuable time."
Well, isn't it my lucky day? Now I get to sit with this – this – this – unjustifiably cheerful pretty boy! It's not fair!
. . . Wait. Did I just think Wally was "pretty"? And then think that it was unfair to sit with him?
I did, didn't I? Damn it. My own mind has turned against me. How could you think that Wally was "pretty"? When, mind, did you start with such a brainless, idiotic, half-witted, unintelligent, addled, foolish, lunatic, ludicrous, moronic —
" . . . magnificent, splendid, unrivaled, wonderful idea!"
"It most certainly is not!" Jinx retorted.
That little comment earned her a stern look from Mr. Brain; Mr. Mallah mirrored him and Wally shuffled his feet in the background as if something was making him nervous. Jinx had realized by now that it was him talking and not her. Which meant she was six feet under. Unless she thought of something fast.
"Is there a problem with the idea Miss Vincent?" Mr. Brain's voice contained more venom that a box jelly-fish.
Well, she had disagreed before and got a negative reaction so it was time to agree.
Regardless of whether or not she agreed.
"Um . . . not at all?"
"Good. Then you will show Mr. West around the school."
"What!"
"Were you listening before, Miss Vincent? If you were, then I am confident that you know what you have just agreed to and have no grievances."
"Yes, sir." Jinx said in the most defiant way possible without getting in trouble for back-talking, and spat as much as she could on the word "sir".
Jinx proceeded to stomp out the door, followed by a very, very (rightfully) cautious Wally. He had enough intelligence to understand not when to mess with an upset woman.
Which meant Wally was smarter than ninety percent of the male population.
Which meant Wally had a ninety percent better chance of surviving woman.
Probably.
Maybe.
If he's really damn lucky.
"Um, are you sure you're OK with – 'cause I could –"
"Shut it."
"Yes, Ma'am!"
So Jinx ended up showing Wally West around school; showing him around school in a really foul mood. But could one really blame her? Today was an unlucky day after all. Perhaps the unluckiest day to ever have the misfortune of being unlucky. They would later part ways and Jinx would be thinking about just how unlucky she really was.
Jinx wouldn't be thinking that she got out of a class she hated and she wouldn't be thinking that Mr. Brain was so busy with Wally when they returned from their "tour" that he had forgotten to punish her. She wouldn't be thinking about how Wally hadn't made jabs at the fact that she'd first introduced herself as Jinx or that she was thirteen or her hair and eyes were pink or how she was unlucky.
And Jinx couldn't know that it wasn't the last time she was going to see Wally West. Couldn't know it'd be less than a day when she would encounter him again. What a time they'd have or what they might become. Jinx wasn't thinking about any possibilities at all.
She was totally unaware of the fact that for once in her life, she had been lucky.
All because she was too busy having an unlucky thirteen.
AN: This has got to be the longest thing I've ever written. Ever. I actually got this idea just after January the thirteenth. Which was a Friday, by the by. Too bad there's not a thirteenth month . . .
Just a little bit of important, unimportant gibber jabber 'bout this.
You guys probably thought "Malory!" when I had Jinx introduce herself as such. It's a strange quirk, but I think every name should have a purpose and the most literal translation of the name Malory is "bad luck". Every other character name used in this fan fiction is rather standard, but give a holler if you can't recognize one.
I tried to give a purpose to everything in this without wasting a word, there's even a purpose for Jinx being best friends with Bee. I'm not really that proud of it, though. I had fun, but I feel as though I repeated myself several times. I cracked so many jokes in this . . . it was really fun.
Not sure how early (more like how late) you can expect the next chapter. I'm also afraid that my computer may be on the verge of crashing. Let's hope not. . .
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Next Chapter: Struck by Lightning