Rule #10: Don't Compromise
Rebels take what they want. Always.
- () -
If black was a human being, here's what it would say: "I'm elegant, yet menacing. I intimidate people to stay away from me while still maintaining an aura of sophistication. I blend in the background and go well with every color. Everybody loves me. Everybody fears me."
Before, when I had black hair, all it took was a glare and some heavy eyeliner to keep the general population away from me.
I don't have black hair anymore.
Nope. It's pink now. And if pink was a human being, here's what it would say:
"NOTICE ME BECAUSE I'M FRIENDLY AND SPARKLY AND PERKY AND LOVE EVERYTHING AND EVERYBODY -"
You get the point.
Because we're not allowed to wear hats to school, I'm forced to go through the front doors with this neon pink monstrosity on my head. People start treating me differently before class even starts.
The first one is a boy with freckles and brown hair. He greets me at my locker. "Hey, sweetheart, are you new here?"
I say nothing, focusing on getting my textbooks in and out of my locker. Before, I'd send him off with one of my death glares, but I'm sure those won't work as well anymore.
"I'm sure I'd remember a pretty thing like you being around," He continues, picking up a strand of my hair.
I yank my head back. "Touch me again and I'll snap your fingers off."
He just laughs.
I slam my locker door shut and walk away, heart racing unpleasantly.
People bump into me in the hallways. Freshmen boys (and sometimes girls) stop in their tracks to look at me. Even the teachers do a double-take when I enter their classroom. There's no use blending in or hiding in the back anymore. Whispers and side glances follow me wherever I go.
I pass Melody in the hallways when I'm walking to my second class and make sure to give the most murderous glare I can manage. She avoids me eyes, looking guilty.
Good.
This is all her fault.
In gym, it's torture, considering that Derek shares that class with me. It seems to be his life goal to make mine miserable. Every time I pass him, he either whistles or yells out a perverted comment. I get another detention for throwing my shoe at him.
Needless to say, at the end of class, IÂ have a raging headache.
During lunch, I hide in the parking lot, eating a bag of carrots.
This is no big deal, I tell myself, staring at my black sneakers. You've dealt with gossip before, dealt with the staring before. You've dealt with worse. This is nothing compared to Xavier and his friends. Nothing.
It's no big deal, Peyton.
I repeat to myself throughout the rest of my classes - it's no big deal, no biggie, you're fine, I'm fine - but still can't bring myself to believe it. Especially when I hear giggling behind my back and whispering from the sides.
My mood gets even worse when I go back to my locker.
The boy from this morning leans against it. His friends stand a couple of feet away from him, attempting to look casual, but I know they're paying attention to our encounter. Maybe he's here because he's on a dare. Or he got first dibs.
Xavier used to make his friends pretend to ask me out, just so they could stand me up at our first date.
"Move," I say, already exhausted.
"Oh, come on, sweetheart, don't be that way." He actually has the nerve to look offended. "My name's Carl."
I don't say anything in response.
Carl glances over my shoulder, at where his friends are watching us. He straightens up, gaining a little bit of confidence. "Doing anything this weekend?"
"I told you to move."
"Hey, it's just a question. No need to get all bitchy."
How many detentions would I get if I bent his fingers backwards? No, wait, that's assault. I could get suspended for that.
Maybe I should throw my shoe again.
Oblivious to my though, Carl leans in closer. "See, I know this place -"
"No."
"What?" His face darkens, annoyance from getting rejected in front of his friends flushing his cheeks. "You didn't even hear what I was going to -"
"Just leave her alone, dude." A voice says.
I turn around. Sebastian walks up to his locker and swings it open. He doesn't look at either of us while grabbing the spare shirt. Carl glances between the two of us, his macho deteriorating now that an actual intimidating figure is here.
"This your boyfriend?" He asks.
I glare at him and say nothing.
"Fine," He scoffs. "Have fun sulking at home, bitch."
Once he's gone, I turn back to my own locker, debating on whether or not I should thank Sebastian. When he slams his locker shut, I make my decision.
"Thanks," I mutter.
Sebastian storms off, giving no indication that he heard me.
- () -
There's a Prom Committee meeting after school. Since homecoming is the week after fall break, they hold frequent meetings, all of which, unfortunately, I have to participate in.
"Okay," Chelsea, a girl with dark skin and hair says, looking around the table. "Monday's superhero day, Tuesday's Futuristic day, and Friday's school spirit day. Now, what are we going to have for Wednesday and Thursday?"
"Dress-up-like-your-favorite-book-character day?" Somebody suggests.
"Nah, nobody reads books anymore." A boy responds.
"Hat day?" A freshman pipes up.
"We did that last year."
"Beach day?"
"We live in Florida."
"Snow day?"
A few mummers of agreement go around the table. Chelsea scribbles it down on the worksheet. I stare at the ceiling, wondering how pressure it would take for the roof to cave in and end my misery.
"How about swimsuit day?" Flyer girl - aka, Holly - asks.
My heart lodges in my throat. As a member of Prom Committee, I'm supposed to participate in all of the spirit days. And there is no way in hell that I am coming to school with just a swimsuit on. You might as well call me bait.
"No way," I say, the first time I've spoken up at all. Everybody looks at me. "I - the school would never allow that to happen - there's too many loopholes for people to act immature."
"True," Chelsea says. "Do you have a suggestion then?"
Usually I don't speak up in meetings. I just make posters and decorate the hallways. Having all of this attention on me feels weird. In a bad way.
"Animal day?"
"That could work," Chelsea says after a pause. "What does everybody think?"
Chelsea hangs up the white board and the rest of the committee work on the directions. People are a little bit friendlier to me now that I've spoke, but they do give my hair amused looks from time to time.
We should have gone with hat day.
By the time the meeting ends, I'm running late to work. As fast as humanely possible, I snatch my skateboard from my locker and take it all the way to Lily's Pet Shop. By the time I reach it, I'm sweating like a dog and already fifteen minutes late.
"Sorry," I blurt out as I enter his office. "The meeting went way longer than expected."
"That's fine," Peter says and looks up from his paperwork. "Your coworkers mostly did - whoa."
"What?"
"Your hair?"
"Yeah."
"It's pink."
"Yeah," I shrug. When he continues to gawk at the monstrosity upon my head, I nudge him to continue. "My coworkers mostly did..."
"Right," Peter slaps his face, nearly knocking his glasses off. He straightens them. "Your coworkers mostly finished most of the work. All you have to do is feed the birds and walk the dogs, then you're done for the day."
"What about the register?"
"We're closing early today."
"Okay." I say, and just before I turn back, "Peter, you've seen the color pink before. Stop staring at my hair."
"It's just so weird."
I roll my eyes, then grab the nuts and seeds.
The parrots, parakeets and cockatoos start to chirp enthusiastically once I approach their cage, although I'm not sure if it's because of me or the food. But one of the parrots, Rainbow, I think is her name, comes forward to let me stroke her.
I dust off the loose particles off my jeans, then grab a few leashes from the back. On my way to the dog cages, I wave hello to some of the cats. Most of them pointedly ignore me. One of them meows back.
As always, the dogs make a ruckus when I approach them. Jessie and Harper, a baby pitbull, are the loudest, running inside their designated areas excitedly. I hook each leash to their respective collars before opening the door. Together, we walk outside, past the tattoo parlor and other stores, until we reach the park.
Storm clouds gather above us, not a good sign if I want to reach home before eight. The air crackles with static electricity and a wind, humid and cold, blows throughout the park. It makes shiver for the first time I've arrived in Florida.
"At least, you guys don't care about my hair," I sigh.
Mickey the Beagle rushes back with the stick in his mouth. The other dogs follow him, fighting for the stick. I grab it from the beagle's mouth and thrust it to the opposite side of the park. They chase after it, tripping over each other's feat.
I smile.
Thunder rumbles overhead, sending most of the dogs back to me. Jessie cowers under my legs so I decide it's time for us to head back.
After getting the leashes back on the dogs, we walk back. A couple of them freak out from another crack of thunder, twice as loud as the previous one.
"Slow down, Harper," I call, yanking on his leash as lightly as I can.
Harper, to my surprise, listens. For a second, I'm impressed with myself, but then I hear somebody calling my name. I glance over my shoulder - and sure enough, Archer's waving at me from a nearby shop.
"Shit," I whisper, turning back. "Walk faster, Harper."
I haven't seen Archer in the last four days. Why can't he just leave me alone?
I pretend like I don't hear him calling my name and lead the other dogs back into the store. He doesn't follow me so I figure I'm safe.
I lock the dogs back in the cages, try to pet one of the cats unsuccessfully, take off my name tag and release my ponytail in the storage. Preparing myself to ask Peter if I should work overtime the next day, I walk towards the front desk.
I stop when I see Archer next to him.
They're chatting over something on the counter top. It's the first time I saw Peter smile with a stranger. Archer, leaning against the top with his elbow, notices me first.
"Hey, Peyton," He says casually, smiling at the look on my face. "I didn't know you worked here too."
"You work at the pet shop?" I repeat skeptically, walking slowly towards them.
Peter and Archer shake their heads at the same time.
"I meant the area, silly. I work at the tattoo parlor across the street."
I forget all about acting cranky and mean. Instead, I blurt out, "You work at a tattoo parlor? Is that even legal?"
He shrugs. "Nobody's really cared enough to mention it. Listen, I'm heading back in a few minutes. Do you want a ride home?"
"Uh," I pretend to think about it, even though I already know the answer. "No."
Archer raises an eyebrow.
"Why not?"
"Because," I try to come up with something reasonable. "Because I have to stay late today."
Peter looks at me with clear surprise.
Don't say anything, I communicate with my eyes. Pretend to go along with my story.
What's going on? says Peter's eyes.
Nothing. Say nothing.
Huh?
Archer doesn't notice the interaction.
"I don't mind waiting," Archer says.
"Are you sure? It might take a half an hour. Or an hour. Or maybe two hours," I realize that sounds ridiculous. "Actually, no, it's just an hour."
"I have some things to do at the tattoo parlor that'll keep me busy for an hour. Why don't I meet you after then?"
"Fine."
Okay, Peyton, new plan. When Archer goes back to the tattoo parlor, I'll sneak out of the shop and go home without him noticing. I'll be halfway home by the time he gets off his shift and he won't even realize it. Yes. It's a perfect plan.
"Fine?" Archer pushes himself off the counter top. He ducks his head to see my expression, but I continue to stare at the floor. "Really?"
"Yeah," I say. "Now go, I have a lot of work to do."
He looks suspicious. "...okay, I guess I'll leave you to it then."
"Bye."
When he's out of sight, I grab my skateboard and head back to the main room. I check through the windows to make sure Archer doesn't catch me escaping.
"You're still leaving?" Peter questions. "What's with you and him?"
"Nothing," I say, perhaps a little bit too loudly. "And Peter, you need to get better with speaking with your eyes."
"Why I would I do that when I can just speak through my mouth?"
Because I don't know how to answer that properly, I just shake my head and leave. Blood rushes in my head as I race out of the neighborhood. When nobody follows me, I breathe a sigh of relief and hurry on.
The storm approaches fast, turning the dull red bricks and neon-colored stoplights into shades of muted grey. The streets become darker and emptier within just a few minutes, leaving an eerie silence behind.
The first raindrops start to fall.
"Damn it," I whisper and speed up.
Soon, a heavy rainfall pours. Knowing that it's unsafe to ride in wet surface, I get off my skateboard and hug it my chest as I speed-walk through the streets. My clothes and hair stick to my skin, as cold as the rest of me.
The lack of light makes the way home a little confusing. Once or twice, I get turned around and have to retrace my steps. The roads are deserted now, making me feel lost even though I've walked this route a dozen times.
I duck under a nearby tree and get out my phone. With trembling fingers, I manage to turn on the flashlight and -
A deafening honk erupts from behind me.
I jump violently, almost dropping my phone.
A red Audi rolls up next to me, pausing once it reaches my feet. One of the windows rolls down to reveal Archer sitting in the driver's seat. I duck down to talk to him.
"How'd you find me?" I yell over the rain.
"Your hair glows in the dark," He shouts back. "All I had to do was look for a neon pink blob. We can talk about this later. Get in the car."
"What about my skateboard?"
"What?"
"Should I, like, throw it in a bush or something?"
"What? No, just bring it in."
A little surprised that he isn't picky about getting his car wet, I swing open the door and slide on the leather seats. I place my skateboard in an area that wouldn't hurt any of his car interior and then lean back. Artificial warmth from the heaters blast on my face, bringing feeling back into my numb muscles.
I glance at Archer's face. His expression is smug, but he shows no signs of saying anything.
Archer's car is unusually clean. Besides a few discarded sketches and empty water bottles, there's no signs of trash or litter anywhere.
We stop at a red light.
"Thanks," I finally blurt out.
His expression doesn't change, "For what?"
"For, you know," I exhale loudly. "Trying to find me after I ditched you."
The beginning signs of a smirk reach his face.
I look away.
"I can give you a ride more often," Archer suggests, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "We both live, work and go to school in the same area. It makes sense for us to carpool."
I hesitate.
Everything he says is right, but accepting it means that I would have to see him almost every day. And that's a huge blow to my plan.
I look at the rain outside, then to my trembling hands.
"Okay," I say.
"Excellent," Archer looks ridiculously pleased with himself. "So I'll pick you up tomorrow morning then?"
"I guess."
Just because we made a truce doesn't mean anything will happen, I tell myself. No reason to panic.
The light turns green.
Archer presses down on the accelerator and we move forward.
- () -
Hello, it is I.
"...."
(0,0)
/)....)
""
Hello, it is Crackers. Thanks for keeping Crackers on a healthy diet.
I've noticed a few of the usernames popping up again and again, so I think I'm going to start doing dedications again. This one goes to both KookieSmasherrrr  and Mysticr5 for your lovely comments and votes! But, don't worry, I love you all! ;)
Thanks for reading!
QotC: What's a theme you guys would choose for spirit days?