Sometimes *open*

[aristotle luna williams]

Ari loved French class. She loved the thought of it, the feel of being in the room, and the teacher. She was so nice and would let the kids listen to their music when they weren’t doing anything as a class, or sleep. Most the teachers in this school didn’t let you sleep in class no matter what. Good thing the French teacher would though, because all the way up to French class she was yawning and stretching her arms out. It was only the third period of the day and she was ready for bed again. She shouldn’t of stayed up last night to watch South Park. Funny as hell, but worst idea she’s ever had in her history of ideas.

As she passed the people around her, she tended to be stared at by people because she was always wearing jeans, even in summer, not to mention a black jacket. People can think what they want about her, like, emo or whatever, she liked the feel of skinny jeans, and her black jacket was to cover up her scar from the burn; not Josh’s brightest idea ever. Just two little kids playing tag or something close to that and he pushed her and she landed in the not-yet put out fire pit. The pain and agony she went through for two years not having full-use of her left arm. No piano, no flute, no nothing. She shook her head at the memory and looked at her left arm. It was working now, no one knew about the incident, just continue down the hallway and go take a nap in French. She had over a one hundred percent in the class anyways; one day of sleeping was not going to hurt her.

Once she got to the class however, she forgot her book in her locker. She V-8ed herself and ran back down the hall. Good thing her locker was only next to the Spanish rooms. Which Spanish room? She would soon find out. She knew her locker number had to be one of these, but all the five billion Spanish rooms were right next to one another, which made things more difficult for her. She shook her head back and forth and finally found a locker that looked to be around her number. She tried the first one on the right side, nothing. Second. Nope. Third. Nope. She went through seven other lockers until she finally found her own. She reached down to get her French and Geometry book, closed the locker and then instantly ran into someone, dropping the two books. ”Goddamnit!” she said. Great. Now she was probably going to end up late. Without looking at the victim she ran in to, she reached down, picked up her books and said, ”Sorry.”

She looked around at the scene to see if she had dropped any papers or pencils; nope. Just the two books. The sophomore brushed off the tips of her jacket and still didn’t bother looking up to see whom she had run into. No one was every really mean to her, but a few people weren’t particularly nice either. She hadn’t met a person yet who’d actually said they hated her. It was a good quality she had and she didn’t ever want to loose it.

hey it’s, done!
cause you’re awesome, open
listening to, Sometimes by A Rocket to the Moon
dressed in, Click!
i love them, template @ + stockholm syndrome / lyrics @ the script *live like we’re dying
just letting you know, “ it's a crap first post... ”

[dustyn james harrison]

Dusty had never been a huge fan of Spanish class. It was a subject that he felt like he would do better in if he had someone to practice with, but he didn't. He couldn't even attempt to practice with a family member or something, because, well.... he wasn't in contact with his family. And practicing around town would just make him look like an idiot.

So, basically, he only got to practice in class, and he wasn't real good at it. The cold that he had right now was so not helping, either. He had a hard enough time speaking in English. Spanish was going to be bloody impossible.

He decided not to think about it--not that it was a difficult decision to make. His mind was on the breakthrough he'd made in the novel he was writing. He had finally decided on the location of his main character's father. Before, he'd had it written in that the man had split on her when she was young, but that hadn't hit him quite right for her character. But last night, he came up with the idea of her father being a prisoner of war. It was brilliant. It gave his character motivation for the story and...

In any case, he was distracted by his thoughts. He was not altogether aware of his surroundings; he certainly wasn't doing any defensive walking. He didn't think about what the open locker next to him might mean, and when a girl stepped out from around it, he was caught completely by surprise.

She ran into him hard, too. He felt like he was going to fall, and dropped his cane in order to catch himself on a locker. He managed to stay up--barely--but his cane clanked to the floor and rolled down the hall. He swallowed, hard, envisioning some idiot stepping on it and breaking it in half. Fortunately, it was close to bell, and the hallway was nearly deserted. His cane was safe, for now.

He eyeballed the distance it would take for him to get to it. That would hurt. A lot. His glance flashed to the girl who was on the floor picking up her books. She didn't seem particularly interested in him--but she had been the one to knock into him.

"Um," he muttered, his voice dry, "any chance you could pass me that?"

He pointed to his cane, which was lying a few feet away from where she was crouched. He hoped that she wouldn't mind too much.

[aristotle luna williams]

When she looked up, she saw a short boy, looked like the size of a freshman. He had a pale face, shaggy brown hair and dark brown eyes to match it. He looked up at her and asked her to hand her that, and pointed to something behind her. She was already crouched down, so what would it hurt? She looked behind her and she saw a cane. She tilted her head, but grabbed it and handed it to the boy. ”Sorry about that. Just in a rush.” She felt bad for him now. Her arm was beginning to tingle a little bit from the hit and she wondered how he felt. ”Are you okay, by the way?” She hated people who said, ‘I didn’t hit you that hard’ to someone. How are they going to know how hard they actually hit them?

She looked up and down the hallway and the crowd was slowly desecrating. She looked at the time and the bell was probably going to ring in like, two minutes or so though. ”Yeah, sorry once again. I hope I didn’t cause you much harm, or any harm at all. She looked down at her shoes and saw something shiny. She bent down to find a penny heads up. She smiled, ”See a penny, pick it up, all the day you’ll have good luck.” She looked up at the small boy, ”Sorry. My friend used to say that whenever she saw a penny.”

Her friend, Marie. She was very funny and also very pretty. She had brown hair that went past her chest, with red put into it sometimes. She also had a hazel eye color that made her more awesome looking. However, she would always say she was ugly or something, but Ari would always say she wasn’t, she wouldn’t believe her. She also wore these interesting shoes to marching band that would give her feet a tan line. It was awesome.

hey it’s, done!
cause you’re awesome, open
listening to, Hello Mexico-Sparks the Rescue
dressed in, Click!
i love them, template @ + stockholm syndrome / lyrics @ the script *live like we’re dying
just letting you know, “ crap ”

[dustyn james harrison]

Dusty breathed out a sigh of relief when she handed him back his cane. He had been sort of afraid that she would scoff at him. A lot of people were helpful to him, but some just weren't. He'd gotten used to expecting the worst out of people in the past couple of years. Maybe that was horrible and cynical and whatever, but it was how he was.

"Thank you," he said softly, taking the cane from her. It felt nice in his hands, like a part of him. He hated not having his cane. It was hard for him to part with it, even for a few seconds. It was his safety net.

"I'm fine," he said in response to her query. He felt like mentioning the fact that she was the one who dropped her stuff all over the floor, but didn't think that it was necessarily appropriate to say to someone he didn't really know.

"I'm Dusty, by the way," he said. "Dusty Harrison."

They really needed to be getting to class. He could get away with being a little bit late--the teachers were usually lenient of him because he didn't get from point to point as easily as everyone else--but he didn't want to make her late.

[aristotle luna williams]

The kid said thank you to her, ”You are welcome.” She stood there in silence wondering if she could leave yet. She still wanted to make sure the guy was all right however. She basically almost knocked him over. He took the cane and said that he was okay. She kind of sighed in relief because she didn’t want any like, suing going on around here. Something like a hate crime or whatever.

She looked around again and saw there was no one left in the hallways. Okay. So, this was getting awkward. She looked down the hall to see her French teacher tapping her watch. Her French teacher was cool and would let her be a little late, but she did need to stop fooling around and just standing there like a moron. Then the guy said something. He introduced himself as Dusty Harrison. Dusty. That was an interesting name. ”Hi. Nice to meet you. I’m Aristotle Williams. Ari for short.” She looked down at her French teacher again and now she was tapping her foot. She had that look of ‘if you are gonna help the kid to class, hurry up’. Now she felt like she should. ”Do you need help getting to class. I feel really bad for running into you.”

Ari was such an awkward person that it was funny and cute at the same time. She felt bad for everything she did, even if it was an accident. This girl stepped on her foot and she apologized. She was so young and naive.

hey it’s, done!
cause you’re awesome, open
listening to, t.v.
dressed in, Click!
i love them, template @ + stockholm syndrome / lyrics @ the script *live like we’re dying
just letting you know, “ i am so sorry. it's super short ”

[dustyn james harrison]

Dusty smiled politely when she said that her name was Ari, but when she offered to help him to class he had all he could do not to roll his eyes. He was a cripple, sure, but he wasn't incapable of moving from place to place. How did she think that she ran into him if he hadn't gotten himself there in the first place? Seriously!

"I'm fine," he said quietly, "I'll see you around."

He turned away from her towards his classroom. His limp was noticeable, especially with the cane, but he was sure that he proved to her that he was perfectly capable of getting around. After all, there was a guy with no arms and no legs who managed to get around pretty decently. Dusty had certainly had enough time to adjust to his one bum leg; his kneecap had been shattered when he was eleven.