Fanfic time: Misfits part 35

Continued from yesterday:

  “I thought I’d find you two together,” said Jean. 

  Sara looked up. “Let me guess. My guide." 

  "Pretty much,” said Jean. “You’re in about three of my classes, and only one of his, so… What are you doing to your schedule?" 

  "Making it the easy-read version, yo,” said Todd. “Man, I’m'a do this next year. It’s awesome." 

  "Just serendipty and mnemonics, darling…" 

  "Aa-ah?" 

  Sara blushed. "Thankyou." 

  Todd kissed her. "Very good." 

  "Ooo! Positive re-enforcement. How Pavlovian…" 

  "Ahem…” said Jean. “You don’t want to be late." 

  Sara sighed. "See you in English, then." 

  "AP, English.” Todd grinned. “Kinda got me upgraded a year ‘cause of how I read novels fo’ fun…" 

  Jean propelled her away from her boyfriend by one arm, walking quickly along the corridors. "Come *on*. You have a chance to make a whole new start on things." 

  "I wouldn’t bother,” said Sara. “Everyone knows me by reputation.” _But not by honour._ 

  Jean dragged her into Trig. “Ms Larimie? This is Sara Adrien. She’s been transferred to this class." 

  "And still no sign of that Essel boy,” tisked Ms Laramie. “Well, take a seat… Jean *Grey*, shame on you. That *is* Essel. Sit down. Both of you." 

  Sara sighed and didn’t bother to correct anyone. She opened her new textbook and began flipping through it, scanning the pages. 

  Lots of this stuff was things she’d consulted earlier teachers about… and told she’d never have to worry about it. Sara felt intensely betrayed. Those people had a job to *teach*… not recite from their books and never notice things. 

  "Mr *Essel*? Page three seventy-four please?" 

  Sara turned to the page, but kept a finger in her place. This theory had been investigated in her younger years, too. She *knew* this stuff already. Only bits of it were different. Better. 

  She’d have reached these conclusions, too, if *only*… 

  ”*Mister* Essel!“ 

  There was a problem on the board. Sara looked at it. "Forty-seven." 

  Ms Laramie held out a stick of chalk. ”*Show* your *working*, Mr Essel. Or at least show that you’ve been paying attention.“ 

  Reminded too hard of chalking rules of ettiquite on the board, Sara launched herself at the problem. Her hand flew in order to get it over with quickly. "And *therefore*, X is forty-seven. Q.E.D.” Sara stomped back to her desk. “I don’t *lie*." 

  Ms Laramie consulted the answers, and the proof thereof. "Class? If you consult the solutions on page eleven nine eighty-three… you’ll find that the textbook answer is forty-two. This is not so. Please cross out that answer and write in… forty-seven." 

  Ms Laramie decided not to consult Sara again, and soon dreaded her upraised hand. 

  Sara was fuming by the time she reached the Chemistry class. Almost all of the Chemistry classes had been taken over by Mr Hinkley. 

  Jean took real pains, this time, to emphasise Sara’s true gender. "This is *Sara* Adrien,” she said. “*She’s* been transferred up to this class." 

  Mr Hinkley raised a sardonic eyebrow. "I wasn’t aware you’d elected to change your identity, Mr Essel… Most wait until their hair grows out a bit." 

  The males in the room began coughing insults as Sara took her seat. 

  "Pussy." 

  "Fag." 

  "Queer." 

  "Slut." 

  "Gentlemen,” Sara sighed. “Make up your minds. Either I am female or I’m not, in either case, half of your insults do not apply." 

  "No talking in my class, please." 

  At least this one didn’t require *litmus* to observe… or prove. Sara found the formulae to be interestingly complicated enough to entertain her. And some of it… yes… some of it tied in with her favourite hobby - cooking. 

  The only really irritating thing was that not *one* of her teachers acknowledged her true gender. Nor even made a nod to it. 

  Next was AP English, Sophomore year, with Todd. One bright ray of sunshine in an otherwise dastardly day. Okay. Two rays of sunshine. People with pxt were becoming informal theatres for people who didn’t. 

  "Todd!" 

  "Sara!" 

  They embraced. "None of my teachers know me from Essel,” Sara moaned. 

  “It’s gonna be cool,” he promised. “Mrs Gratinski’s the understandin’ sort. She’ll at least *listen*." 

  They went hand-in-hand into the class, and found neighbouring seats. Again, she was introduced as Sara Adrien, though Todd added her middle name… and again, she was ignored. 

  "Mr Essel, I’ll thank you to keep your female persona *restrained*." 

  Sara sighed as Todd fumed in betrayal. _At least,_ she thought, _That’s a new one._ Sara patted his arm and whispered, "We’ll try after class. If needs must, I’ll have to strip." 

  That made him laugh. Good. 

  "Today,” said Mrs Gratinski, “We shall be studying Shakespeare." 

  ”*Yes*!“ Both Sara and Todd did miniature signs of victory while the rest of the class glared burning liquid death at them. 

  "This fortnight’s work will be on 'Macbeth’ - otherwise known as 'The Scottish Play’ by the superstitious,” Mrs Gratinski handed out booklets to the class. “Many superstitions surround this play, owing to Shakespeare’s inclusion of what modern scholars believe to be real magical invocations in his script." 

  Sara had to restrain herself from snatching her copy, she opened the book gleefully to read– "The *common LANGUAGE* version?” she shrieked. 

  “Yo, what the fuck?” said Todd. “Hey, teach, you gave us th’ wrong classes’ books." 

  "The entire school is learning from the common language version, Mr Essel and Mr Tolenski. Elizabethan English has been deemed too difficult for today’s students." 

  "Dear,” Sara faced Todd. “I thought this was *Advanced* English. You know, the class for the *bright* kids?" 

  "Yo’ damn right,” said Todd. “What’s next, teach? Learnin’ from the Cliff Notes?" 

  "Perhaps you two would like a time-out in the hallway,” suggested Mrs Gratinski. 

  “Perhaps we’d like to go to the library and read from the *real* Shakespeare,” said Sara. 

  “Perhaps we will,” said Todd. “Ain’t gonna let good literature be dumbed down fo’ me. I’m outta here.” He collected his bag, but left the booklet.

  Sara stood and followed him, also leaving the book. They walked with all the dignity they could muster until the classroom door was firmly shut. Then they legged it at their highest speed to the library, where they checked out an ancient _Complete Works of William Shakespeare_. They raced back, laughing, and turned to the first page of _Macbeth._ 

  And entertained their erstwhile class with an impromptu two-person performance in full iambic pentameter. It earned them a week’s detention, a talking-to by Principal Kelly - in which he *again* forgot who Sara was - but they both agreed that it was worth it. 

  Especially since half the class agreed that *their* version “sounded prettier”.

~~

  Lunchtime. 

  They both purchased a portable lunch - or they both ordered it, Sara was happy to pay for them - and found a highly visible spot out on the courtyard. 

  Sara, already twitchy from the morning’s events, tried to keep an eye out in all directions at once. 

  “Just relax, yo. Act like you own the joint." 

  "Why? It just leaves a side open for attack." 

  Todd soothed her hand as he munched on his sandwich. She was nervously shifting colours, underneath the hologram, he guessed. Touching her skin when she was changing felt something like putting one’s finger on the puckered part of a deflating balloon, and feeling the rubber move beneath. It was a poor analogy, since Sara’s skin was alive and warm and lovely… but it was the nearest sensation to the experience. _Ha. I’m startin’ to think like her. A bit. Cool._ "Listen up, sweetie,” he murmured. “You are Sara Louise Adrien, an’ you don’t gotta take no shit no mo’." 

  She twitched. "It isn’t paranoia if they really *are* out to get you,” she murmured. “Three o'clock west." 

  Todd looked. Two people were striding over, with a purpose. "Stay cool,” he advised. 

  Sara tensed. 

  “Told you it was his first name and Toady’s second,” said one. 

  “You guys really selling those locker trolls?” said the other. 

  “Damn straight,” said Todd. 

  “Marty Fallins tried to lift yours after it went off again,” said the first. “He couldn’t make it work, but it *did* stop people trying to steal his retainer." 

  "It’s jammed in there,” said the second. “*Nobody* can get to his retainer." 

  "No doubt, he forgot an essential element of the packaging,” Sara bought out a second truncated cardboard pyramid. “For a locker-troll, the cardboard helps it act like a shaped charge, propelling the troll forward at the attacker.” She opened the pyramid’s base and a differently-coloured troll popped out. “Each troll can be coloured according to your personal preferences,” she added, “and a percentage of our profits is going towards the money necessary to hire a lawyer to persecute former Froshtie-cullers." 

  "Aces,” said the second. “How do you get it back in?" 

  "Todd, you be a locker for a second,” she pressed the box into his hands and picked up the troll, folding and wadding and compressing… and finally shoving it into the pyramid and closing the lid. “Ta-daaaahh…" 

  There was applause. They’d gathered an audience. 

  "How much is it?" 

  "Can I get one in pink?" 

  "Can I pop it?" 

  "Can I pop it?" 

  "Can I pop it?" 

  "How much for that one?" 

  "How much to get one *out* of a locker?" 

  "How long does it take to make 'em?" 

  "Aren’t you that dude who eats rats?" 

  "Please! *Please*!” Sara held her hands up for silence. “A fully-finished locker troll with folding and compressing instructions and a custom paint job will cost you a total of one hundred dollars. You can elect to purchase an unfinished troll, remove the mould-marks, and paint it yourself with ordinary watercolours - therefore knocking forty dollars off the price. We will accept payment by installation plan, but prefer that you leave a deposit when making your order.” She had a ledger book from somewhere in her bag. “I’ll need verification of your name and details in the form of your student ID. Please form an orderly queue…" 

  They formed a disorderly scrum. Sara was forced to take relevant details in shorthand as Todd was almost buried in an avalanche of cash and ID cards. The cash went down his vest and the IDs were handed to Sara. 

+

  Janine fumed all the way to the computer room. Where the hell *was* Sara, Sara, plain and tall? And what were people laughing at but wouldn’t tell *her*? 

  All of Sara’s usual haunts were empty, and she *knew* that people had seen 'Essel’ around, today… hanging out with that Tolensky creep and - of all people - Jean "I’m so perfect” Grey. 

  The computer room was the last resort, besides the music room, and Janine didn’t think Sara had had *that* bad of a day. 

  People were laughing in there. Cool. Maybe Sara’d finished one of her famous is-she-on-crack games. She opened the door… 

  Every single screen in the room was full of her humilliation at Sara’s locker. Each with a student watching and laughing. 

  “YES!” Crowed one kid. “About time that little bitch got what she deserved!" 

  Janine’s mouth hung open in shock. She was a *bitch*? But everyone liked her when she had gossip to share… didn’t they? 

  One of the popular kids laughed at the rat landing on Janine’s chest. Someone else in the crowd had had pxt, too, and filmed her running off. 

  "Go, little doggie,” cheered one. 

  “MoooOOOOOoooo,” said another. 

  “She so fat, she eat dat rat,” said a third. 

  Janine took a deep breath. “THAT IS SO NOT FUCKING TRUE!" 

  "Hey look! Rat bitch is going postal!" 

  Several pxt phones were trained on her. And just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, the chorus started. 

  "Nananananananana rat-girl! Nananananananana rat-girl! Rat-girl… rat-girl… rat-girl!" 

  Everyone. Was laughing. At her. 

  "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” She ran all the way to the counsellor’s office, hearing every taunt. 

+

  “All right, all right, break it up,” said several teachers at once, hussling the still-clamouring students away to their classes. “The bell has gone off… Move along." 

  They finally whittled their way down to Sara and Todd. 

  "Mister *Essel*,” sighed a teacher Sara didn’t even know. “Why am I not surprised to see you in the middle of this? And what the hell is *that*?” he pointed at the display troll.

  “Anti-theft device, yo,” said Todd. 

  “You wouldn’t *believe* the locker problem this school has,” said Sara, still taking rapid notes. “And it’s less messy than *some* I’ve heard of." 

  "Put it *away*,” he suggested. “I’ve no doubts if I confiscated it, you’d manufacture another." 

  Sara rushed to comply, sealing the box up and shoving it in her bag. "Guess I’d better go to class, hadn’t I?" 

  "I’ll show you the way,” said the new teacher. “I’m your Economics teacher, mister Essel." 

  "Oh fudge.” Sara waved farewell to Todd as she marched smartly to her next class. “I still need to get your texbook from my locker. May I?" 

"So long as no trolls are involved." 

  "And… uh… I might as well tell you, sir. There’s no such person as Adrian Essel. My name’s Sara Louise Adrien. A lot of people reverse it when confusing my gender." 

  "I’ve already heard everything I need to know about you,” said the teacher. “I… am Mr Phelps, and I will thank you not to make any _Mission Impossible_ jokes." 

  "Just out of curiosity - what *have* you heard?" 

  "That you have gender dysphoria, mister Essel, and a large number of mental problems as a direct result. I’m not in the habit of moralising, but you will *not* let it interfere with my classes." 

  Sara opened her locker and - surprise, surprise - there was another dead rat. "She must have found a two-for-one sale,” Sara muttered, snapping on the glove. It was the work of a moment to fling the rat into the bin, followed closely by the glove. 

  “Ah. Things become clearer. Isn’t that Janine girl your friend?" 

  "Yes. She isn’t." 

~