Continued from yesterday:
The males of the school were vaguely disapointed to see Sara appear in her usual jeans and shirt, that Tuesday, though the addition of some tastefully dangling earrings and a smidge of eyeshadow worked wonders for the impression that she was female.
No-one forgot her name. A phenomenon that would prove to last through the rest of that year.
Unfortunately for her free time, her mail courses had arrived, relegating her to study hall when her timetable said she had to be there.
Todd saw her at lunch, which was wasted with frivolous banter about the logistics and history of etiquitte. He laughed all the way through it, as had Fred and the few X-men who decided that their presence was okay. That lunch made it a good day for him.
That, and Pietro hadn’t bothered to turn up.
+
“All I’m saying, speedy-boy, is that I got enough of my own problems,” said Duncan.
“What? Your girlfriend’s not putting out?” said Pietro. This earned a nasty chuckle from his cohort. “Man, she must have you completely whipped.”
“*No*,” said Duncan. “She made me report myself and all the other conspirators I knew about in the Froshtie thing. All ‘cause I tried on that stick of a roommate of hers.”
“Meow… wht-*TSH*!”
The cohort laughed even louder. “I didn’t even know she *knew* Jean, okay? I’d have gotten away with it if she wasn’t Jean’s fucking roommate.”
“Yeah? Well Jean’s fucking roommate is also Toady Todd’s brand-new girlfriend,” said Pietro. “Harassing *him* is going to effect *her*… it’s the ultimate revenge. You can pretend you never knew.”
“Fucking little slut has me on fucking *watch*,” said Graydon Trent. “And I gotta spend three fucking lunch-hours a fucking week with that fucking pussy *Kian*…” He made a fist, glaring venomously at the distant teacher who 'just happened’ to be passing by. “When this blows over, I’ll fucking turn them into fucking *cheese*.”
Nobody laughed at Graydon. They knew better.
“So you can mastermind the thing,” breezed Pietro. “Come up with a vengeance both subtle and gross, as it were. If different people do stuff to them - who’s going to connect the dots?”
“Mastermind, anh?” said Graydon. “Like the sound of that. What sorta revenge?”
Pietro put significant effort into *not* rolling his eyes. “Well, Toady’s got a girlfriend, right? He’s *gotta* know if she’s a moaner or a screamer…”
+
“You been holdin’ out on us, Toad.”
_Oh fuck._ Todd looked. Simon, one of Duncan’s peons, and two other burly guys from the football team. _Fuck, fuck, fucketty *fuck*…_ “What?” he said.
“Heard you found a girl,” said the one on the left.
His only recourse was bravado. “Yeah? So what? You guys the Lonely Hearts Club Band?”
“She put out?” said the one on the right. “Or is she a total cocktease?”
Teaching these thugs about the subtleties of their relationship was going to be completely pointless. “Let’s just say we got our ways o’ keepin’ each other happy,” he said.
“..(cough)cocktease(cough)…” muttered the one on the right.
“Hey, yo. I don’t wanna do nuttin’ stoopid,” said Todd. “Like givin’ her any excuse to go get herself pregnant. Y'awmsayin’?”
“So you never fucked her?” Simon laughed. “Maybe it ain’t big enough to satisfy her.”
“Hey, yo. I can keep my girl satisfied.” He grinned and poked out his tongue, until it hovered on the edge of human plausibility. Then he waggled it.
“Whoah.”
“Dude.”
He put his tongue back in. “You guys want hints and tips?” he offered. “I got ways of keepin’ 'er comin’ back fo’ more.”
Someone in the background turned off his pxt with a 'beep’. “Aaaannnnd it’s now on the central board. Remember, you guys promised to leave me alone for a week after this.”
_Ffffffffuuuuuuccckkk…_
“Nice knowin’ ya, Tolensky,” said Simon.
~
Art.
He used to love it. The one class where he could - well - do just about anything. He’d daydreamed about sharing time over a sketchpad with Sara.
Now, he was practically pissing his pants.
Sara was going to be *furious*.
He thought he was scared when he saw her rage-face, before. But just imagining it turned against him… Or worse - her cold, icy politeness… It turned his guts into knots.
The thought of losing her forever because of some *stupid* words said to some equally stupid jocks - just aggravated the condition.
He was clutching at his stomach when he finally slouched into his seat.
And there, next to him, was the girl of his dreams.
“…i’m sorry…” he squeaked.
“For fobbing off those brutes with a story they could understand?” said Sara. “My reputation’s been worse, dear. The point is that our *honour* is still intact.”
Todd closed his eyes and learned to breathe all over again. “Oh man… I thought I was gonna start pukin’ blood all over again…”
“Now pay attention, please,” said Mrs D'blaa. “This week’s project is a self portrait. A subject you cannot possibly miss finding.”
There was some scattered laughter at that.
“That being said, all homages to Norman Rockwell are not exactly welcome.” Her brows drew in around her Hindu dot. “I expect you to be *original*. You are all original people, and each portrait should reflect the inner you as well as the outer you.”
One of the Plastic Pams put up her hand. “Mrs D'Blaa, Adrien’s going to need two canvasses to fit herself in.”
More raucous laughter.
“…I’ve got them on my list,” Sara sang under her breath. “They ne-ver will be miiiiisssed…”
Todd heard the _Jaws_ theme in the back of his head.
Mrs D'blaa proved immune to the Pams’ usual way of gliding out of trouble. “I’m sure miss Adrien will be able to rise to the challenge. Just like *you* rise to the challenge of having a very limited upstairs capacity.”
Sara chuckled.
“For the last time, I do not *pad*,” she told her compatriots. She gestured at her bosom, “These are like, one hundred percent.”
“…silicon?” Sara murmured, just loud enough for Todd to hear. Louder, she said, “Dear… she wasn’t implying a *thing* about your bra size.”
Todd caught every catty twang in that sentence.
“Who asked *you* for an opinion, *Adrien*?” said a fellow Pam.
“At least I can afford to have my own,” she said sweetly.
_Booyah!_ Todd grinned. “That’s my babe,” he purred.
“Your mind and your eyes on your *work*, now,” prompted Mrs D'blaa. “I want to see pencils moving, not mouths.”
Sara centred herself and began by drawing some straight lines on her canvas.
Todd focussed on his work, ever Aware of her in the corner of his mind. She called him 'Sir Leapsalot’ in her humorous moments and he loved it. What if he made a portrait of that for her? Yeah.
He began with the usual circled and lines for his pose. Half-seated and half-crouching on a vague something. A mighty steed? Too flash. A chihuahua? Nah. He wasn’t *that* short. He made it a shaggy sheepdog, then changed his mind and turned it into a long-suffering St Bernard. Replete with scribbled indications of foamy drool. He made his feet into froggy flippers, bent his lance humorously… but attatched a favour to it that he fully intended to make beautiful.
Dents in the armour… and a big 'hey, hello there’ grin on his drawn face.
“Like, totally psychotic, Adrien.”
“Your eyes on your *own* work, miss Tahir…”
“It’s all right, Mrs D'blaa,” said Sara. “It’s not as if she’d *want* my idea in the first place.” Sara turned her catty grin on the Pam. “Do you need me to explain the concept of 'art’ to you, dear?”
“You are *so* gonna get it, Adrien,” threatened the Pam as she resumed her seat.
Todd continued working, but murmured just loud enough for Sara to hear, “Do I sense an incoming kharmic re-alignment?”
“Several,” said Sara. She resumed humming from _The Mikado_ again. “I’ve got them on my list… they neeeever wiiiiiill be miiiissssed…”
Oh yeah. This was going to be a *poetic* one. He’d be in on it just for the fireworks.
Hell hath no fury, the bard had written, like a woman scorned.
That went double for one that was merely *ticked*.
~~
Detention this afternoon was clearing up the junk from under the bleachers in the assembly hall. Serenaded by Sara, who had _The Mikado_ stuck in her head.
“My object so sublime… I shall achieve in time… to let the punishment fit the crime, the punishment fit the crime… and let each pris'nor pent… unwittingly represent… a source of innocent merriment, of innocent merrime-heeeeeeent… of innocent mer-ri-ment…”
Todd had his own tune stuck in his head, as a result of their pennance, and saw no reason to join Sara. Especially since two conflicting songs in the echoing hall would seriously tick off Kelly, who’d given them the detention in the first place. “…no phone, no pool, no pets… I ain’t got no cigarettes…”
Kelly really ought to see someone about that twitching eye of his.
Sara fell to singing fragments, using and over-using the phrase, 'pah-bom’.
“Ah, but - two hours of pushin’ broom… buys an eight-by-twelve… four-bit room, I’m a… maaaannn of means, by no means…”
“…let each pris'nor pent… ba poppa pah-bom pah-bom… tadum ta innocent merriment…”
“KNOCK IT OFF!”
“Three minutes. I’m impressed,” muttered Todd.
“You were *marvellous*,” murmured Sara.
Kelly seemed to have picked up some of Sara’s lost tic’s. “Will the two of you at least decide on *one* song before deciding to become the Bayville Glee Club?”
She and Todd shared a telepathic look, and a wicked smirk.
“Of innocent merime-heeeeeeennnnnt…” sang Todd.
“Kiiinng of the rooooooooaaaad…” sang Sara.
“SHUT THE FUCK *UP*!” Kelly screamed. He was so tense that he actually shrieked like a girl.
“Such pitch,” murmured Sara. “Such timbre…”
“Needs t’ work on his high notes, yo.”
“OUT! Get *OUT*!”
Sara swept up the last of her litter and dumped it in a bin. “But we have twenty-five minutes remaining…”
“I don’t care. Just - *GO*.”
Sara imitated Michael Crawford on the way out, “Go now and leave meeee…”
“I still say that’s *damn* scary, yo.”
Sara giggled, then fell to a thoroughly evil laugh. “Oh dear,” she sighed. “We’re probably going to Hell for that one…”
“Call it kharmic realignment,” said Todd. “Dude’s had it comin’, IMO.”
“…and speaking of come-uppance,” said Sara. “How about some subtle sabotage?”
“Getting even on the jerks? You have to ask?”
+
Jean found them walking away from the last locker and singing bits and pieces from _The Mikado_. “I don’t want to know what you’ve been doing to whom or *why*,” she said. “The Professor *is* going to know and he *is* going to say something about it.”
Sara nodded. “Yes. Very likely. On the other hand, I’m no longer boxing up my emotions, so it’s technically healthy.”
+
“I’m inclined to disagree,” said the Professor. “Revenge may be initially pleasing, but it begins a vicious cycle.”
“Only if they find out…”
“*Sara*…” he winced. He’d read her 'perfect crime’ journal, an avenue for catharsis when she had little else. Turning her creative energy into something - less harmful; was the problem. “You’re in danger of becoming as bad as they are. Do you want to turn into *them*?”
“You can’t honestly tell me you were never at least *tempted* to tweak someone who desperately deserved it, Charles.”
_Worse than sorely tempted, I know…_ “That sort of revenge… doesn’t really fix anything.”
“Neither does relying on the alleged 'justice’ availlable. Authority at Bayville High tends to gloss over the misdeeds of the popular and pretty… Hey. That’d be a good title for a soap. _The Popular and the Pretty_… I could set it in hollywood and/or a high school. Or a high school in hollywood…”
“No derailments, Sara,” said the Professor. “Think about the long-term consequences of your actions.”
“Ultimately, they’ll be angry… a potential force without a target.”
“And they won’t care for proof of guilt before finding one.”
Sara winced. She knew too well what it was like to be the focus of an aimlessly angry Jock. “There *has* to be a way to make them think about what they’ve done… Not only to everyone around them, but also themselves.”
“That sort of philosophy can take a lifetime to instill. Longer than you have time for.”
“…fudge,” she muttered. “Why do they have to be that way?”
“Because people reward the popular and the pretty for being popular and pretty. They do learn their lesson, Sara, but it’s often too late. You should pity them.”
“Because I learned my lessons earlier? Professor, I wasn’t even that nasty when I used to be pretty… I was never mean - unless by specific request. And even then, I arranged things so that they sabotaged… themselves…”
“No. Sara, don’t even entertain that sort of thinking.”
“But it’s the ultimate in poetic justice…”
“*No*.”
“But–”
“No. It will only encourage them to be nastier. It may even breed supreme hatred. People like us, especially, cannot afford that.”
“So I’m supposed to just sit there and *take* the crap they throw at us?”
“Not in as many words. You can, to stretch a metaphor, stand in front of a fan and duck.”
“Why not? It worked for Ghandi… mostly.”
~